Read Online Engraved: Book Five of The St. Croix Chronicles by Karina Cooper - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Karina Cooper
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busy as those nearest the markets and stores, but more than a passing cart trundled by with occupant possessing a good enough set of eyes and flapping lips for my comfort. The pedestrians looking for coin or for a further destination were not few, and say what one might about Osoba, he drew every eye.
“Out of the cold, then,” I snapped, and left the door open.
I did not have to see it to know he smiled. “Your kindness is matched only by your charm.”
A slim enough compliment that I gave it no acknowledgement at all.
Osoba passed me, waited patiently while I closed and locked the door in his wake, then followed me to the sitting room, which bore no real items of personal investment. For all he was aware, I lived here alone—or, rather more likely assumed, with the escort he’d seen accompany me within.
Osoba’s apparent cleverness amounted to little more than a foolish oversight on my part. I should have been more careful about my route.
Fortunately, I had no reason to believe him aware of Ashmore’s identity. Few in Society had ever met him, much less bothered with the absent guardian responsible for the curious wart that I was. There was little enough to link Ashmore with Osoba’s world.
I did not sit.
He, on the other hand, folded his lengthy body into the sofa. It amused me, in some petty way, that his knees came up quite a bit higher than the furniture was meant to allow. Seated, he appeared more of an overly long puppet than a prince.
I could not allow this man to sit here all day. I had no understanding of Ashmore’s schedule. If he returned now, all hell could break loose.
Irritated at the need, I took the bait of his lingering silence. “Speak,” I ordered, as lofty as the countess I had no desire to be.
“The Veil still searches for you.” As preamble, I’d heard fewer with more threat. He did not allow me the courtesy of a reply. “I assume you returned to speak with Hawke.”
“Is Hawke well?”
“No.” A simple fact; one that felt as though he’d slapped me with it. I took in a slow breath before I forgot entirely to breathe. “Tell me, Miss...” A glance at my hair, and his tone turned wry as he finished, “...Black. Is it your intent to trouble him?”
I would not tell him my name. He like as not already knew it, but it seemed something of a loss if I allowed him the opportunity to use it.
I braced one hand atop the armchair Ashmore favored and said nothing.
His was a question to which I had not yet developed a complete answer. Of course I intended to save him, if he was willing, but that in itself was liable to mean trouble for him. He likely wouldn’t even allow me the saving.
Hawke had always been a Menagerie creature, and to suggest that he would be grateful for its loss struck me as arrogant.
Then again, there was much I endeavored that could be called the same.
Osoba somehow sensed the uncertainties I held in regards to Hawke. Whatever intentions I maintained towards him, the lion prince plucked with ease. Either he was more perceptive than I dared credit him, or I revealed too much. He reached behind his head to sweep the heavy fall of beaded braids over his shoulder, and the clatter the wooden balls picked up filled the silence like rain.
I could not abide the overly emphatic quiet. “Why are you here?”
“I am extending to you an opportunity to visit him,” Osoba said. “One offer only, do not think I’ll offer again.”
I frowned. “Why?”
“Because unlike some,” he replied readily, “I consider Cage something of a friend.”
That surprised me. I narrowed my eyes at him, but read nothing beyond a thinly concealed distaste for either me or my surroundings, and that bleeding amusement that so shaped him.
If he were truly a lion-tamer, as the leaflets suggested, then it made him one of the most dangerous men in the circus. It all depended, naturally, on whether or not the Menagerie cowed their animals first. I suspected the Veil would not hold
“Out of the cold, then,” I snapped, and left the door open.
I did not have to see it to know he smiled. “Your kindness is matched only by your charm.”
A slim enough compliment that I gave it no acknowledgement at all.
Osoba passed me, waited patiently while I closed and locked the door in his wake, then followed me to the sitting room, which bore no real items of personal investment. For all he was aware, I lived here alone—or, rather more likely assumed, with the escort he’d seen accompany me within.
Osoba’s apparent cleverness amounted to little more than a foolish oversight on my part. I should have been more careful about my route.
Fortunately, I had no reason to believe him aware of Ashmore’s identity. Few in Society had ever met him, much less bothered with the absent guardian responsible for the curious wart that I was. There was little enough to link Ashmore with Osoba’s world.
I did not sit.
He, on the other hand, folded his lengthy body into the sofa. It amused me, in some petty way, that his knees came up quite a bit higher than the furniture was meant to allow. Seated, he appeared more of an overly long puppet than a prince.
I could not allow this man to sit here all day. I had no understanding of Ashmore’s schedule. If he returned now, all hell could break loose.
Irritated at the need, I took the bait of his lingering silence. “Speak,” I ordered, as lofty as the countess I had no desire to be.
“The Veil still searches for you.” As preamble, I’d heard fewer with more threat. He did not allow me the courtesy of a reply. “I assume you returned to speak with Hawke.”
“Is Hawke well?”
“No.” A simple fact; one that felt as though he’d slapped me with it. I took in a slow breath before I forgot entirely to breathe. “Tell me, Miss...” A glance at my hair, and his tone turned wry as he finished, “...Black. Is it your intent to trouble him?”
I would not tell him my name. He like as not already knew it, but it seemed something of a loss if I allowed him the opportunity to use it.
I braced one hand atop the armchair Ashmore favored and said nothing.
His was a question to which I had not yet developed a complete answer. Of course I intended to save him, if he was willing, but that in itself was liable to mean trouble for him. He likely wouldn’t even allow me the saving.
Hawke had always been a Menagerie creature, and to suggest that he would be grateful for its loss struck me as arrogant.
Then again, there was much I endeavored that could be called the same.
Osoba somehow sensed the uncertainties I held in regards to Hawke. Whatever intentions I maintained towards him, the lion prince plucked with ease. Either he was more perceptive than I dared credit him, or I revealed too much. He reached behind his head to sweep the heavy fall of beaded braids over his shoulder, and the clatter the wooden balls picked up filled the silence like rain.
I could not abide the overly emphatic quiet. “Why are you here?”
“I am extending to you an opportunity to visit him,” Osoba said. “One offer only, do not think I’ll offer again.”
I frowned. “Why?”
“Because unlike some,” he replied readily, “I consider Cage something of a friend.”
That surprised me. I narrowed my eyes at him, but read nothing beyond a thinly concealed distaste for either me or my surroundings, and that bleeding amusement that so shaped him.
If he were truly a lion-tamer, as the leaflets suggested, then it made him one of the most dangerous men in the circus. It all depended, naturally, on whether or not the Menagerie cowed their animals first. I suspected the Veil would not hold
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