Page 144 of Revealing Fate

Felíne heard the clanging of another grate followed by a string of choice expletives. Her soaring hopes plummeted like doves shot from the sky.

“Enjoy your stay at The Hollows, love,” drawled an unfamiliar female voice.

The stranger paused over Felíne’s grate, peering down and making a terse note of disappointment. Felíne caught the outline of a slender figure limned in a ruby halo but couldn’t make out the woman’s features against the light. She moved on but stopped again before leaving. “All this trouble for that?”

Surely she’s not referring to me?

“Shame, Kalevar. You should have stayed to play when I invited you. Perhaps your little misunderstanding with Rask might have been avoided.”

Kal offered no reply.

Felíne listened to the sound of her heart hammering against her sternum as she contemplated all possible scenarios in which this woman might have hoped for Kal’s company. Eventually, Felíne’s internal clamor was replaced with the retreat of soft footfalls, the door opening and shutting once more, and then silence.

“Devereux Santaire,” Kal seethed. “Mind explaining what the fuck that was?”

“Fucking blood-headed siren,” Adder groaned. “I saw them bring you both in—Harless and the other scrawny bloke. I was moments from enacting a daring rescue when that wretched vixen ambushed me. Must have been watching the door.”

Kal swore again.

“She clapped a fucking skullcage on me, mate! When was the last time someone utilized such an antiquated contrivance?”

“Join the crew,” Kal muttered blackly. “Now it’s the three of us in The Hollows, Saul poisoned, and Rask supporting that fucking shit, Cross.”

“Saul’s been poisoned?” Adder asked.

Felíne didn’t have the energy to revisit the explanation. She was still trying to calm the hellcat inside her that howled for the red-headed woman’s blood. “Who else knows we’re here?”

“Beulah,” Kal answered. “But I don’t know if she’ll put the details together before Lucien pulls the trigger on whatever he’s planning.”

“What about Santhe?” Felíne asked, hopeful.

“Maybe,” Kal replied, though he didn’t sound convinced. “I need to think.”

Felíne sighed heavily. What a damned mess.

“Don’t worry, Kitty, love,” Adder called. “Kal here has a knack for thinking his way through unfavorable situations. He’ll come up with something. Wait and see.”

Ironic, Felíne thought. They had no other choice.

Chapter 51

WAIT

SANTHE ROLLED A THICK MOUND of dough beneath her palms, curling the bulk of it toward her on the counter to create necessary tension. Beside her, one of the Porter children, Fay, dusted her own surface with flour.

“You’re doing quite well, Miss Santhe!” Fay complimented brightly.

Santhe wiped a hand across her brow, smearing white powder. “High praise from the baker’s daughter. You’ve done triple the loaves I have.”

Fay smiled, clear blue eyes crinkling deeply at the edges despite her youth. “To be fair, I’m only the youngest daughter. My elder sisters would have outpaced us both.” She dragged another puffy round of dough over and shaped it with expert efficiency before powdering it with flour and nestling it into a basket. “It takes time and practice.”

Santhe settled herself onto a stool, content to watch Fay work. Her tall, willowy frame moved with fluid grace, entirely at ease in the vast kitchen among monstrous bins of ground grain, piping ovens, and the permanent scent of baking bread. They’d been at this for hours. Muscles that Santhe couldn’t even name ached from overuse. “What about your younger brother? Penn. Is he as proficient a baker as your other siblings?”

Fay snorted and tossed the last boule of dough into a flour-dusted basket. She swiped her powdered hands on the front of her apron. “Not hardly. Though he’s plenty good at sneaking the finished loaves. No, sweet Penn fancies himself a warrior.”

As if summoned, the youngest Porter sibling—and the only boy—poked his head into the kitchen, a full head and shoulders taller than his sister. All the Porter children had the same build and appearance: bright blue eyes, long, lanky frames, and a wealth of white-blond hair. Beulah had given her four children their coloring. Their father had bestowed the rest. “Have you seen ma?” Penn asked.

Fay leaned against the counter, one hand on her lean hip. “She’s still out.”