“Of course not.”
He glanced down. “I do. But that’s the problem. I’ve known you all of three days. And here I am, stealing the king’s sword for you!”
“It isn’t for me.”
“And that . . . incident . . . yesterday. I’ve never—” He looked down at me again. “If you’ve spelled me, I promise you’ll regret it!”
“I haven’t! Can you hurry?”
He went back to work, muttering something, although whether at the sword or at me, I wasn’t sure. But a moment later, it sprang off the wall. “What did I just say?” he asked, pulling it away when I reached for it.
“I was just going to hold it while you got down!”
He jumped down beside me. “I’ll manage.”
“You think I’m going to disappear with it, don’t you?”
“If I thought that, I wouldn’t have helped you. But you know what they say. There’s no honor among thieves—”
“So it would appear.”
My head jerked up, because that voice hadn’t been Pritkin’s.
Only to see a furious, damp, blood-splattered king of the fey breathing at me from the doorway.
Goddamn it.
* * *
Half an hour later, I was in a dank cell, stuffing my face. It wasn’t my idea; Caedmon’s fancy-dressed officer, who had shown up with him for some sort of parlay with Arthur, had gotten it into his head that we’d not only planned to steal from the king, but to poison him, too. So he was letting the punishment fit the crime.
The tasty, tasty punishment.
God, I hadn’t realized how hungry I was!
“More bread?” I asked Pritkin, who was being forced to eat, too, only not looking so happy about it. He shook his head. “Then do you mind if I—?”
He passed me the bread.
The officer’s eyes narrowed as I used it to sop up the last of the lamb and nettle stew, which hadn’t sounded particularly appetizing, but tasted divine. But not as much as the pork, with its crispy caramelized skin, like meat candy. Or the blueberries, plump and sweet, and swimming in warm cream. I made a desperate little sound and saw some of the guards looking at the depleted tray with envy.
They were missing dinner because of us, or more accurately, because Arthur had a problem with their boss just killing us. Of course, he also had a problem with us stealing his stuff, even though Pritkin had tried his best to explain. But that was a little hard with Arthur yelling and Morgaine staring and Caedmon demanding his staff back—until I happened to mention that Nimue probably had it. . . .
Which might have worked better if she hadn’t been standing right there.
But we weren’t dead yet, and we’d even gotten dinner. Most of it, I corrected, as the officer reached over and snatched the tray away. I didn’t know why; it was pretty much empty at this point. But I supposed he thought it could be used as a weapon or something.
Sure, I thought resentfully, one wooden tray and my skinny arms against a roomful of fey, thick stone walls, and nothing to cheat with.
Like nothing, because I’d been calling Billy for almost the whole time, and where was he?
Of course, he might not know that. Sometimes I thought we had a connection: I’d feel him before I saw him, or he’d swear he heard me calling. But sometimes he said that when I hadn’t called, too, so who knew? But damn, I wanted out of here!
Apparently, the fey felt the same, because one of them cleared his throat.
“Sir, perhaps we could cycle out—”
“He’s a triskelion,” the officer snapped. “You’re going nowhere.”