Page 111 of Sword & Sacrifice

Every word he spoke sounded too much like Valerian, but instead of feeling like Val was closer to the surface, he seemed further and further away with every person Alistair fooled.

“Well, the general doesn’t like mages, even those she works closely with.” Helena turned her attention to Niall and asked, “And you are?”

“Reginald Paxton,” he replied, bowing stiffly. “I come with a message from Lord Edgar Slater.”

“Ah, one of our neighbors. Well, as you may know, my son is currently on a diplomatic mission.”

A muscle ticked in Niall’s jaw and his eyes narrowed. Over the past several days, his sour disposition had tainted his glamour, until Penn could almost see his real face again beneath the illusion. “‘Diplomatic mission’ is an interesting way to describe an invasion—” His teeth clicked shut with an audible snap.

The temperature in the room dropped. Goose bumps rose over Penn’s skin and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. He shivered involuntarily and cut a quick glance at Alistair. Too late, he realized that he shouldn’t suspect ‘Valerian’ of conjuring ice, but the mage had already noted his interest.

The chill faded as quickly as it arrived, and Niall spoke, “I apologize, that was improper of me.”

“Yes, it was,” Helena replied, her expression cold enough to be the magic’s source if Penn hadn’t known better. “If you give me your message I will send you on your way.” A not-at-all subtle dismissal.

“Very well,” Niall said, producing the message.

They were better prepared for this ruse than Penn expected. How long have they been planning to infiltrate Castle Arn? He still didn’t know what they wanted here, but the more he saw, the uneasier he became.

As Helena read the message, her lips pressed into a thin line. “This will take some time to consider.”

“I will happily wait for a reply so you won’t need to send a different messenger down the mountain,” Niall said, pressing a hand over his heart.

“Very well.” She turned her focus on Penn and asked, “How long will you be staying?”

“At least for tonight,” Penn said. Hopefully, it would be all the time he needed.

“Then will you take a message to Archer for me when you return?”

“Of course,” Penn laughed. “But I’m afraid my rates have risen since last you hired me.”

“Oh?”

Penn’s stomach growled with the timing of a skilled actor. “A hearty dinner and a willing ear as I tell you all about my perilous quest to bring you news of your son.” He slipped his hand through Alistair’s and tugged him closer, leaning his head against the mage’s shoulder. “And a chance to tell you about my lover’s good sides and everything else Gris probably left out.”

Helena’s eyebrows arched high in surprise. “Well, that certainly sounds like an interesting story.”

Out of the corner of Penn’s eye, he caught Niall inching away—trying to distance himself from the small party.

Where do you think you’re going? “And our new friend, of course,” Penn said, reaching out and grabbing Niall’s elbow, yanking him roughly against his side so that Penn stood squashed between the two mages. “We’ve grown quite close over the last few days, and I think he deserves a quality meal near a warm fire after his first experience of climbing up a mountain.”

Niall glared at Penn, confirming that he’d planned to slip off while they were distracted.

Helena didn’t seem enthused with their additional company, but she granted Penn’s request. “Of course. I’ll see that Cook has enough for everyone. Will both men be staying with you? Or should I make other accommodations in the staff quarters for Mr. Paxton?”

The idea of spending more time with Niall was as exciting as walking barefoot over ice, but Penn needed to keep an eye on him. “He’ll be staying with me for the night.”

Now that the tables had turned and Niall was the one who couldn’t escape, he ground his teeth and stomped his feet like a child denied the chance to play outside.

Since it was close to dinner time, Helena led them directly to the dining room and asked them to wait at the table. There were no fancy sitting rooms or drawing rooms in Castle Arn. It was made to be functional and easily defensible, not to entertain nobility and laze about all day.

As soon as she closed the door between the dining room and the kitchen, Niall leaned forward in his seat and hissed, “What do you think you’re doing?”

Penn gave him an innocent look. “What do you mean, Reginald? I want you to enjoy our Arnsveldian hospitality before you return to your master.”

At the reminder of his fake name—and that Penn was supposed to be as oblivious to his real identity as everyone else—Niall stopped arguing. But he did send a few significant looks toward Alistair, the silent command clear: Tell your dog to stop yapping.

Alistair slung his arm around Penn’s shoulders and leaned in to murmur against his ear, “Did you have to invite him to spend the night with us? I had hoped for a more … intimate evening.”