“Well, we’ll disarm him,” Lana pointed out. “He won’t have any of his magical weapons on him. We know he’s powerless without them, don’t we? If he could do anything without them, he wouldn’t have had to trick Acantha into bringing him his armor to escape.” Acantha felt her face burn at yet another reminder of her failure, but she nodded in mute agreement anyway. She wished she was wearing her armor. She felt far too vulnerable, sitting here with nothing but cloth between her and the world…
“We could disarm him, true,” Seth said softly. Everyone at the table straightened automatically at the sound of his low voice. The wolf Alpha spoke very little, especially in public situations like this one, but anyone would be remiss to assume that was a result of shyness or ineptitude. He simply spoke only when he felt it necessary, and as a result, people tended to listen closely when he did. It was an admirable quality. “Keep his staff and his armor away from him, of course. He’s volunteered for that to happen. But what about the artifacts in the Archives?”
“What about them?” Arric asked, frowning. “We’ve additional guards posted on the doors since the theft and everyone is on high alert, there’s no way he could steal anything.”
“If your intention is to show him the collection in order to learn what properties the artifacts possess,” Seth explained patiently, “then surely that will provide the opportunity he needs… if, indeed, he’s deceiving us as some of us suspect.”
Arric looked crestfallen. “Perhaps we could keep the artifacts away from him,” he said faintly, clearly not liking the idea of giving up his dream. “Show them to him through the bars only, make sure he doesn’t make contact with them.”
“That didn’t work for Acantha,” Conrad pointed out, glancing up the table at her. “He still managed to seize his armor and make his escape, didn’t he?”
She nodded, absolutely terrified that somebody was going to ask a follow-up question that would necessitate an explanation of exactly how he’d managed to distract her long enough to steal the armor. To her relief, the conversation moved on, with the scholars bickering with one another about how they could safely expose Cato to the Archives’ hoard until Queen Lana called a little impatiently for silence.
“This is a difficult situation,” she said, frowning intently at the table. “I’m afraid the right answer hasn’t made itself obvious, which tells me there likely isn’t one—at least, not right now. There’s also something nobody’s mentioned,” she added, her gaze lifting meaningfully to pierce each one of them. “Which is the possibility that he’s telling the truth.” Acantha wasn’t alone in scoffing—but Queen Lana called for silence again, her eyes burning. “He lied before, true. We have plenty of reason to believe he’s lying now, too. But it’s possible that he still needs our help. I’m on the same page as all of you,” she added, looking around. “He’s hiding something, that’s for sure. But by the same token, I’m convinced that at least some of what he’s saying is true. Nobody’s that good at lying.”
Acantha bristled, ready to dispute the Queen on that point even if it meant losing her job. But something stopped her… and it was the memory of the look in his eyes when he’d pulled away after kissing her like that. Soft gray eyes, like nothing she’d ever seen. No matter how many times she went over that moment, no matter how furious she was at what had happened afterwards, she simply couldn’t bring herself to believe that that moment was manufactured. He’d been genuinely shocked by the kiss they’d shared, by the searing intensity of the contact between them. And then that expression had given way to a flash of regret so intense it took her breath away. Maybe she only remembered that part because it was the last thing she’d seen before she’d lost consciousness, as abruptly as a rug being yanked out from underneath her without warning. But it came back to her now, and it stilled her tongue.
“You may be right, Your Majesty,” Conrad said with a sigh. Acantha could tell he was struggling to come to a useful conclusion here, too. “I think we can agree that turning him away isn’t the right move right now.”
“No, I don’t think it is. Though I reserve the right to change my mind if new information presents itself,” Lana added, glancing down the table at Acantha. “Acantha, you’re among my most level-headed advisors. Tell me, am I being too soft, taking this thief at his word that he needs shelter?”
Acantha could barely process the compliment, she felt so frozen to the spot by the Queen’s question. How could she answer a question like that? She couldn’t—not when it was built on the false premise that she was in any way level-headed about the situation. So she swallowed hard before she spoke. “Your Majesty, I appreciate your faith in me, but my objectivity here is… compromised, and soundly.”
Lana’s expression softened. “Captain, you must stop blaming yourself for Cato’s escape. You couldn’t have predicted what he was capable of—nobody here has ever encountered magical weapons like his, as Prince Conrad so rightly pointed out.”
Acantha nodded in mute agreement, feeling shame twisting in her gut. The Queen didn’t know what had really taken place that day. The Queen didn’t know anything of the feelings she’d been fighting with all her might to push away ever since she’d met that wretched silver-tongued conman. It wasn’t just her anger or her hurt pride that was compromising her objectivity in the situation, far from it. To feel nothing more than anger for him would have been a blessed relief. No—there was something else here. Some horrible draw to him, something twisted and wrong that she hated with everything in her. Some dark part of her found Catoattractive.
“I think, for the time being at least, this is what we’ll do,” Queen Lana was saying, and Acantha wrenched her attention back into the present moment. “Cato will be permitted to stay here—relieved of all of his artifacts, of course. He will not be allowed anywhere near the Archives,” she added, raising her voice a little over the protests of the scholars, “at least until such time as he’s proved that he can be trusted. He will do so entirely at the instruction of Captain Acantha, who will be given absolute control over his captivity here—whatever she thinks is best. If he’s telling the truth about his intentions to share everything he knows with us, I’d imagine he’ll be eager to start those conversations as soon as possible. Once he’s given us some information we can test, we’ll know a little more about whether we can trust him.” She sighed, rubbing her forehead a little tiredly. “And then we can start worrying about whether these mages he said are chasing him are going to be able to find him here. But that’s a problem for later. Captain Acantha?”
“Yes, Your Majesty?”
“Are you willing to take on this role, taking full control of Cato’s captivity?”
This was a terrible idea, Acantha thought faintly. She was the last person who should be put in charge of this particular prisoner. But how could she tell the Queen that? She’d be the laughingstock of the Palace—she’d be stripped of her rank in a heartbeat if they knew how mad she’d gone. And someone had to do the job. Someone had to keep a close eye on him, someone had to stop him from whatever he was up to. Like it or not, of all the residents here, Acantha knew him best. If someone else was given the duty, he’d only hoodwink them just as he’d hoodwinked her. No, she realized, coming to a grim conclusion. No, it had to be her. Maybe she could even use these pathetic feelings to her own advantage. She’d use them to spur on her anger, to keep her sharp as she waited for the slightest hint of a crack in his story. And maybe once she found it, once she knew who he really was, maybe it would be enough to dispel this bizarre infatuation she could barely admit, even to herself.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” she said, hoping like hell that her voice sounded as solid and resolute as it always did. “I will.”
She’d always prided herself on being a rock on which the Palace itself was built. Well, now it was time to put that pride to the test.
Chapter 12 - Cato
Cato resisted the urge to make a joke about how the dragons had kept his room just how he liked it. Something told him that the grim-faced armed guards who had marched him down the now-familiar palace corridors to the prison wouldn’t find it funny. Besides, it wasn’t quite in keeping with his new role of a penitent beggar, desperate to do whatever it took to be given shelter from his awful leader…
That one felt a little too close to the bone, actually. He grimaced a little as he settled down on the bed, not liking the feelings it had stirred up. To lie well, you had to believe what you were saying, at least while you were saying it, and he’d entered a little too fully into the fantasy of having escaped from Haspar and the rest of the coven. Imagined, a little too well, the idea that these dragons might just be able to keep him safe. Not true, he thought, wrapping his left hand around his right wrist and squeezing it until he felt the dull, strange pressure against his bones that had been there since he’d first sworn his loyalty to Haspar. Nobody could keep him safe but Haspar, now. He’d made his choice a long, long time ago.
The guards were loitering outside his cell still, speaking to one another in low voices—he realized what they’d forgotten and sighed as he got to his feet. At least this time he was conscious of the search, though a treacherous part of him wished that Acantha had been there as he pulled down his robes and removed the leather buckles from each of his arms. He’d been honest about these, at least—each one contained a gemstone with a curious power. Nothing especially valuable, though, at least not to Haspar. But they’d come in handy if he got an opportunity to dazzle someone with some simple magic. Not for the first time, he wondered if dragons were even capable of using magic. He’d never met a mage who was also a shifter. Everyone in Haspar’s coven was human, if you didn’t count the distinctly superhuman augmentations their artifacts gave them. He handed over the leather buckles to the stone-faced guards, resisting the urge to joke that Acantha must have taught them all her tricks. No jokes. Sad and remorseful, Cato.
Besides, he didn’t feel like joking right now. He was saving all his charm for Acantha. Something told him that he was going to need it, if winning her over was even a remote possibility. Probably not, right? He’d burned that bridge to ash when he’d left the first time. He’d been lucky to even see her again. Still, some part of him couldn’t let go of the lingering hope that maybe, just maybe, they’d talk again. Maybe her face would shift a little. Maybe he’d even win a tiny smile from her, one day, if he really set his mind to it…
What kind of stupid thinking was that? He was here to deceive her again. In a few weeks, none of this would matter, because his coven was going to storm the place, kidnap the Queen, steal everything that wasn’t nailed down, and vanish into the Fog as quickly as they’d come. And while they were at it, they were going to wipe the memories of everyone in the place. Especially Acantha. In a few short weeks, she wouldn’t remember that she’d even met him.
And that was a good thing for her, all things considered. What was the alternative? Let her keep her memories of how badly she’d failed in her duties? Let her remember every day that the Queen, the one person she was sworn to protect, had been kidnapped by mages and subjected to any number of horrible experiments on her watch? No. It would be a mercy, to clear her memories of that. They’d clear the Queen’s, too, once Haspar was satisfied that he’d learned all he could from her, and that would be an even greater kindness. Cato often wished he could wipe his own memories of Haspar…
Enough of that. Enough. Keep your focus where it’s needed, Cato.
It was a few hours he was left idle in the cell, though not alone. The guards had clearly been given instructions not to interact with him, judging by the cold shoulder he got whenever he tried to address either of them. He had just started to worry that this might be it for his whole stay when he heard the door to the prison swing open, and a familiar voice muttering a brusque dismissal to his two new friends.
There was a strange feeling in his chest when he looked up to see Acantha standing outside the cell door—a curious lightness, mixed with the troublesome old guilt that had been keeping him awake since they’d last been here. She was wearing her armor again, the ornate but functional metal pieces bringing more emphasis to a frame that was already powerful without it. And she was staring through the bars at him with vivid hostility.