“In exchange, I want you to remove the manacles.”
“No way,” Janco and I said together.
“I promise not to run. I have been cooperating with you the entire trip.”
“You’ve been a pain in the ass the entire trip,” Janco said. “I’m sure given the first opportunity you’d bolt.”
“And I can’t trust you at all,” I said. “There is no reason for you to keep your promise.”
Devlen sighed. “You know why I would not, Opal. Just look past the whole kidnapping thing and remember how you felt when we were together.”
“The whole kidnapping thing? You might be able to dismiss it out of hand, but, to me, it’s too big to look past.”
“You just want to deny you loved me.”
“I cared for Ulrick, whose body you stole. Not you!”
“Come on. You had to know I was not Ulrick. No one changes that much.”
I almost laughed. He had done it again. Played with my emotions. It was like arguing with Janco—a no-win situation. Devlen had been trying to trick me into saying I had fallen for him well aware on some unconscious level of who he was.
The real reason he wanted me close was for the chance to reclaim his magical abilities with blood magic. The same illegal powers that Devlen had used to switch souls with Ulrick in the first place.
“Okay. Fine. Keep lying to yourself. I will take you to the horses anyway.” Devlen led us to a large horse farm a few miles north of Robin’s Nest in the Featherstone lands.
Peter Featherstone, the stable’s owner, showed us to the pasture. Moonlight’s mostly black coat stood out among the other horses. He nickered and ran to the fence with Quartz on his heels. Happy to see her, I threw my arms around Quartz’s neck and hugged her. When she pulled away in impatience, I inspected her from nose to tail. Her reddish-brown and white coat gleamed. No mud or cuts marred her legs and her mane and tail had been combed free of briars and straw. Her hooves were trimmed and neat. No horseshoes, though. Sandseed horses won’t let a farrier near them.
She nudged me with her nose, searching for treats. The only white on her brown face was a patch between her eyes. I probably imagined the sympathetic look she gave me, suppressing the sudden desire to pour my heart out to her.
I checked Moonlight. His sleek muscles enhanced his powerful build and he appeared healthy, too. The only white on him—the circle on his forehead and the reason for his name—shone as if recently washed.
“No doubt they’re yours,” Peter said.
“What do I owe you for their care?” I asked.
He looked at Devlen in surprise. “Nothing. He paid for two full seasons. In fact, I owe you.”
“Perhaps we can work out a deal. I need three more horses.”
“They won’t be Sandseed horses. They’re too expensive. It’s been my pleasure to take care of these two. I’ve never seen such intelligence.” Peter led us to the main stable.
The large wooden building smelled of earth and horses. Sawdust littered the floor and dust motes floated in the sunlight streaming through the big open doors. Two rows of stalls, sitting back-to-back, lined each side, creating three walkways. The main throughway was wider than the others. Ropes hung along the stalls to secure horses for grooming and saddling.
“Your tack is in the back room.” He pointed. “I’ll have my staff bring your horses and the rental horses. See what you think of them.” He hustled back to the pasture.
I entered the tack room. My saddle hung on the far wall and I unhooked it. The leather had been cleaned. In fact, the bridles, reins and rest of our tack appeared to be in good condition. The neat and organized room reflected Peter’s caring and professional attitude.
Which was why the crack of a whip surprised me so much. Laden with equipment, I hurried from the room.
Janco clutched his right hand. Blood poured from between his fingers. He dodged as a long leather whip snapped at him. His sword lay on the ground out of his reach. The two Sitian guards fought four men with pitchforks. Devlen stood to the side, grinning.
We were under attack.
2
I DROPPED THE TACK. MY SAIS AND GLASS SPIDERS REMAINED IN my saddlebags. Right where I had left them with Janco. A brute of a man attacked him with a whip. Janco ducked and darted, trying to get to his sword. He was fast, but with each snap, the whip tore his shirt to rags. Blood stained the shredded material.
No weapons. No time. I charged the man wielding the whip, intending to knock him over or distract him long enough for Janco to regain his weapon.
I had forgotten about Devlen. He plowed into me before I reached my target. We crashed into the side of a stall. My breath whooshed from my lungs as his weight pressed me into the ground. Gasping and choking on dirt, I struggled to push Devlen off, to no avail.
“Gotcha!” a man’s voice yelled.
The snaps stopped, but the ring of metal sounded for another minute until a furious round of clatters and curses ended in silence.
“What the hell is going on here?” Peter demanded.
Good question.
“Contingency plan,” Devlen said. He lurched to his feet with his hands still manacled.
I scrambled to grab him, but another man leveled his pitchfork at my chest. Our Sitian guards knelt with their hands laced behind their heads. Behind them two men pressed pitchforks into their backs. The man with the whip held Janco. The whip’s leather strap wrapped around Janco’s torso multiple times, trapping his arms.