A Midwinter Fantasy - Leanna Renee Hieber [68]
Jayden would be hard enough. He didn’t know how he was going to reach Travish at all.
Chapter Ten
They put him in a small building that had once been a stable, though now it was filled nearly to the rafters with stolen goods. The irony of being in a stable again didn’t escape him, though the company wasn’t nearly so good as the last time.
The bandit leader called himself Raven. His hygiene was appalling, but Mace had to admit that his mind was sharp and he was willing to take risks. Mace honestly didn’t think the man realized the danger of what he was playing with—or perhaps he didn’t care. He was an amoral killer after all. Mace had encountered such a monster before, and he could see this man’s lack of a soul. Raven’s enterprise fed nothing but greed and a lust for power, and the man saw the potential for that power increasing with the acquisition of a battle sylph. Mace could kill every single other person in the camp and Raven would still be willing to use him.
Seated on a crate marked as containing pottery from Para Dubh, Mace watched the bandit leader circle him, rubbing his hands. Mace kept his hate aura up, but Raven didn’t care. He leaned over Mace’s shoulder, his breath foul as he promised, “I’m going to use you to destroy every little shit town in this kingdom.”
Mace didn’t bother to respond or question why. It wasn’t going to happen.
“It’ll be beautiful,” Raven continued.
Distantly Mace could feel Jayden, still in the camp but somewhere out of sight. The bandits likely didn’t realize that Mace could feel him. Most people didn’t know much about sylphs, after all, and it was just as good that they didn’t. Mace would know immediately if Jayden was hurt, and if the boy was taken out of his reach, he wouldn’t be quite so willing to sit here. Right now, Jayden felt nervous but willing to wait, his courage returning again now that he wasn’t completely alone.
“Soon,” Raven purred.
Mace barely acknowledged him until the man clapped a dirty hand on his shoulder; then he turned his head to stare. The brigand just laughed and went out the door, leaving a lackey standing watch. His guard was sweating despite the cold, and Mace focused his hate on him, making him shudder even more. They stayed like that for some time.
Another man opened the door and came in. “I’ll take over for a while,” he said, and the first guard stammered thanks before fleeing.
Mace tilted his head to one side, pulling the hate aura back a bit as he studied his new guard. Travish hadn’t inherited his mother’s fair hair. His was dark and wavy, hanging down to his shoulders and badly kept, bangs in his eyes. He had a beard growing roughly in, and his clothes were filthy. No one here seemed to bother with hygiene. His teeth at least were good.
Travish was affected by the hate aura, but more than the fear in him there was a need to know, something akin to a ravenous hunger. “When the boy told me a battle sylph named Mace was going to come and rescue him, I wanted to beat him for being a liar. Now you’re here.” Sally’s son crossed his arms, still standing by the doorway. “I never thought you actually existed.”
“You thought your mother lied?”
Travish rolled his eyes, though guilt flickered deep inside him. “Of course I thought she lied! Everyone thought she lied! I spent half my childhood banished to the kitchens because no one wanted to listen to her, and they sure as hell didn’t want to see me.”
“And now I’m here,” Mace said.
“Yeah. Now you’re here.” Travish stared at him, and Mace let the hate drop a bit more, determinedly trying not to project it at him. None of the tension left either of them. “Are you saying you’re my father?”
Mace couldn’t quite make out the emotions running through the youngster. Part of Travish didn’t want to believe. Another part, deep inside of him, desperately wanted Sally’s