Sweep of the Blade (Innkeeper Chronicles #4) - Ilona Andrews Page 0,54
crossed.
Maud fought the urge to speed up. Like it or not, she wasn’t going anywhere until the women in front of her exited the trail.
“How adorable,” Seveline murmured behind her, her voice sickeningly saccharine.
It took all of Maud’s control to not spin around and punch the other woman in the mouth. Seveline was a threat and the wasteland taught her to eliminate threats before they had the chance to blossom into full-blown danger. Spin around, kick Seveline off the trail, spin back, lock an arm around Onda’s throat, and choke her until she passed out and she could crush her windpipe…Maud shook herself. She had bigger fish to fry.
The women in front of her veered left, toward the bridge, while Maud turned right and headed for the two people waiting for her.
A long brown smudge crossed Helen’s face. On closer examination, the smudge appeared to be sticky, decorated with tiny bits of bark, and smelling faintly of pine resin. Maud slowly shifted her gaze to Arland. A series of similar smudges stained his armor.
“Do you want to tell me what happened?”
“No,” Arland and Helen said in the same voice. Maud compared the expression on their faces. Identical. Dear universe, she could almost be his child.
Something green peeked from between the strands of Arland’s blond mane. Maud reached over, plucked it, and pulled out a twig with three leaves still attached. She held the twig between them. Arland stoically refused to notice it.
Right. She let the small branch fall. “Are the others watching us?”
“Mhm.” Arland’s face remained relaxed.
“I need some information,” she murmured. “About the Kozor and Serak.”
“What sort of information?” Arland asked, keeping his voice low.
“Rank and power structure.”
“Is it urgent?”
“It might be.”
Arland offered her his arm. She rested her fingers on his elbow and together they strolled to the bridge, letting the last of the bridal party go before them.
They crossed the bridge leisurely, Helen walking in front of them.
“Where are we going?” Maud asked.
“To see my dear uncle. I so miss him.”
Maud hid a smile.
The last robed woman disappeared into the nearest tower. They followed, but where the women went left, they went right. As soon as the bend of the hallway hid them from the view of the departing bridal party, both she and Arland sped up as if they had planned it. Helen ran to catch up. Arland bent down, picked Helen up and carried her, and Helen let him, as if it was a thing he did every day.
They took a lift up three floors, crossed a breezeway, then another, until they came to a solid, almost square tower secured with a blast door solid enough to take a hit from an aerial missile. The door slid open at Arland’s approach, and Maud followed him inside, through yet another, blissfully short, hallway to a large room.
If they had shown her twenty different rooms and asked her which was Soren’s, she would immediately pick this one. A thick rug, looking as old as the castle, cushioned the floor. The skulls of strange beasts and arcane weapons decorated the gray stone walls between the banners of House Krahr and antique bookcases. The bookcases were made with real wood and filled with an assortment of objects and trophies, chronicling decades of war and dangerous pursuits: odd weapons, maps, rocks, data cores of every shape and size, uncut gems, an otrokar charm belt—Soren either made friends with an otrokar shaman or killed one, and knowing the history of the Holy Anocracy and The Hope-Crushing Horde, the latter was far more likely. Money from a dozen galactic nations, daggers, dried plants, shackles, several Earth books, one of the them probably Sun Tzu’s Art of War, unless she read the golden Hanzi logograms incorrectly, and a Christmas ornament in the shape of a big blue ball with a sparkling snowflake inside rounded up the bizarre collection. Here and there padded chairs and a couple of sofas offered seating. In the middle of the room a large desk held court, so massive and heavy, Maud doubted Arland could lift it alone. Behind the desk, in an equally solid chair, sat Lord Soren, carefully studying some document on his reader.
The room screamed Veteran Vampire Knight. It was so classic, it hurt.
The door slid shut. Lord Soren raised his head and regarded the three of them with his dark eyes. He scowled at Arland, nodded to Maud, smiled at Helen, and resumed scowling at his nephew.