Thread of Ash and Fire

Ch. 20: The Sword and Crown

She decided to take a stab. "Eris Delafort."

Everett paused, his hand hovering over a card. "Fascinating. And what's your business with our king?"

Anna squeezed her legs together, surreptitiously blocking Frank's hand from entering dangerous territory. "Forgive me, your lordship, but a lady is entitled to discretion."

"Perhaps," Everett murmured. "But you're not a lady." He cocked his head. "You're not his usual type. Far too docile."

Anna held his gaze. Suddenly, she could feel the weight of Eris's chest pressing into her back, his lips brushing her shoulder. His phantom breath ghosted her ear: you have a lovely scream. The scars on her back burned.

"I think you'd be surprised," Anna said evenly.

Something flickered in Everett's eyes. Interest, perhaps, or maybe wariness. His gaze swept over her, lingering on her mouth. Anna leaned forward to pick up Frank's tankard, letting her dress slip an inch lower, and Everett's eyes grew dark.

"You never told us your name," Everett said.

Anna smiled. "Anastasia."

Always best, Anna figured, to go for something close to her name; it was more likely that she'd respond to it. Everett raised his tankard. "Pretty. Is that Lucernian?"

Anna shook her head. "Loxian. My mother grew up in Bardan."

"Ah." Everett took a sip. "The city of skies."

"City of Sighs, actually," Anna corrected. "Because of the winds."

Everett studied her over the rim of his tankard. He was testing her, she realized with some surprise; seeing if he could trip her up. Frank's hand inched further up her thigh, and Anna held out his beer; he ruffled her hair affectionately.

"Good lass," Frank murmured appreciatively, his hand disappearing from her leg.

Anna smiled.

"Eris never mentioned an Anastasia," Everett said.

His face was guarded. Anna toyed with the necklace at her throat, drawing the cold iron between her breasts, and Everett's gaze lingered there.

"No," she said, dropping the necklace. "He wouldn't have. His lordship made it clear that he didn't intend to share."

Everett raised an eyebrow. "How old are you?"

"Twenty," Anna lied.

In truth, her nineteenth birthday was next month, but it wouldn't do to appear too young. She couldn't risk putting Everett off. He gave her a considering gaze, then knocked back his drink, rising from his seat.

"Come with me," he said.

It wasn't a suggestion. Frank's hand tightened around her waist.

"Nice try," Frank said. "This one's mine."

"And yet," Everett said coolly, "she's been watching me all night." He held out a hand. "Come with me. I have honey wine upstairs."

Anna rose. She could feel Ryne watching as she took Everett's hand — warm and surprisingly calloused for a nobleman — and trailed him across the tavern. She caught Ryne's eye as she mounted a stair; his green eyes were burning, his jaw clenched. Then Everett put a hand on her back, and the others vanished from view.

The air was dustier upstairs. Low moans of pleasure emanated from the walls, along with the occasional rhythmic smack of a headboard. Anna kept her eyes fixed straight ahead. She had to walk with purpose, she thought, as if she'd been here a million times before. Because as far as Everett knew, she had.