House of Secrets and Vows (Crown of Deceit #1)

4. A Horrific Myth

4

A HORRIFIC MYTH

F ive long months pass, and not a single word about Aella outside of the questions that pop up through the Temple like groundhogs searching for the sun from time to time.

I’m forced to keep quiet as the other priestesses whisper rumors of what caused her sudden disappearance.

The hole in my soul hasn’t shrunk, despite everything else in my life remaining as it was before. With the void inside me, I dedicate myself to learning more about the other Houses, filing away anything I can use to bring the House of Blood down. But anytime I think I’ve found a source to help me, any useful information has been plucked away.

The scents of cigars and perfume waft through the lounge as I adjust the neckline of my dress, which dips into a low V that exposes my pushed-together cleavage.

“Sexy,” Quin, my new partner, says beside me as he eyes my breasts with a grin.

I shrug. “Men spill their secrets when they’re distracted.”

A sad truth, really. Showing off my chest at these events likely earns me as many secrets as my role as priestess. But the actual power comes when I combine the two.

Many of the nobles who attend parties like this have visited the Temple a time or two, usually to confess marital transgressions or other over-indulgences. No one ever suspects the young woman in a tight, low-cut dress might double as a priestess by day, so I use the secrets I know to either make the men uncomfortable or to flirt my way to what deeper truths I need to know.

Sometimes both.

Over the past few months, I’ve become quite skilled in my role in the resistance.

I’ve shared everything I can with Felix about the House of Blood incident, but anytime I consider mentioning Prince Nevan, my chest tightens, and I stop. Despite seeing him there that night, the magic that bound his confession won’t let me share his involvement. For a while, I hope news of his appearance will surface from someone else who was there that night and also escaped, but I haven’t heard a single murmur of his name.

I don’t know if there were any survivors outside of Alabek and me, or if Alabek even recognized the prince.

After Aella...was gone...Felix did everything he could to help me grieve. He offered to give me some time off from my resistance work, and when I said that was the last thing I wanted, he brought me along with him.

But the more he tried to be there for me, the more I pulled away.

I appreciated the effort, but my gut told me that someday, after I have whatever time is deemed appropriate to heal from the loss of my friend, he’ll push for something I won’t give him.

So when I met Quin, new and eager, at the rebellion headquarters, I announced I’d help introduce him to the cause.

And within a month, he’d introduced me to his bed. I quickly learned there is nothing like pleasure to temporarily ease the ache of sorrow.

Since the moment Felix discovered the line I’d crossed with Quin, he has barely spoken to me.

Quin leans in. “That dress makes me want to forget this assignment and carry you to the coat closet and fuck you.”

A blush heats my cheeks at the thought. Not only is Quin an asset to the resistance, but he is also skilled between the sheets.

“The sooner we learn what we need to know, the sooner you can take me home and have me all to yourself.” With a wicked grin, I discreetly brush his cock with the backs of my fingers.

He sucks in a breath, then smirks. “Tease.”

Martin Petersen, one of the kingdom’s most prominent merchants, should be here somewhere in the crowd of nobles. Rumor has it a large shipment of food is on its way to the Valazican shore. The ship carries the finest fruits and vegetables, grains, and even rare cuts of meats, all sent here to be taken to the castle and handed out as the king sees fit—which, no doubt, means only to selected noble families.

But if everything goes as planned, the resistance will intercept the shipment before it can be taken to the king, and then the food can be spread around to those who need it most: the common Valazicans coming off one of the harshest winters in a decade.

That means Quin and I need to find out exactly where and when the ship will dock.

“I’ll go this way.” I point ahead. “And you can take the front half of the lounge.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He winks.

The smoke is heavier in the back of the place, and I almost regret not choosing the location near the door. But we got here later than planned, and Martin is the type of man who shows up on time and stays until the very end. This isn’t the first time I have needed information from him.

About a year ago, I questioned him about a friend of his who owned a blacksmith shop in the inner part of the kingdom. After a few drinks and a few gentle touches of his arm, everything I needed to know poured out of him like wine from a bottle.

I can only hope he is just as open of a book tonight.

After I grab myself a drink at the bar, courtesy of coin from Felix, I meander through my half of the lounge. Music floats through the room from the live band, a luxury only the ritziest establishments offer. The notes of a cello harmonize with those of a violin in a calm tune that is loud enough to hear but not so loud the patrons can’t chatter amongst themselves.

When I spot Martin conversing with another man, I hover a few feet away.

“The king doesn’t look well,” the other man says from a high-back chair, an ankle propped on top of a knee.

Martin puffs a half-smoked cigar from the chair across from the man. “You’re one to talk, Cortez.”

“I might overindulge now and again.” Cortez pats his belly. “But I’m telling you, the king is unwell. His skin is yellowing, and he could barely stay awake on my last visit.”

“So?”

“I just find it odd that, a few months ago, he signed some fucking peace treaty with the fae bastards, and now he’s about to die.”

“You think they’re behind his sickness?” Martin leans forward and rests his elbow, cigar in hand, on the arm of the chair.

Cortez’s wine splashes in its glass as he shrugs. “It’s possible. Or the king knows he’s about to die, so he doesn’t care if the fae end up killing us all.”

“He wouldn’t just leave his sons and wife to the fae,” Martin says. “At least he’s smart enough to leave the kingdom to Prince Nevan. I feared after Prince River’s death he’d pass the crown onto Maddox.”

My attention perks at the mention of Prince Nevan. In usual circumstances, I don’t keep up with the royal gossip, but I can’t help but wonder what about Maddox makes him such an undesirable king.

Cortez guzzles the rest of his wine. “It seems I need a refill. Partivey’s over by the bar, and I need to catch him before he leaves.”

As he makes his way to the bar, he passes Quin, who walks straight to me.

Quin leans in and grazes my cheek with his lips. “There you are, gorgeous.”

I return a kiss on his cheek, then he wraps his arm around my waist.

He glances in his peripheral. “Martin, right?”

He guides me to the empty chair where Cortez had been and motions for me to sit down.

I oblige, the seat still warm. Quin stands next to me with an arm on my shoulder.

“The one and only,” Martin replies, uncertainty pressing the lines of his forehead. “Do I know you?”

It’s a fair, if not blunt, question since Quin has never seen the man in his life. It seems my description of him did the job.

Quin extends his hand. “We haven’t had the pleasure of meeting yet, but I’ve heard about your profitable business.”

Martin’s gaze lingers on me, but if he remembers our brief interaction over a year ago, he doesn’t mention it. “I’m glad to hear my reputation is a good one.”

“The best.” Quin’s pinky gently massages my collarbone.

He knows very well the effect the touch will have, just how sensitive the area is on me. I resist the urge to bite my lip. Instead, I cross a leg over the other knee and fold my hands in my lap as Quin continues the conversation.

“My wife and I have been looking for a good place to invest her inheritance. May her father rest in peace.” Quin places his free hand over his heart. “A man I spoke to over there” — he nods in the direction he came from — “suggested you might be looking to expand your business.”

Martin pulls another cigar from his jacket. “It’s something I’ve been considering, yes.”

Quin tosses him a lighter from his pocket. “You have three ships now, correct?”

“Yes.” Martin lights the cigar, then returns the lighter. He slips out another cigar and offers it to Quin.

Quin declines with a raised hand. “Would a tour be possible?”

If our intel is correct, all three of his ships are at sea now. Two are on extended trips, leaving the ship transporting food as the only option.

“My newest ship, The Crimson Fury, will return in two days. We could arrange a tour after she docks.”

“What goods does she hold?” The question is out of my mouth before I can stop myself. Another blessing given to the priestesses is a skill for asking the right thing at the right time, and my abilities aren’t limited to the confessional.

Martin releases a puff of smoke, then leans toward us.

“Food from Falenmont, mainly. But the steerage carries a box of newly designed weaponry.” He smirks. “The crown enlisted me to pick it up and transport it from a Falenmontian black-market metallurgist. If my sources are to be trusted, it’s only the first of many furtive shipments.”

Weapons? Felix made no mention of anything other than food. Is he aware of the other cargo on the ship the resistance plans to raid?

“What kind of weaponry?” Quin’s tone is pure intrigue. Not a hint of surprise, though.

“Well,” Martin begins when a familiar face in my peripheral catches my attention.

Alabek leans against the bar as he talks to a woman in a fitted black dress.

Martin’s voice muffles into background noise as my attention zeroes in on Alabek. His hair is longer now, and he’s dressed in more formal attire, but the same cloak hangs over his shoulders.

As I stand, Quin’s hand falls from my shoulder. He gives a confused look.

“My apologies,” I say before sauntering away from the men as they return to their conversation. I should have given an excuse, but my focus doesn’t waver.

As I approach Alabek, the barman hands the woman talking to him a glass of wine and she says something to Alabek then leaves, just in time for me to step into her place.

The barman lifts a finger when he sees me. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

Then he turns to help someone else on the far side of the bar.

I take the woman’s spot and glance up at Alabek. “Hello, stranger.”

He stares at me as he takes a long drink from the mug in his hand. While most of the patrons there choose wine, he seems to prefer the more rugged drink of ale.

“Well, isn’t it nice to see you’re still alive?” He sets his mug on the bar. “I thought you might have run back into that tavern after I left you.”

“I considered it.” Which is the truth, even if it would have been a death sentence. “But it’s hard to get revenge when you’re dead.”

One side of his mouth quirks. “And to think, I assumed you would thank the gods for another chance at life and, I don’t know, try to stay alive.”

“You know what they say about assuming.” I’m thankful to have survived the attack, but that doesn’t mean I can just let it go. Not when... My throat swells, but I inhale and swallow my grief away. “The House of Blood is still out there, terrorizing?—”

Alabek grabs one of my biceps. “Don’t speak of them.”

I yank my arm from his grip.

“You’re not my father.” Not that I’ve ever had one, anyway. “You’ve really just put the whole thing behind you?”

He exhales, slow and annoyed, then chugs the rest of his ale.

“This isn’t the place to speak on private matters,” he whispers in my ear. Then, in a normal voice, he says, “How about some fresh air?”

“Sounds lovely.” I let him guide me away from the bar just as the barman returns. We saunter straight outside, and I am hit with the chill of the night air.

Unlike Alabek, who kept his cloak on inside the lounge, I checked mine with the doorman when I arrived. But if I go back inside to get it, Alabek might leave.

His hand on my upper back falls lower as we pass the two guards standing outside the door. Alabek winks at one and tosses him a coin. “Make sure we aren’t interrupted.”

The guard nods, then mumbles something about Alabek being a lucky man as we turn the corner of the building to a dark alleyway.

“Really?” I ask. “You’re old enough to be my father.”

He removes his hand from my back. “You made it clear I am not your father.”

I’m not na?ve enough to think that men his age don’t bed women my age, but the thought still makes me nauseous. Not that Alabek isn’t handsome…

He reaches under his cloak and grabs a cigar. “Now we can talk without the listening ears of the House of Whispers all around us.”

I remind myself why we are outside, alone in the dark. “How can you pretend nothing happened that night?”

He might not have lost his best friend like I did, but they killed everyone in that tavern. And if we hadn’t been so close to the door, it would have been us, too.

He takes a hit of his now-lit cigar.

“I don’t pretend it didn’t happen. I just don’t spend my energy on revenge.” His stare softens. “But no one I loved was there, so I understand.”

“That was just the first attack. I’ve been hearing talks of more, all at night in public places. There are more guards out patrolling now than there were months ago.” Guards who never seem to be in the right place.

“The House has become brazen, which only makes them more dangerous.”

My chest tightens as I form a question, the familiar heaviness that comes whenever I skirt the line of my Priestess Vow. “Did you recognize any of them?”

Alabek exhales a long puff of smoke. “I wondered if you knew who he was.”

I tilt my head to the side, meeting his stare. “Who do you mean?”

“Our next king.”

“Have you told anyone of his involvement with the House of Blood?” The strain around my heart loosens, but I still have to carefully choose my words.

“Have you ?”

“I can’t,” I say. “It’s complicated.”

This makes him pause, but I am thankful when he doesn’t press for more. “I thank all the stars in the sky that I didn’t die that night. I’m not stupid enough to throw around accusations about the Valazican heir.”

“You can live with what will happen to the people if he becomes king?”

“I don’t pretend to know how he will rule if he’s given the crown.” He drops his barely smoked cigar to the ground, letting it die out on its own. “But no, I don’t plan to share anything I saw that night. And if you’re smart, you won’t either.”

“I can’t share what—or who—I saw, but I will find a way to make everyone there pay for Aella’s death.”

A melancholy grin tugs at the corners of his mouth, casting a shadow of sorrow across his features. “You remind me of my daughter. She was loyal and brave—foolish, too—but I always admired her stubbornness.”

I don’t miss his choice of past tense. “Do you know anything that can help me? I’ve searched the entire kingdom for information on the House of Blood, but every time I think I find a source, anything about them has been torn out.”

“Play along.” He steps to me and guides me so that my back is pressed into the side of the building. After he braces an arm next to my face, he leans in as if about to kiss my neck. “The House of Blood is the oldest house. It started shortly after the first Valazican king claimed this land. I’ve heard rumors—enough of them, they must hold some truth—that the members of the House are creatures of the night, blessed with long lives but cursed by the sun to live in the shadows.”

“Like vampires?” My mother had told me stories of dark creatures that drank the blood of children who misbehaved, but I had never thought these stories to be true.

“Exactly like vampires. I don’t know all the powers they possess, only that when the kingdom first started, they were a problem. But then something pushed them into secrecy. However, that might have changed. I wish I could tell you more, but that’s all I know.”

But Prince Nevan visited the Temple during the day. Still, the rest makes sense. All the attacks have been after sunset.

“Thank you.” I cup his cheek with my hand. “I’m sorry about your daughter.”

He nods as he steps away from me. “I’d warn you to leave this all alone, but if you’re anything like her, I know you won’t.”

If it weren’t for him, I would have died in that tavern.

And if he is right about the House of Blood, going after them is dangerous. But if I take even one of those bastards out with me when I die, then it’ll be worth it.

Every potential lead has turned out to be nothing, and I have no hope of vengeance if I never find the monsters.

Locating them is only the beginning, though. If I manage to track down the Blood King, how the fuck am I supposed to kill a creature that, until today, I thought nothing more than a horrific myth?