Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-One: Dinner with a Devil
She was ready.
The preparations had finally been finished, the sun was in the process of dipping below the horizon, and Ella was staring at herself in the mirror that hung on the wall, wondering if she was being watched through the glass even as she gazed into her own eyes.
The dark blue gown fit her like a glove, looking and even feeling rather airy. It was completely unlike the frilly, cumbersome gowns that so many women were fond of, but in its own way, the simplicity of the design somehow enhanced the fact that it looked so elegant.
It clung comfortably to her waist and chest, and at the throat, the gown had been cut in a simple manner, giving her room to breathe and better yet, there were no sleeves, which gave her arms freedom to move around.
She sighed, then twirled in a circle, watching the ankle-length skirt balloon outwards like a flower before cascading back down in dark, silken folds. She'd tied her hair back into a neat ponytail with a matching dark blue ribbon, and as she examined it, she found that she actually rather liked the way her tresses looked tied back.
"I'm ready," she said, swallowing her nervousness. "I have to be strong and get answers."
Patting her cheeks and steeling herself to face the embarrassment she knew was going to come the moment she showed her face to the others, she snatched the white elbow-length gloves she'd brought into the bathroom and pulled them on, covering her pale arms.
She looked at herself once more and wondered, for a moment, if Xaphile would think she looked beautiful; her heart fluttered and her cheeks flamed hot, but she quickly shook her head, telling herself not to get distracted since his little brother was in serious trouble.
She could remember the distraught look on his face after first coming out of the bath, and that was why she needed to do her best. Opening the door, she walked out with her head held high and everyone immediately looked up, but instead of poking fun at her like she was expecting, her friends stayed dead silent and simply stared at her with wide eyes.
Ella, however, couldn't move because she'd locked gazes with Xaphile. His exotically upturned aquamarine irises flitted across her dress with an intensity that made her heart pound.
She tried her hardest not to fidget as he looked her up and down, but when his eyes lifted and connected with her own yet again, his face flushed and he instantly pulled a strand of his long black hair over his shoulder, running unseen claws through it.
"Wow!" Vrael finally screamed, rising to his feet. "Is that really you?!"
Ella's brow twitched and she glared at him, crassly folding her arms.
"Of course it's me, you idiot," she barked. "Don't get too full of yourself."
"You clean up nicely," Sinmir murmured. "I hope the same can be said of me."
She turned and saw that the prince had dressed himself up in attire that looked completely different from his typical bland armor and clothing, and not only that, his wild mane of blonde hair had been brushed and tied back into a lazy ponytail that began just below his neck.
She ogled his clothing.
He was wearing an embroidered red tunic with gold stitching over a shirt with elegant ruffles running down the chest, and his white tights actually went very well with his knee-high black boots. She found herself wondering where he'd gotten such extravagant finery until she remembered who he was and gave herself a mental smack.
"You look like someone of your rank should," Ella allowed, scratching her ear. "For the first time, you look like a prince, Sinmir. The sight is actually quite strange to me."
"Not as strange as that gown you're wearing," the blonde chuckled, then nudged Xaphile's arm in a rather aggressive manner. "Isn't she a sight, Phil?"
Ella turned her eyes back on Xaphile, burning hopeful holes in his face until she realized he was gazing at her with an expression of... sadness?
She instantly glanced down at herself, then back up at the boy who continued to stare at her with an emotion that made his eyes go misty.
She felt a lump forming in her throat as she wondered who, exactly, he was seeing.
"You look beautiful," he mumbled, turning even redder in the face. "That dress looks amazing on you, Ella. It's a shame you don't wear clothes like that more often."
Her anxiety, irritation, and cold sinking heart abruptly vanished, replaced with a warm glow.
"Well, it's getting close to the time we were supposed to meet him," Sinmir said with a glance at the window, and he stood up. "We'd better get going. While we get answers, you keep trying to contact your brother, all right?"
"I will," Xaphile admitted.
"Be careful," Amelia warned.
"Very careful," Vrael added. "And good luck!"
"Contact me if something goes wrong," Xaphile said softly, making her eyes flit to his face. "I'm grateful to you for everything that you're doing, Ella, but don't get yourself into trouble on my behalf, all right?"
"Oh, bah!" Sinmir scoffed, waving a hand around. "We'll be fine, lad. Ella will scream if something goes wrong, won't you, Ella?"
"Like a dying demon," she said, sounding a lot more chipper and a lot less nervous than she felt.
After one last look at Xaphile, she allowed herself to be led out of the red room and into the gorgeous wood-paneled hallway beyond. The gown brushed against her legs as she walked, making her uncomfortable and self-conscious since she worried that she would trip.
As they walked, Sinmir kept his grey eyes fixed on the hall ahead of them.
"So... Spack," he said, long blonde ponytail swinging back and forth against his broad, brawny back. "He seems thoughtful. Pretty flowers, at least."
"I don't know much about him," Ella admitted. "The last time I saw him was eleven years ago."
"I'm just hoping this isn't some sort of mistake, Ella."
She frowned. "So am I."
Sinmir mirrored her expression, crimson tunic rustling above his white tights and worn black boots, but before she could so much as blink, he whirled around and grabbed her arm.
Ella flinched as she was shoved against the wall.
"We shouldn't follow through with this," Sinmir growled. "You and I both know unlike the others of our group, that something is very amiss with this situation."
"I understand why you may think so," she said softly, keeping a straight face when his hands tightened on her shoulders. "In fact, I wholeheartedly agree with you... something is very amiss, but I can't place why things have taken the turn they have. I can't figure it out Sinmir, and truthfully, I'm direly worried that Spack might be the one."
Sinmir's hands loosened and he looked visibly confused until the meaning behind her words clicked.
He froze, eyes widening in shock.
"You think he might be the one who was infiltrating the dreams of those around you?" he whispered, blinking rapidly when she gave him a curt nod. "Gods above... it might just explain how he knew where to look for us. This isn't good at all."
"True, but I have a strange feeling that all will be revealed before we leave here," she said grimly, clasping his wrist and squeezing tightly. "I'm more worried about what will come after, though."
Sinmir let go of her, looking puzzled.
"After we rescue Adariel, you mean?" he quipped. "Why? Are you worried about what might happen if we take him?"
"No," Ella sighed, shaking her head. "I'm worried about what will become of Xaphile."
His demeanor changed instantly and he looked grim.
"I know what you mean," he said slowly. "If what you say he did to those men is the truth, we'll have to tell him what he did ourselves once Adariel is out of harm's way if he doesn't remember himself."
"I'm prepared," Ella sniffed, shivering slightly. "I'm hoping that his heart will remain steadfast, but he's bloodied his hands with the lives of other men, Sinmir, despicable though those men may have been."
Sinmir's mouth tightened and he instantly turned to continue walking.
"I don't think anyone would have been able to control themselves if filth such as that had blatantly admitted to doing such heinous things to a child," he gruffly countered, clenching his fists and grinding his teeth. "Makes my blood burn. Were those bastards still alive, I would be out looking to gut them all myself. I'm equal parts proud of Xaphile, and worried for his mind."
"I feel the same," Ella said, feeling a faint smile pulling at her lips. "Strange, isn't it? How he can do that?"
"Do what?"
"Pull people who are so closed off to the world out of themselves so easily," she murmured, clasping her hands together. "His heart is so good, Sinmir... anyone with eyes can see it, but because someone that beautiful is hurting so deeply... and because he can't even seem to see the good deep within himself... he just, draws everyone in somehow."
"And the people who do see his merits can't help but try their hardest to make him see what they do when they look at him," Sinmir said, mouth pulling into a knowing grin. "You're sly, Ella."
As he spoke, they turned, making their way down the grand staircase.
"It doesn't help that he's so easy on the eyes," Ella admitted, then rubbed her nose. "Enough, we're getting off topic. Let's get back to focusing on the task at hand."
"Well, we're almost there," Sinmir said, escorting her down the last step. "Are you ready?"
She squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, and tossed her shoulders back proudly.
"I'm as ready as I'll ever be," she said, and they stepped forward, making their way through the marble lobby towards an open door.
The sound of clanking silverware and boisterous chatter came from off in the distance.
Ella glanced around when they walked through the entrance, amazed by the interior design.
It wasn't like the lobby floor with its seemingly endless ceiling or reflective surfaces everywhere she looked. This floor had been filled from top to bottom with lustrously dark wood. Brass oil lanterns hung from the low ceiling of a huge, wide room full of people dressed in formal attire.
Ella cringed, since most of them were milling about like frilly peacocks and dapper penguins.
A set of red velvet ropes created a short pathway that led to a wooden podium, and behind this podium stood a man with a gray comb-over, beady eyes, and a tux. He even had a monocle, the tall-and-wiry-butler stereotype completed by this small yet hilarious detail.
"This is why I took the path of a warrior rather than a noble," Ella muttered as she studied the people gliding all around. A string quartet played in a distant and dim corner; several frilly couples danced to the soft tune in clouds of silk and satin.
"Those ballgowns make you look a little under-dressed," Sinmir whispered, gesturing at one of the women sitting in the corner. "What's all over that one, diamonds?"
Ella shrugged, finding the outfit to be utterly revolting.
She noticed a row of curtained windows at the room's back, and in front of them someone had placed tables covered in white linen. She couldn't see them too well considering the dim mood lighting, but the white showed up well because there was a candle on each and every table.
The man in the suit snapped open a slim leather book when they stopped in front of his stand.
"Name, please," he intoned in a nasal voice.
Ella held her head high and met his gaze with all the regalness of a monarch.
"Ellameira Rochard," she said, giving him a stern stare, "representative of Nimika."
"So, it's an ambassador, is it?" the man did not seem impressed, but his huge mustache twitched atop his lip like a slug as his eyes flickered toward the open book in his hands. He traced whatever was written there with his gaze. "Ellameira, Ellameira..."
"I'm here to meet someone," she added. "An orc named Spack."
The man's eyes popped open wide.
"Oh, so you're that Ella," he said, staring at the list with new interest. Probably feigned; he knew who she was and just loved dragging it out. She could see it in his eyes. His expression took on the look of someone more than a little eager to do some major sucking up. "Spackley is waiting for you, Ella. Allow me to escort you?"
"As you wish," she said, and was about to follow him when the man's nose wrinkled. she realized that he was looking behind her.
"Is there something on my face?" Sinmir inquired, uncomfortable in the spotlight.
"You," said the man, looking down his nose... or rather, up his nose, as a result of Sinmir's large height, "are not allowed to enter here, sir."
Ella bristled. "He's with me."
"And you are with Sir Spackley," the guy she was beginning to hate with a passion said. "I was specifically told not to allow any companions to follow you to dinner tonight."
He addressed Ella instead of Sinmir, who was standing in plain sight, and her dislike was instantly apparent.
"I am not sure I understand," she said, scowling her very best. "My bodyguard is here to assure my safety, sir, and if he leaves my side then I am being placed at very obvious risk."
"Nonsense, you are just as safe here as you would be within the castle," he sneered, "and not to mention any friend of Spackley deserves... how should I put this... 'special treatment'? So, I'm afraid your bodyguard will have to wait out in the lobby. Or leave. It's none of my business."
"I beg to differ," Ella said calmly. "The disrespect to him is highly inappropriate."
The man merely sniffed and turned to go, nose in the air.
"Follow me, Lady Ella."
"I'm sorry," she said, instantly stepping forward, "but not going without S--"
Before she could finish, her tall friend put his arm around her shoulders.
"It's fine. Calm down," he murmured; his breath whispered through the hair on her head's crown. "If you need me, scream. I'll be nearby."
Ella moved away and turned to look at him worriedly.
"Do you mean that?" she demanded, swallowing. "I... for the first time in years, I don't actually have my daggers with me, Sinmir. They would have shown through the dress, so I left them... and while I'm doing well with the unusual barehanded lessons Xaphile is giving me, I..."
She trailed off, fretting and worried and anxious, but he merely smiled. Stepping close, he set a very gentle hand behind her head and pulled her against him. Her cheek was instantly met with the soft fabric of his tunic and she blinked as he stroked her hair.
"I would never," he rumbled, deep voice vibrating her ear, "let anything happen to you, Ella. I may not agree with your past actions, and we may not see eye to eye on certain things, but I genuinely care for you and see great potential inside you."
"Eh?" Ella whispered, eyes widening slightly. "What?"
"You heard me," he chuckled, tightening his grip. "I am too deeply involved with the lives of you and those other foolish kids to let you get yourselves in trouble. We met by chance, but I believe that fate kept all of us together, and after this is all over... no matter how far away I am, I will always be close enough to get you idiotic kids out of trouble if you ever need me."
The heartfelt words moved her and stunned her both.
"Why would you go so far?" she whispered, staring blankly at the wall. "Why? You're another country's future ruler, Sinmir! You're the prince of Adanac! Why waste so much effort sticking to someone like me, or even the rest of us? I don't understand."
"Like you said earlier," he murmured, then leaned down close to her ear and whispered, "I got drawn in. And I'm determined to stay in, because Xaphile... he reminds me of my son."
Ella froze, eyes widening in shock.
"Son?" she breathed, instantly jerking away and looking up at him. "Son?!"
"Aye," he said, shaking his head. "Now is not the time, but later, once this is over... I wish to disclose a few things to you in confidence. It might help you understand why I'm still here."
Ella stared at him, feeling jolts of shock and dismay running through her, because how could a twenty three year old man have a son? It didn't make any sense at all. With a great sigh, she pushed her confused inner ramblings aside and inclined her head.
"As you wish," she said, then glared, "but I want an explanation, later."
"You'll have one," he chuckled, then turned and walked away without looking back at her . "See ya soon, lass. Oh, and try and trip baldy, there. Or pop him one for me. Whichever works."
"I will," Ella called as he vanished. When she turned back around, the waiter was glaring at her, but as soon as they made eye contact he schooled his features into a more pleasant mask.
"This way," he said, voice losing some of its silk, and they took the plunge into decadence and pomp, but as they moved a scent washed over her, a scent that smelled of warmth and honey and homey goodness, and when she took a sharp path around a table she realized just why that scent took hold of her attention with such unrelenting force.
There was a familiar sprig of purple flowers fountaining from the depths of his lapel.
Ella scowled, wrinkling her nose until Spackley came into view. His looming figure bolted upright and he laughed brightly when she appeared.
"Ella, so glad you could make it!" he bellowed, making everyone glance at him; then he paused, looking her up and down with those bright blue eyes gleaming. "A gown... you're really wearing a gown! Oh, my, you look positively ravishing!"
Ella nodded politely as she approached, but Spackley only sat down after the waiter pulled her chair out. The smell she'd noticed earlier hit her so hard in the face that she nearly cringed.
There comes a point when any smell gets annoying.
It's typically the result of an overabundance of said smell.
A woman drowning herself in perfume certainly makes people prefer to be upwind of her; a chef saturated in the scents of his trade requires a bath after work in order not to ward people off with his spice-laden cologne; a fisherman might smell so much like wet dog after a day on the water that they can't go out until they scrub the scent from their skin.
Pleasant scents, disgusting scents, neutral scents... all of them had the potential to be repugnant if they come upon a person en masse, and en masse they most certainly were when Ella sat down at the table and found herself staring at a humongous bouquet of familiar purple bells, a sprig of the same in the waiter's lapel, and an even bigger sprig in Spack's shirt pocket.
She feigned a smile at him, perhaps a little awkwardly considering that they had an audience practically salivating to serve them... well, to serve Spackley. The waiter wouldn't stop staring at him like a loyal dog.
"You may go," the orc said a moment later, giving him a sharp look. "I'll call when I need you."
The waiter's face fell, crestfallen, but he left anyway.
"He's certainly good at his job," Ella muttered, not quite intending for Spackley to hear, but he did anyway and nodded in agreement.
"Maybe too good."
"But you can't fire him?"
"Unfortunately," Spackley drawled, and then something seemed to dawn in the recesses of his bright blue eyes. "Wait a minute..."
Ella smirked through her silver lashes, not raising her head.
"I guessed you had something to do with this Inn as a whole when the waiter nearly wet his pants at the sound of your name," she said, toying with one of the gilded forks on the tabletop. The utensil had been patterned with the stylized rendition of one of the purple flowers. "I doubted it at first because you are, by all rights, Lord McCarthy's concubine."
"I'm not ashamed of my lot in life," Spackley rumbled, letting out a dreamy sigh and setting his chin on his palms. "My sole purpose is to satisfy this land's ruler with my body. I am treated well, I am loved and trusted by him, and I am free to do as I wish when I am not ravaging him."
Ella's face twitched when he smirked at her.
"And he is satisfied by this?"
"Oh, more than satisfied," Spack giggled wickedly. "He screams for more every time. It's pitiful, really, the things I can make him say and beg for when he's beneath me in bed."
Her face twinged a second time since his eyes had shifted in a manner that had her feeling on edge, but she kept her mask firmly in place after that, reminding herself to be wary.
"Let's drop the niceties," she said softly, folding her gloved hands. "Indulge me, Spack... what do you know, how do you know it, and who are you in contact with?"
He grinned, but for whatever reason, his eyes drifted lower, across her chest.
"I know everything," he whispered, leaning close. "I know that you have all but committed treason, little Ella... you're protecting a halfling boy and consorting with another country's prince without the King's consent. And oh, it gets even better... so much better."
Ella froze when he lifted his large hand and set it on her breast, squeezing.
Eyes wide, she could only sit there, wanting to scream but unable to so much as blink.
If she made a scene, everyone would know.
Panic filled her.
"You're trying to court a primordial faery," he giggled lowly, squeezing hard; she flinched, biting her tongue in pain and revulsion, "and you're even planning on stealing the duke's favorite slave boy. Such a naughty girl... but what's this? Your fire's all but gone out."
He squeezed again for good measure and Ella closed her throat to stop the flurry of insults that wanted to escape. Tears of rage stung her eyes and she started breathing hard.
"Remove... your hand," she jerkily hissed. "Now."
"Or what?" the orc snickered, licking his protruding teeth with narrowed eyes. "Will you scream?"
"What are you after?" she spat under her breath. "What is it that you're seeking?!"
"Oh, I have a lovely proposition for you, little Ella," he chuckled lowly, leaning close and meeting her eyes with his own. "I've decided to help you get into the castle, and you can even buy my silence if things go wrong... for a price."
She cringed when he squeezed even harder.
"Why do I feel like your price is something terrible?" she hissed.
"Oh, it's not terrible, it's precious," he whispered, looking at her with eyes she recognized; eyes that belied what kind of creature he was, evil. "Give me your chastity and I'll hold my tongue."
Ella stared at him.
"Never," she said, tightening her jaw when he let go of her breast and drew back in surprise. "I treasure the last of my innocence more than my own life. I would never, ever give it to any but the one I marry. Even if you decide to tell others of my actions, I will not lie with you."
His eyes took on a barely masked tinge of frustration, then grew calculating.
"You would risk losing everything for the sake of your maidenhood?" he questioned. "It would seem that your pride blinds you to the predicament you're in. I know everything, Ella, and it's only thanks to me that you even have an opportunity to steal the little slave boy."
While he spoke, Ella realized something and she suddenly felt as if the sun had risen.
"Interesting," Ella said slowly, intently leaning forward. "Tell me, Spack, do you really think you can get away with telling people about my supposed crimes?"
"I do indeed," he said, smirking widely. "Hence why you should be a good girl and agree to take my offer before I decide to turn my attention elsewhere. Like, to the duke, perhaps."
"Oh?" Ella said, raising an eyebrow. "Go right ahead. By all means."
He paused when she spread her arms with a calm smile.
"You're bluffing," he said slowly. "You can't truly mean that."
"Oh, but I do, simply because you haven't yet realized that you can't blackmail me," she said with a low, angry chuckle. "I find it rather hilarious that you tried to."
He instantly froze.
"What do you mean?" he asked, looking more than a little nervous. "I... I know everything."
"See, and that right there is your problem," Ella said simply. "If you really know everything, it would suggest that you've been watching me for months without reporting my actions. And, if you haven't forgotten, that in itself is an act of high treason with the laws currently in place."
Sweat beaded on his brow and his eyes turned sheepish.
"You've figured me out," he sighed, lifting his arms. "Can't get anything past you."
"I won't forgive your actions," Ella coldly informed him. "What you tried to do was disgusting."
"Ah, well, it couldn't be helped," he said in a sly tone, eying her up and down. "You're finally of age... and I've always known you would grow into a beautiful little thing. That hair and those unusually fair features are a rare treasure. Claiming your first time would be an honor."
"An honor only my future husband shall have," Ella curtly retorted. "Now, are you going to tell me the truth? How did you know where to look for us?"
He merely shrugged.
"I've chosen to hold my tongue," he said pleasantly, lifting his eyes with a gee-I-wish-I-could-help-you-but-you-didn't-do-what-I-wanted-so-I-won't smile that thoroughly pissed her off. "Anything you want to know you might find out later."
"If you ever try to threaten me again," Ella warned, giving him a bitter smile of her own, "you won't have the means to be a concubine, Spackley. I am not to be trifled with."
"Indeed," he said, then leaned forward, giving her a long look. "You really are something else."
Silence descended on them.
Ella's boob hurt, the clanking chatter from the nobles around them was annoying, and the smell coming off the flowers was giving her a serious headache.
"Why are there so many of these flowers around here?" she finally grumbled. "Can you at least tell me that?"
"Flowers?"
He seemed bamboozled by this question.
"You know, the flowers," Ella said, waving her hand at the massive bunch on their table. They had been placed off-center so they could see one another, but there was no denying their abundant presence. "I've noticed them ever since I got here. They're even on the silverware."
Spackley stared at the symbols on the dishes with amusement.
"The breadflower is Aerika's new insignia, Ella," he murmured. "As of three years ago, this flower represents the country."
"I never heard tell of the country's banner changing," she said slowly. "We still have all the old banners down in Nimika... why weren't we informed?"
He looked smug.
"You're out of touch with everything," he murmured in a snide tone. "Such a shame."
Ella scowled, but just as she opened her mouth to demand what he meant, another waiter in a suit popped up.
"The wine you requested," he proclaimed, pushing a cart with a bottle, glasses, and a decanter arranged on its top toward their table. "The best we have."
During the spectacle of numerous decantings and pourings and tastings, Ella let her attention wander. Dozens of men and women dressed in their finest milled about, talking and chatting and drinking, and as she stared at their frilled number she noticed someone rather... familiar.
She went still.
He sat on a deep leather chair, gloved hands clenching into the upholstery like biting cobras, and dark hair the color of sin spilled onto his shoulders from within a black hood. She could tell he was powerfully built and very tall, but she couldn't discern anything past that because his body was hidden by a dark cloak and his face was covered by a strange silver mask.
The mask's cold metal features seemed serene, peaceful, but Ella could tell that the owner felt anything but good given the way his hands gripped the chair in desperation, or maybe anger.
A chill ran down her spine and she blinked, looking at him more closely.
It was the way he held himself...
"Something wrong?" Spackley suddenly asked, pulling her attention back.
"No," she said, hiding how much her heart was going nuts. "Rather than converse about trivial matters, let's get down to business, once again."
"And what sort of business haven't we already conducted?" the orc sniffed. "I had assumed this talk was over."
Ella leaned across the table and touched the collar of his shirt, and then, with the lightest of motions, she snatched the cloth and tightened, jerking his head closer.
"If you get in my way," she said slowly, narrowing her eyes, "things will go unpleasantly for you."
"My, my, threatening the duke's personal servant?" he asked, raising his brows. "You're very bold."
"That's my line," Ella vehemently countered. "I have a great deal of questions for the duke myself."
"Oh?"
"Indeed," she confirmed, narrowing her eyes. "It would please me greatly if you would clarify why an extremely young primordial faery that was clearly tied to my lands was kidnapped and illegally ferried beyond the southern border by slavers, all the way to this city."
Spack's eyes glinted, but he said nothing for several seconds.
"Be careful," he said, giving her a warning look. "If you dig too deeply, you won't get out again."
Ella raised an eyebrow.
"What's that supposed to mean."
"Find the child during the ball and get him out, if you can," Spack said, shaking his head. "All I can say is be careful. There are a lot of dangerous people out there, Ella, especially since The Terrace is going to be attending this ball."
Ella had no idea what 'The Terrace' was, but she filed the name away for future reference.
He sat back. She sat back. They avoided looking at one another until the waiter arrived with their food, and when they dug into it they did not speak more than a few pleasantries about how good it all tasted.
Ella couldn't remember what she ate that night since her mind spun with echoes of Spack's words and the implications they wrought. She wanted nothing more than to be back upstairs with Xaphile, and since nothing further was said between them, she decided to leave
Folding her napkin and rising, she turned to go, but Spack caught her wrist.
"Where are you going?" he demanded. "You haven't finished eating."
Ella clenched her free hand, then turned and gave him a glare.
"I'm leaving," she said coldly. "I came here for information, not to have dinner with a devil."
Shock and what looked like a twinge of hurt spread across his face, but she ignored the look he was giving her and pulled her hand free. She briskly made her way past the waiter, who eyed them hungrily, the way most people who crave some sort of drama were prone to.
"Ella... don't dig too deeply."
Her footsteps came to a halt and she pivoted on her heel, tossing her beribboned hair.
"I'll dig as deeply as I want," she called back in an airy tone, giving him a smile, "but if you think I won't get out because of it, you're wrong. I have friends who will drag me out by my arms and hair if they have to. Contrary to what most people believe, I am cared about, Spackley. And I will find out what's going on in full, I will handle it, and things will go back to how they should be."
His eyes widened, and he looked as if he were about to stand up, but then his eyes flicked past her and he froze, face going slack with fright. He sank back down, staring at something beyond her, and she frowned before following his gaze to the masked man she'd seen earlier.
His head was turned in her direction, curly black hair partially obscured by his hood.
She saw a faint glimmer of eyes behind the mask's vision pieces.
Saw that they were wide and glassy.
A chill ran down her spine.
"You'll never get out," Spackley called in a deadened tone. "If you leave, you're finished."
Anger overshadowed the odd tingle running through her and she kept walking.
"We'll see," she called back. "Good day, Spackley. Thank you for dinner, uncouth though it was."
And without further ado, she stormed out of the hotel's dining area.