The Twice-Scorned Lady of Shadow (The Guild Codex: Unveiled #3)(5)

With a final glance at Darius, I walked out.





Outside Darius’s office was a larger room packed with five desks in varying states of disarray. Aaron fell into step with me as we headed for the door at the far end of the room. I could feel his gaze, and when I looked over, I found curious blue eyes scanning me.

“Just so you know,” he said, “everyone in the guild loves to talk, meaning they all know we’re getting a druid.”

My lips thinned. What was I, a collector’s card?

“But no one outside of guild leadership knows you’re here for rehab,” he added.

I stopped. He took another step, then swiveled to face me.

“Are you going to tell them about my criminal record?” I demanded. “Do you know what I did?”

“You killed your abusive aunt a decade ago.” He arched his eyebrows. “But you’re not murdering people these days, right?”

My mind flashed over the past two weeks. “No.”

He squinted at me. “Did you just hesitate?”

“No.”

“Pretty sure you did.”

“Are you giving me a tour or not?”

He pushed the door open, revealing a short hall. “Anyway, it’s up to you what you want to share about your past.”

That little reveal churned in my head as Aaron led me down a flight of stairs to the second level. He was talking, telling me about the shared workspace that took up most of the floor, but I couldn’t focus.

Most mythics here didn’t know I was a killer. After my experience at my old coven, I knew there was no way any normal guild would accept a murderer, even if I played nice for years. I’d been prepared to use my reputation and the threat of violence to intimidate my new guildmates into leaving me alone—but without my ex-con status to sabotage me, did I have a chance at being accepted here? If I played “nice Saber,” could I fit in?

I was still chewing on the questions as Aaron led me down another flight of stairs. A wash of conversations rolled over me as we entered the pub on the main floor. Dark beams and wood-paneled walls gave it an intimate atmosphere undercut by a general air of shabbiness. I didn’t mind it.

But I did mind the way dozens of eyes turned my way, watching my every move with interest. Even more people had shown up since I’d arrived with Morris thirty minutes ago.

Aaron either didn’t notice or didn’t care that everyone was watching us. He guided me to the long bar that spanned the back of the pub and pulled out a stool.

“Have a seat,” he said. “Order a drink. I’ll be right back.”

I slid onto the stool, aware of the gazes tracking my every move. Adrenaline dumped into my veins. There were over twenty mythics in here, and I didn’t like having them behind me. At least there was no bartender in sight, so I didn’t have to bother refusing a drink. As if I’d dull my wits right now.

Conversations picked up again, and among the jumble of voices, I caught the word “druid” several times. Clearly, I’d been identified as the new guild member.

With the prick of claws, Ríkr wriggled out of the front of my jacket and hopped onto the bar. Heaving a ferrety sigh, he shook his long, white-furred body, then sat on his haunches and peered around. Everyone was now staring at the ferret instead of my back, but I didn’t feel any less tense.

“Is that her familiar?” someone asked, their voice carrying a bit too clearly.

“I thought she was a druid.”

“Shouldn’t she have powerful familiars?”

Ríkr’s whiskers twitched. What is your assessment, dove? Shall I unleash a wintry nightmare upon this guild?

I propped my elbows on the bar top, tuning out the conversations behind me. Tempting, but no.

His immediate disappointment was obvious.

You’ve shown off enough, I added. Why the display of power? That’s not your usual style.

He was an ambush predator at heart, always showing his weakest face until the last possible moment.

He fluffed his fur in irritation. They treat you as a petitioner groveling for leniency, but it is they who should curry mercy with you.

“It’s your mercy they need,” I corrected in a low murmur. “Not mine.”

You are my consort now. In matters of humankind, I am your weapon to wield.

A faint smile curved my lips. Mere hours ago, Ríkr and I had completed the simple but powerful magical ceremony to make me his consort, binding us together for life—well, my life. He was immortal.

Does that mean when it comes to fae, I’m your weapon? I asked.

He smiled, showing his tiny, razor-sharp teeth. Precisely, dove.

I drummed my fingers on the bar top, then turned sharply. As my glare swept across the two dozen mythics in the pub, half of them looked away, pretending they hadn’t been watching me. The other half continued to stare, unabashed or openly challenging.

Turning back to Ríkr, I drummed my fingers more forcefully. Since these people didn’t know about my past, it made sense for me to play “nice Saber.” If I acted warm, cheerful, and kind of dumb, they’d lose interest in me. I’d fade into the background, conflicts avoided before they could begin. Even the rarity factor of being a druid would wear off if I was bland enough.

My fingernails clacked rapidly on the wood. I don’t want to be nice to these people.