Page 12 of Onyx Cage: Volume II

Again.

All week long, I had fielded subtle and less-subtle remarks about my captive, including several furious comments from Nils about ourallowing herto escape—a fact I wasn’t about to acknowledge—but the reception was the first time that Iiro dared to broach the subject.

He approached me near the refreshment table, striding over with a chilled glass of my best vodka in his hand.

“I was surprised that it was not your own wedding announcement we received,” he said, with a not-so-sly glance toward my father, who was also standing in our small group. “Especially considering that Lady Mila is the highest-ranking available lady…in Socair.”

Iiro’s lips curved into an oily smile as he raised his glass to his mouth. I hadn’t missed the way he stressed those last two words, and the implication therein. He was both baiting me and fishing for information I had no intention of giving him.

It did, however, provide an excellent opportunity for me to remind him of his standing with any ladies who were not in Socair.

“Indeed,” I said, taking a sip from my own glass of vodka. “It’s fortunate you are in talks with Mikhail again, considering the messy business with my clan’sownershipof your brother’s previous choice.”

I shot him a cold smirk, and his own tightened in response.

“Yes, where is your property these days?” he countered.

Probably eating pastries and attending balls and enjoying a life well away from the whirlwind of excrement she left the rest of us.

It was my father who answered, his voice like ice. “She is wherever we allow her to be.”

Of course, Iiro knew perfectly well that wasn’t true. At least, he thought he knew that. Surely, his brother must have told him about Rowan’sescape, at the very least. Not that Iiro could reveal that information without implicating his brother and his clan.

The Duke of Elk opened his mouth, then closed it once more. The room had become quieter, the conversation picked up on by more than one subtly listening ear, and that was not the Socairan way.

“As you say,” Iiro finally acknowledged with an incline of his head.

Another clap of thunder boomed through the room, and the moment passed, but the satisfied glint in Iiro’s eyes remained.

I reminded myself that we were now allied with three of the nine clans, including the most militant and the most influential. Our armies were larger than Elk’s, and our coffers were deeper. Iiro couldn’t possibly hope to gain any traction for the throne with those odds.

And yet, his smirk didn’t waver.

Der’mo.

The pass opened shortly after Taras's wedding. There was no army waiting on the other side of the melted ice and snow, nor was there any threat of one materializing. No word from Lochlann at all.

I sent several of my spies out, and all returned with the same news.

Iiro had tripled the guard around the tunnel, likely anticipating a two-pronged attack, but there were no signs that Lochlann was inclined in that direction. Aside from a slightly bulkier presence on their side of the pass, there was no change at all in the state of the border.

I had no doubt that the other clans were already reaching out for alliances, but I bided my time. King Logan appeared to have every ounce of his daughter’s temper, and no great love for our people, least of all my clan.

My single encounter with him was one of the many things I had no desire to dwell on, even as the memories assaulted me. A pale, delicate hand on his bicep, stopping the motion of his sword. A quiet plea. Lips parted on unspoken words that formed and died in the frigid night air.

When I had waited as long as I could, I finally drafted out a carefully worded request for Taras and Mila to visit Lochlann.

The messenger bird returned a day and a half later, a tersely worded affirmation with a short list of parameters I had no choice but to agree to, including a limit on how many men I could send.

It was a small number for a retinue, placing the onus for a show of trust entirely on my clan. An itch formed betweenmy shoulder blades, but the Lochlannians appeared to be more brash than they were underhanded.

Taras and Mila would be safe, though, which was my primary concern in that regard. One of my soldiers was worth at least four ordinary men. Perhaps the King of Lochlann knew as much, and that was why the limit was placed.

Besides,shewould never let any harm come to her friends—and no matter how she went about leaving, I knew that she considered both Mila and my cousin just that to her.

I wrote to my cousin to call him back to the estate, working out the timing, mentally recalling a list of books on Lochlannian customs to ensure we gave them no reason to deny us—aside from the obvious.

Then, I strode out to the sparring ring and calmly plucked two practice swords from the wall.