Steelhands - Jaida Jones [156]
I felt indignant all of a sudden, for Adamo most of all, but also for my friends, and lastly for myself. We’d spent so many years fighting against an external threat—fighting for Volstov, our home, in the face of a deadly horde—that it had never even occurred to me Thremedon might one day turn around and betray us, like a favored pet suddenly turned rabid.
Once again, I had to think that Ghislain and Rook had been the smartest, realizing the climate in Thremedon didn’t welcome living heroes and getting out while they still could.
“Hm,” I said, as something further occurred to me.
“What is it?” Luvander asked.
“Before I realized what any of this meant, I’d been planning on sending a letter to Thom about all this,” I explained as quickly as I could, leaving out that it was something of a custom between Thom and me to write each other whenever things got rough. We told each other about the most awkward, embarrassing things that we’d recently undergone, and—through the exchange—they no longer seemed so terrible to either of us. “I was writing a letter to him about all of this, just to get it off my mind. About how I’d run out of the bastion, humiliating myself in front of everyone, and how I had been hearing things—those voices. I’d written about everything, really. I never sent it, but if we are coming under suspicion, it seems like it might be a good idea not to leave it lying around.”
“You’re not thinking of leaving now?” Luvander asked, looking aghast. He glanced about the room, then cleared his throat. For a moment, it seemed as though he’d forgotten he was speaking in front of an audience—and that it was up to us to represent Adamo’s training to the best of our abilities. “In fact, allow me to rephrase that: As the senior member of the Dragon Corps in this room, I forbid any of you to leave this haberdashery until otherwise notified of your freedom. Do you follow?” To me, he added, “How was that? Did it sound very Adamoesque?”
No matter how grave the danger, at least he was still capable of making himself laugh. By now, I knew better than to give him any such encouragement.
“Do those orders apply to all of us?” Laure asked. Her face was slowly losing its angry red coloring, and she seemed somewhat more composed than she had been before. It reminded me of a calm day in the countryside, just before a downpour. “Or only them that actually signed up for the corps in the first place?”
“All of you, I should think,” Luvander said with a sniff. “Excepting, of course, the illustrious Margrave Royston, who will no doubt very soon regret having come to inform us of our situation when he is implicated in our nefarious dealings. How many exiles will this next one mark, Margrave Royston?”
“At least you didn’t call me Mary Margrave,” Royston said, rubbing at the back of his neck the way Adamo did when he felt uncomfortable, with a toothy smile that was so far from any of Adamo’s habits I had to wonder why they were friends at all. Adamo had never explained the matter to us, and it seemed rude to pry. “So I suppose we’re getting friendly, aren’t we? Since you are so clearly about to ask a favor of me.”
“For Adamo’s sake,” I said, ever the diplomat these days. “The letter is the stupidest thing I could have written. It implicates all of us, and if for some reason they should search my apartment …”
“If I am exiled for my pains,” Royston said, “and not imprisoned, or worse, I sincerely hope the rest of you are there to suffer along with me.”
“Think of it like a vacation in the countryside,” Luvander suggested.
Margrave Royston cringed. “Please, do not mention that,” he said, voice pained. “Just give me the address and I’ll be off on this madcap errand.”
I did as he asked, writing the address down on the back of a caterer’s business note card he had with him. He left immediately after that, and only the four of us remained in Luvander’s kitchen.
“Don’t worry too much,” I told Laure, as Luvander took off his apron and moved in the direction of his shop. “Where are you going?”
“To open the