CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
※ BARSON ※
Hearing a knock, Barson got up from the chair where he was reading and went to open the door. It was one of the rare times when he got to relax in his quarters, and he was not happy about the interruption.
His mood didn’t improve when he saw Larn standing outside. The expression on his future brother-in-law’s face was rather peculiar.
“Come inside,” Barson said curtly. He could already tell that something was amiss.
Larn stepped into Barson’s room and closed the door behind him.
“Well?” Barson prodded when Larn didn’t seem inclined to speak. “What did you learn?”
“So far, Ganir has not left the Tower,” Larn said. “He’s been mostly in his office, and there have been a number of people going in and out.”
“That’s not really news.” Barson frowned at his best friend. “It’s always that way with the old man.”
“Well, yes,” Larn said, his tone uncharacteristically hesitant. “But one of his visitors this afternoon was, um, Augusta.”
Again? Barson could feel his frown deepening. Why would she see Ganir twice in one day? He knew there was no love lost between them.
“There’s one more thing.” Larn looked increasingly uncomfortable.
“What is it?”
“You won’t like this one . . .”
“Just spit it out,” Barson said, his eyes narrowing. “What is it?”
Larn swallowed. “Remember, I’m just the messenger—”
Barson took a step toward him. “Just say it,” he gritted out between clenched teeth. It had to be something bad if his friend was so afraid to tell him.
“As you requested, I asked a few of our men to keep an eye on Augusta today, after her first meeting with Ganir,” Larn said slowly, “and as it so happened, a couple of them were at the market when her chaise landed there.”
“And?”
“And they were able to follow her when she took off again. She only flew a few blocks and then landed in front of a house.”
“What house?” As far as Barson knew, there were very few houses located so close to the center of Turingrad. It was a highly desirable location, and every house in that area was more like a mansion, owned by the most powerful sorcerer families. One sorcerer in particular came to mind—
“It belongs to Blaise, the man she was supposed to marry,” Larn said, confirming Barson’s hunch. “She landed in front of it and went inside.”
“I see,” Barson said calmly. His insides were boiling, but he didn’t let anything show on his face. “Anything else?”
“No.” Larn looked relieved at Barson’s lack of reaction. “The men couldn’t stay there for long; they had guard duty at the Tower and were only at the Market to pick up a few things. However, I asked one of our new friends to keep an eye on Blaise, just in case.”
Barson nodded, still keeping his expression impassive. “You did well,” he said evenly. “Thank you for that.”
“Of course.” Larn turned to walk out, then looked back at Barson. “Should they continue to follow her as well?”
“Yes,” Barson said quietly. “They should.”
His control lasted long enough for Larn to exit the room. As soon as the door closed behind him, Barson headed to the corner where a sand-filled potato sack was hanging from the ceiling. His hands clenched into massive fists, red-hot jealousy filling every inch of his body. Unable to contain himself any longer, he lashed out, punching the bag over and over again, until his knuckles were sore and sweat ran down his back. Pausing, he ripped off his tunic, and then continued, venting his rage with furious blows.
* * *
A light jasmine scent reached Barson’s nostrils, bringing him out of his mindless state. The bag in front of him was slowly deflating, the sand trickling out through a tear made by one particularly hard strike.
Turning, he saw Augusta sitting on his bed and watching him. She must’ve just entered his room.
“Augusta, what a pleasant surprise.” He forced himself to smile despite the anger still flowing through his veins.
She smiled back, but the expression on her face was strangely distracted. Was she thinking of him, that sorcerer bastard she had been engaged to? Barson drew in a calming breath, reminding himself to tread lightly. Augusta was fiercely independent, and she wouldn’t take kindly to being spied upon or questioned like an errant child.
Oblivious to his dark mood, she was looking around the room now, studying it like she was seeing it for the first time. “Some light reading before exercise?” she asked, gesturing toward the book he’d left lying on the chair.
“Yes,” Barson managed to answer evenly. “I found a new gem in the library archives. It’s about the military exploits of King Rolun, the ancient conqueror who united Koldun.” He was glad for the small talk, as it was enabling him to push aside his jealous fury and think. The fact that Augusta was in his room chatting about books was a good sign. If she had gotten back with Blaise, he doubted she would come here so casually. She didn’t look uncomfortable or guilty, either. Barson considered himself a good judge of people, and he couldn’t feel any duplicitous vibes coming from her. She was distracted, yes, but it was more like she had a lot on her mind.
As though to confirm his thoughts, she turned toward him with a warm smile. “You like those old stories, don’t you? I never pegged you for a scholar before.”
“I like learning about old military tactics,” Barson said, watching her closely. He still couldn’t see any sign of guilt or regret on her face. She was either an amazing actress or her visit to her former lover had been purely platonic.
Augusta’s smile broadened. “Did you know that King Rolun’s blood flows through my veins?” she asked. “Most of the old nobility is descended from him.”
“No,” Barson lied. “I didn’t know that.” Rolun’s blood flowed through his veins, too—not that anyone cared about it these days. Barson had known about Augusta’s lineage from the very beginning; she was one of the few sorcerers whose family was of noble origin, and he could see traces of her heritage in her high cheekbones and regal posture. It was one of the reasons he had been so attracted to her in the first place.
“You’re descended from him, too, aren’t you?” Augusta said, surprising him. “Wasn’t your mother from the Solitin family?”
Barson stared at Augusta, wondering how she had known that. It wasn’t a big secret, but he hadn’t realized she was sufficiently interested in him to study his background. “Yes,” he said, watching her reaction. “That’s right. Back in the day, we would have been a perfect match.”
Her eyes gleamed brighter. “Indeed, oh my noble lord,” she murmured, “we would have been an excellent match . . .” And holding his gaze, she gave him a slow, bewitching smile.
Barson’s blood heated up again, but this time for a different reason. He didn’t know what took place during her visit to Blaise, but it didn’t seem like the sorcerer had satisfied her needs.
It would be Barson’s pleasure to fix that promptly.
Before he had a chance to do anything, however, Augusta rose gracefully to her feet. “I had a horrible day,” she said softly, untying her shiny brown hair and letting it fall to her waist. “I think I may require your unique skills, warrior.”
He didn’t have to be asked twice. Taking a few steps toward her, Barson closed his fist around the bodice of her red dress, pulling her toward him. The fragile silk ripped in his grasp, but neither one of them noticed as Barson channeled the remnants of his fury into a deep, hungry kiss.