The Cursed Deal ✓

Chapter 9

The wooden bedframe moaned when Faine collapsed onto the mattress, pressing the side of her face against the silky black duvet. She was more than ready to close her eyes and relax her body, but there were matters she needed to tend to. Too many thoughts were swirling through her mind and she couldn't stop them all; not by closing her eyes or tucking her arms underneath her in hopes of bringing comfort.

There was officially nothing she could do to stop Zebulon's control. She was to bow down to his every order and no matter what, even four months out, he would ensure these months were the hardest of her life. If she had to reiterate one more time that this wasn't fair, she might vomit.

Sitting across the room at his own desk, Kaspar scribbled information onto his paperwork. He was neater than Zebulon; stacks in the corners were divided by reports and cases. Pens and feathers weren't scattered throughout, they were placed neatly within a tankard in the corner and the candle resting on the other end was dimly lit. It was refreshing to see anything other than the clutter on Rising Eternity's boss's desk.

Not only was the entire desk clean, but Kaspar's chambers didn't have a speck of dust or clutter. The bookshelves surrounding his desk, filled with tales of adventure, love, and old mission reports, also contained bestiaries and metallurgy. An entire row of the bookshelf was dedicated to it, a part that Faine had never considered touching, but was frequented by the resident of the chambers.

Compared to Faine's bedchamber, the armoire doors were closed neatly and not spilling over with clothes. The selection of boots off to the side were neatly placed by pair, a feat Faine couldn't master against the many she owned. Too much time would go into sorting through her chambers and with this new mission, there was another reason to put it off.

Faine turned on her back and stared up at the black curtains draping over the top of the bedframe. They slithered down, wrapped around one of the wooden posts, and tied in a knot at the bottom. Through the corner of a curtain, Faine watched Kaspar and waited for him to finish his reports. He had missions of his own and after working for longer than Faine and nearly everyone else in the guild, was sworn to secrecy.

"Let me guess," he muttered. "Zebulon gave you another mission hoping to endanger your safety."

"More than that," Faine said quickly. She'd been so close to bursting with that information that him asking about it in the first place was like restoring her with a new breath of air. Someone else needed to know what she was up against. To not only hate Zebulon for it, but to help her decide how the hell she needed to do to pull this off. "Guess what my next mission is." She propped the side of her head against a fist.

Kaspar considered for a moment, lips puckering. The glasses on the bridge of his nose helped him see better, for even an immortal needed aide once they were old enough. Four hundred years or so—he'd never given her the privilege of knowing his exact age. "He...wants you to steal the high elf father himself."

Faine groaned. "You're not going to guess, are you?"

"I hate the guessing game more than anyone, you know that." He finally looked up from his desk, winked at her, then resumed his work. The beauty of being in Kaspar's chambers was his indecency. The heat in the room left for open windows and no shirts, so everything he had was on display for anyone that came in the room.

Faine couldn't see anything past his well-sculpted shoulders and his chest. "My next mission is to infiltrate Silver Willow, become a member of their guild, and gather information for Zebulon," she deadpanned.

He looked up at her from the top of his glasses. "You're not serious."

"I'm completely serious." She slapped her hand down onto the duvet and shifted to a sitting position, crossing her legs together. "He's only doing this because I have four months left. He knows it'll take longer to become part of Silver Willow and gather all the information he wants."