Wizard's Masquerade, page 46
“Better,” she said, tossing the mask onto the nearby bed. The sheets weren’t black like they had been in her dream—they weren’t even satin—but she longed for him to pick her up and take her there all the same.
“Perhaps it’s my turn to take a piece of clothing off you?” he ventured.
His words sent a ripple of delight through her, unsure if he was joking. Besides the jewellery, the only item of clothing she was wearing was the dress—the shawl had fallen away long ago, and she'd left the heels outside her room.
Unsure what possessed her to do it, but feeling bold, she reached to touch his hair. The caramel waves were soft despite the pomade that swept it aside. Finnigan closed his eyes, and as she combed her fingers through his hair, he gave a murmur of approval.
His hair was soft, and she was pleased to find it was not another wig. Still standing, she ran both her hands through his hair. His head lolled back, a contented smile gracing his face. It warmed her heart to see him relax like this around her. As she continued massaging his scalp, she searched for the mysterious link that had connected them in the kitchens, the one that had allowed her to sense his magic, but there was nothing.
He gave a low moan.
“Shall I keep going?” she asked, her voice guttural.
“Yes,” he whispered, but a moment later, his eyes flew open, and he said, “No.”
“No?” she hesitated, fingers still tangled in the wavy locks. “You want me to stop?”
He shook his head as if to say, No, but out loud, he said, “Yes.”
“Why? I thought—?”
“Because,” said Finnigan, taking her hand as he rose from his chair before leaning down to kiss it, “you deserve to be courted properly.”
Leyna couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed as she walked back to her room—and more than a little confused. An hour ago, she'd entered Finnigan’s room, intending to search it. She'd been trying to find answers, all the while hoping to uncover evidence to rule out his involvement in the king’s death. Yet, somewhere between now and then, amidst the mystery of the evening, she had kissed him. And he had kissed her back. It was the last thing she had expected to happen. Why had she kissed him? And what would have happened if he hadn’t stopped them?
Leyna respected his insistence to court her ‘properly’. He was trying to be chivalrous, and yet…she still couldn’t help but feel snubbed. She would not have been able to stop herself had he allowed himself to be any less of a gentleman.
Sophie was waiting for her when she arrived back in her room.
“Your mother is furious,” moaned Sophie. “You’ve been gone a long time. And Lord Brighton left half an hour ago. Where were you?”
“I’ll explain later,” Leyna said, wondering if she could; Finnigan had asked her to only refer to him as Lord Cornelius Brighton and to be careful with what details she shared with others. How much would she be able to share with Sophie? Or Grace?
Almost nothing, she realised.
“You may as well tell my mother I’m back,” she said resignedly to Sophie, who gave her a look of pity before leaving to fetch her mother.
Meanwhile, a soft knock sounded behind her from the door to the corridor.
“Come in,” she said. There was a draft, and a moment later, a hand slipped into hers and squeezed it before releasing it again.
A few seconds later, Lady Saunders could be heard shouting from beyond the adjoining door.
“Leyna! Oh, you foolish girl, how could you do this to your father and I! I could not have been more embarrassed! And to jilt a great man like Lord Brighton!” Leyna stood bravely in the centre of her room, taking a steadying breath as her mother’s voice drew nearer. The door banged opened, and Lady Saunders appeared, her face alight with fury as she swatted at the tangled gauze of her shawl. “And when he realised you had left, the gentleman left in such a hurry!”
Her wide eyes flashed at Leyna. “There you are, girl. My goodness, you’ll lead yourself to ruin if you carry on like—”
Her mother’s words cut off, her jaw dropping as she noticed Lord Cornelius Brighton, who was standing beside Leyna, looking exceedingly pleased with himself—like a cat who got the cream. It took only a moment for the anger to be wiped from Lady Saunders’ face, and soon she was embracing both of them, going so far as to pinch Leyna’s cheeks in delight.
“Oh, Leyna, my sweet girl—I knew you would charm him back if you set your heart on it!” Her eyes flickered downward. “Although, I daresay the dress had something to do with it, wouldn’t you say?”
“It’s certainly very pretty, ma’am,” said Cornelius agreeably, giving Leyna a secret wink before adding in a low voice that only she could hear, “although I must admit, I do have a weakness for a lady in uniform.”
Maintaining a smile through gritted teeth, Leyna tried to subtly stomp on his foot—but she still hadn’t retrieved her heels from the corridor, and the effect was lost, causing Cornelius to grin more widely.
Her father was also pleased at Cornelius’ return, although for reasons of his own. Apparently, Cornelius had made a good impression on him earlier when they had discussed poetry at great length.
“Is that Cornelius?” he asked when they entered the suite, lowering his book and raising his eyebrows.
Leyna raised hers as well, surprised that he was already on a first-name basis with Cornelius.
“Yes, sir,” said Cornelius politely, but Lady Saunders hit her husband’s shoulder briskly with her fan.
“He’s not here for you, my dear—he’s here for our Leyna! So no discussing poetry, I forbid it!” She ushered Leyna and Cornelius out onto the balcony, promising to join them with tea soon.
Leyna knew her mother would take her time in joining them so they could be alone together. As she leant on the balcony rail, she thought of the moment she and Finnigan had kissed. She was trying hard to think of him as Cornelius, the wizard she had met at the Guild, but all she could think of was Finnigan’s lips and the way he had pulled her closer, his hands kneading her arms and waist as if he couldn’t get close enough. A rush of heat pulsed through her body, and she couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across her face.
“I think I know what you’re thinking,” said Finnigan, standing close enough that their arms touched.
“Oh?” she asked, flustered. Had it been that obvious?
“I think you’re thinking of how beautiful the gardens look this time of day.”
Leyna opened her mouth, then closed it again. The gardens were certainly beautiful, with the green of it touched with gold as the sun sank low, but it was not at all what she'd been thinking. “Yes, indeed, they are beautiful.”
“Well, I’m thinking of how much I enjoyed kissing you earlier.”
She shook her head at the cheeky smile spreading across his face. “Shameless!” she chastised him, stifling a laugh. “My parents will be here any moment.”
“I know, you’re right. I’ll behave.” Finnigan looked down at his hands, and as he examined his fingers, she blurted out the question she’d been holding back.
“Why me?”
He shot her a look of puzzlement, and she hurried to clarify.
“Why are you attracted to me? Is it just the flirting? Or…”
She was making a mess of the words.
“I’ll admit, I do enjoy teasing you,” he chuckled, “and I like that you give as good as you get. But it’s more than that.”
“Go on.”
He straightened. “Alright. Well, for starters, I know these weeks have been difficult for us all. But seeing you thrive under the pressure of it, seeing you at your best, following your dreams as a huskarl, knowing what you want and pursuing it…that I can respect.”
“You don’t always agree with my choices, though,” she pointed out. “The jester didn’t, at any rate. If I recall, he said something about me having an infamous reputation.”
“Yes, well, it’s easy to preach. How does one choose between duty and morals?”
“It should be easy,” she replied. “There shouldn’t be a need to choose. Not if one is doing the right thing.”
“Ah,” he smiled, waggling a finger. “But what happens when the two do not coincide, hm?”
Leyna shrugged. “I don’t know, but…without rules, society would fall apart. We don’t have a choice except to follow them, do we?”
Finnigan smiled down at his hands. “If only life truly was that simple. But things tend to get complicated, at least in my experience.” He lifted his head suddenly, the bright smile returning to his face. “But, do you know…” he took her hand. “I must admit, I’ve been falling for you ever since the feast.”
Leyna swallowed. “Oh?”
“Yes, indeed, I think I’ve loved you from the moment you knocked that goblet from the king’s hands. I liked your moxie.”
“Oh,” she said again, speechless as her face grew warm.
“Tea!” announced Lady Saunders, and Finnigan quickly released her hand.
Her mother bustled onto the balcony with Sophie, who was overloaded with a tray of biscuits, cakes, teapots, and cups.
Finnigan leant down to Leyna’s ear so that only she would hear him and, murmuring under his breath, said, “You know, I really do like that dress on you.” His gaze trailed up and down her so intently that her skin tingled and her bare shoulders lifted as she quivered.
Chapter thirty-one
The Boy
After the tea party, Leyna’s spirits were high, and not even the stress of making more arrests that evening could detract from her newfound happiness.
The night shift was long, and it was already dawn when she finally lumbered up the stairs to her room. Her body was tired, but she felt lighter than air, and smiled to find a single red rose waiting outside her room. A small white card was tied to the stem with a ribbon and simply read:
Fancy a stroll in the gardens tomorrow before dinner?
The card wasn’t signed.
She scribbled a reply at her desk and sent it via a messenger to Lord Brighton’s room.
There was another rose waiting for her the following morning and another the morning after that. In the week that followed, barely a day passed that she didn’t see Finnigan in the form of Lord Brighton. They usually met in a public setting like the gardens or the Hall of Statues, but there was one afternoon where his cryptic note led her into a hedge maze.
The maze was relatively simple compared to the one at the Wizarding Guild. It had straight, immaculate walls and lacking any dangerous traps—but in her attempts to find Finnigan, she managed to get lost.
Leyna shrieked when a masked figure leapt out in front of her, his cloak billowing fiercely as he lunged forward, trying to seize her. She bolted, and even though she knew it was Jester in pursuit, her heart thundered as he chased her through the maze. She didn’t get far, and cried out when he caught her and hauled her off her feet. She was laughing as he spun her round, and then he pushed her against a hedge, grinning mischievously as his body pressed close.
Their lips met, and the kiss was sweet and hot, his touch agonisingly gentle and restrained as her yearning built. Hidden in the maze’s shadowy depths and cocooned between him and the leafy bushes, their hands roamed. She explored much of him, finally summoning the courage to trail her hand up along his trousers and stroke the hard rod that pressed against her. Several hoarse moans escaped Jester’s mouth, and his head lolled back, but to her disappointment, he didn’t allow her to undo the fastenings of his clothes.
“We should stop,” Jester panted, and she marvelled at his self-restraint as he disentangled himself from her and bid her goodbye, arms crossed as he leant against the hedge. “You go on ahead. I need a moment.”
Leyna walked back to the castle alone, her body aching with a wild, untamed fire she could not control, and the feeling was tantalising and addictive. It was the first time Finnigan had kissed her since he’d caught her in his room, and she needed more.
“Your rouge has smudged,” a straight-faced Grace pointed out at dinner.
Leyna hadn't been wearing makeup. Mortified, she reached for her napkin to remove the evidence.
Life at the castle was wonderful again. The courtship gave her something else to focus on besides the Massacre, and the anticipation of seeing Finnigan each day made her entire body tingle. She went about her duties with a permanent smile, never knowing when she might bump into him, nor what disguise he would wear.
Even the presence of the demons, which were now a common sight in both Royad and the castle, did not frighten her as they once had.
The only dampener on her days was the unusual tension between her and Grace. At first, Grace had been all-enthusiasm when Leyna told her about the courtship, pressing her for details and swooning over the roses. It had reminded Leyna of how things had been before the Court Massacre.
After the first week of courtship, however, Grace grew quiet and withdrawn, and Leyna quickly realised that her relationship with Finnigan served as an uncomfortable reminder of Quinn’s imprisonment and what Grace had lost. Feeling guilty, Leyna asked Finnigan to stop sending her roses and did her best to avoid discussing him altogether, even though she wanted nothing more than to confide in her friend.
Meanwhile, Grace was able to talk of little else but Quinn.
“Oh, Leyna, I just wish I could see him,” she said, sitting on the edge of the bed in a night robe. “Everyone keeps talking about how he’s guilty, and the more I hear them say it, the more I’m starting to believe it too.” She clapped her hands to her mouth as if horrified at her own words. “Gosh, Leyna, I shouldn’t have said that.”
“It’s alright.”
“I know he’s innocent. He has to be, right?”
“I hope so. But Grace, you should really rest.” She ushered Grace into bed and tucked her in. “I’m sure the truth will come out in the trial.”
“But when Leyna? I’ve been waiting, and it’s been weeks. How much longer must he stay in there? It must be so dark and cold…what if he thinks I’ve given up on him?”
“He won’t. I’ll keep trying for a visit.”
Captain Marton had continued to deny their repeated requests to visit Quinn. His loyalty to the lord regent was unwavering, if only because he held the chain of command in such high reverence.
Bidding Grace goodnight, she went downstairs to the training yards, mindful of how she placed her feet so her leg didn’t give out. As long as she didn’t stand on it a certain way, it was fine. To her dismay, the limp had not improved, and now everyone at court knew her as ‘the huskarl with the limp’. Finnigan had noticed and offered to look at it, but she’d declined. Despite her growing intimacy with him—or perhaps because of it—she’d grown afraid to show him her leg, not wanting to risk putting him off. This wasn’t a rational decision, but as time went by, her feelings for him grew, and she was reluctant to do anything to jeopardise their budding relationship.
As the captain briefed the assembled guards on the mission ahead, she struggled not to smile. Her mind kept wandering upstairs to Finnigan’s bedroom, and an impish part of her wanted nothing more than to seek him out.
The captain must have misinterpreted her daydreaming for enthusiasm because he assigned her to lead the arrest that night.
“Good to see you finally stepping up, Saunders. There are far too many traitor sympathisers around here. The chamberlain has long recommended you for a leadership position, and I can see that you’re hungry to prove yourself—here’s your chance.”
Leyna was pleased that Percy had vouched for her—but less than pleased to lead the Arrest Unit. But the captain’s order was not optional.
“I won’t let you down, sir.”
The captain scrutinised her. “See that you don’t.”
That night’s arrest was for a woman named Jill Dobay residing in Royad. Even in light of Huskarl Beatrice’s treachery, Leyna had never expected to have to arrest a woman. According to Captain Marton, Jill was a spy for the Brotherhood, accused of passing on key information that had enabled the Court Massacre.
They rode through the dark streets of Royad, where the main road glowed blue from the magical flames of ancient torches that lined it on either side. Tonight was the first time that Leyna felt eager to make an arrest. The thought of Jill Dobay, a female spy, working directly against Finnigan and endangering him made her blood boil. It was a happy coincidence that she could lead this arrest. It would allow her to prove herself to the captain, and finally achieve what she had set out to do by becoming a huskarl: to protect the ones she loved. Lately, doubt had crept in whenever she contemplated her huskarlship, but the prospect of safeguarding Finnigan breathed new hope into her career aspirations.
She drew herself up taller as she rode beside the captain, cold determination driving her forward as they led the cavalry into the night.
Arriving outside the picturesque cottage, no one would ever have suspected that a traitor resided on the quiet, respectful street of Royad, where every house was framed by a low fence and garnished with grass. Jill’s home even had a tree, and although the cottage was small, the fact that it had a yard was—at least by city standards—impressive. The tall roof was triangular, and two chimneys sat at the side of the house. It was a peaceful night, and the faint murmur of an owl suggested all was well.
Leyna’s jaw stiffened. Like so many other arrests, the cottage’s appearance was misleading. The cavalry halted by the gate, awaiting her instructions. She dismounted and led the way up the curved path to the front door, nervous to be the one to go first, and her arm felt foreign as she reached forward to knock.
There was no answer, but she heard footsteps inside. Gradually, the footsteps faded, as if the person inside the house was moving further away.
She knocked again, her gaze darting back at Captain Marton, who shifted on his horse impatiently.
There was still no answer. She knocked a third time, dreading she might have to break the door down. Just when it seemed like she had no other choice, the footsteps inside the house grew louder again, moving closer, and the glow of a candle appeared at the window. A few moments later, the sound of a latch grating could be heard, and then the door creaked open.
