Free Mistwood by Leah Cypess

his dagger. “What do you want to do?”
    “I want,” Isabel said, swinging back onto her horse, “to go back to the castle. Now.”
    They got back in half the time it had taken them to ride out. And this time she had no trouble with the galloping at all.
     
     
    On the sixth morning, on her way up the tower stairs, Isabel met Albin coming down.
    They froze for a moment, the sorcerer in his thick red robe that reeked of old potions, Isabel in a pale violet gown with her golden hair tied up in braids. Then the door to Ven’s workroom opened, and the apprentice stopped short on the threshold, all the blood draining from his face.
    Isabel gave Ven a coldly impersonal look, then turned back to Albin. “I’m here to ask your apprentice some questions. I would advise you not to interfere.”
    Albin drew himself up. “I don’t take advice from a creature like you.”
    “Call it a warning, then.”
    His face hardened, and Isabel realized that she had miscalculated. She hadn’t thought he would be foolish enough to once again test his strength against hers. But she hadn’t taken into account his reluctance to lose face in front of his apprentice.
    She reached into her flowing sleeve for the dagger she now carried strapped to her arm. With her eyes on Albin, she pulled out the dagger and threw it sideways—not at Albin, but at Ven.
    Albin would have been prepared with a magical defense. Ven only flinched and gasped, and the dagger thudded into the half-open door inches from his throat. Isabel had not looked at Ven when she threw the dagger, and she didn’t now. Instead she kept her eyes on Albin. “If I intended to hurt him, it would not be difficult. I’m merely doing what I was summoned here to do. I need some information about the prince’s magical protection.”
    The implication—that she couldn’t force the information from him just as easily—would please Albin. Isabel waited a moment, then added, “I can have Prince Rokan order him to talk to me, if that would make this easier for you.”
    Albin made a great show of deliberating, then jabbed his finger at Ven and scowled. “Answer her questions. But take care. She is an unnatural creature, with no human feelings, and the kings of Samorna are fools to believe they know her purpose. Don’t be swayed by her delicate form, and don’t make the mistake of trusting her for a second.”
    Ven managed a nod. Albin fixed Isabel with another glare, then swept past them down the stairs.
    Ven took a deep breath and touched the hilt of the still-quivering dagger, his hand shaking.
    “I’ll need that back,” Isabel said.
    “You could have—”
    “Killed you?” Isabel cocked her head to the side, allowing herself a small chuckle. “I don’t miss.”
    “No…of course not.” He took another breath, and the fear faded from his face, overshadowed by the awe she had grown used to—and started to enjoy—over the past few days. She smiled at him, and he grinned sheepishly back. Her smile wasn’t all calculation, either. There was something…easy…about being with Ven. She would have said she enjoyed his company, if such a thing were possible.
    No human feelings. Not being human herself, she couldn’t assess the truth of that. But she was fairly sure the Shifter didn’t feel a need to relax, or to be admired by anyone other than her prince. And wouldn’t enjoy either of those things. She spent time with Ven purely because he was useful to her.
    “Well,” she said, “Albin will want to know what my questions were. We should review what you’re going to tell him.”
    Ven nodded, turned, and went back into his room. As she followed, Isabel pulled the dagger out of the door and slid it back inside her sleeve. It left a deep narrow gash in the dark wood, which would serve as a nice reminder for Albin every time he walked up these stairs to his room. Inhuman or not, Isabel allowed herself a brief, smug smile before she shut the door behind her.

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