A Court of Whispers and Song

Chapter 30

The shadowsinger had been lucky. There had been an ash tree in these woods, one in which he used the sticks as makeshift body skewers. Between the torture and the madness ensured by his shadows practically suffocating him until allowing him to breathe anew, the male sang with a godsdamn sparrow. And the Spymaster got the answers, Azriel more than he'd bargained for.

Yes, the foe was stupid enough to do the bidding of the Autumn Court. Though he was wise enough not to implicate the High Lord. No, he didn't know Merrill nor heard of her.

The prick was laughing as bloody saliva spewed through clenched teeth. "The redhead was a priestess here, right?" He stopped, tilting his head. "I thought she looked familiar. Did you know before I worked solo, I was a soldier?"

As Azriel vibrated with rage, he flipped a jagged piece of wood he had been sharpening in his hand. Without warning, the shadowsinger drove the branch through into the male's side. He screamed out, his body now spiked to the tree at five points.

"I never met her before...but I was well acquainted with her sister ."

Azriel became motionless, as did his shadows. He had never had the privilege of meeting Catrin Berdara. He'd been too late that fateful day. But he knew enough from Gwyn that her twin was adventurous. Artistic and loving. Trustworthy—perhaps, as he was understanding, to a fault.

"I wasn't at Sangravah that night, you know. But...sweet Catrin." The enemy licked his lips, dragging sanguine obscenely around his mouth and to his chin. "All I needed for Catrin to talk was a tender word and a passionate glance."

As the Spymaster's glare hardened, he scowled. "What are you talking about?"

The prisoner leaned forward as much as the spikes would allow, grunting. "How do you think I knew to tell Hybern to strike here? We were looking for these items as well—for the King."

The feet of the Cauldron, Az knew—but what the fuck else? The Spymaster considered and challenged, bearing Truth-Teller to the male's throat.

"Why should I answer?" His captive choked around the pressure on his windpipe. "You're just going to kill me, anyway."

"Because," Azriel crooned, passing the sharp edge just enough to draw blood. "I could make your death take much longer or this could all be over like—" The shadowsinger snapped his fingers, mentally picturing the prick's neck snapping at the sound, head flopping to one side. "Your choice. Or I could bring the shadows back and..."

They teemed at the ready, dark soldiers at his command; for Azriel to sing the grave song that would assuredly drive the man to slit his own throat as slowly as the shadowsinger allowed.

That got the idiotic man's attention. "They sent us to locate the Cauldron feet... the Dread Trove.... and the Seer Stone. Hybern was searching for anything to win the war!"

Seer Stone? The Spymaster had never heard of before. But since they had the other items, didn't take a genius to figure out what they'd most likely been in pursuit of this day. Azriel picked up another semi-sharp stick carrying the makeshift weapon.

"Of course you know we got the feet. But Catrin, that delightful, crafty minx. She must have told someone or known something was awry after our last fling at the tavern. A real pity they killed her."

Did Catrin know? Had she warned the priestesses, and they weren't quick enough to hide the Cauldron foot?

The soon-to-be-dead mercenary clicked his tongue. "Despite Catrin Berdara's grotesque webbed hands, she was a genuine pleasure in bed and gave a superb hand job. Though I wager the other Berdara is even bet—"