The Cursed Deal ✓

Chapter 13

"Stay still," Ilian urged.

Standing in the middle of the woods, on a deserted trail and surrounded by nothing but pine trees, pebbles, and grass, the three of them stopped. Faine understood the rattling of chains before the cold iron shackles clamped around her thin wrists. She frowned up at Ilian but he offered no satisfaction in return, not a hint of that playful demeanor he shared with her nights before.

Ilian took the chains in his hands and led her forward, further down the trail. "You know, we don't have to treat her like she's a prisoner," Ginevra suggested.

The statement was shocking enough that Ilian stopped in his tracks, nearly causing Faine to bump into his back. But she planted her boots on the hard dirt of the trail and held her hands out before her. She promised to arrive as a prisoner, and the chains were the first visual piece to that lie.

"Why would we do that?" Ilian demanded.

His voice shed no kindness and when he furrowed his brows, the blue-black strands of his hair curling subtly around his ears and the afternoon breeze pushing through it, Faine wondered if he might scream at the fladline. But he waited for her response in hopes of receiving something that would shed the tiniest bit of amusement on the situation.

"She's the only normal person I've been in contact with for a while. You're too focused on your job and the others...they're just boring. At least she's interesting to talk to." Ginevra popped a berry into her mouth and scowled at her mortal companion.

Faine was proud to smirk when he looked back and revealed no hint of sharing the same feelings she did. But having one of Silver Willow's members on her side was better than none. Although Ilian was her strongest target, persuasion from others heeded results. It was one of the many ways she learned how to work the strings of multiple puppets over the years.

"Don't you feel the chains are a little unnecessary? I mean, I'm the one that came all this way—willingly. I wouldn't dare run off and make you appear like a failure," Faine chimed in. Neither cared to turn around this time.

But Ilian did sigh, frustrated, and scratched at the back of his head. His muscles tightened underneath his black tunic; a leather belt slung along his waist with dark trousers to match. The only cleaning they allowed themselves to do over these past three days was scrubbing with stream water and no soap—hardly anything. Faine longed for a bath in one of the porcelain tubs belonging to Rising Eternity's bathing chambers. Her personal one was unoccupied until she returned.

Faine hadn't slept much, to say the least. The sinwolves howled through the nights on the trail and something, whether the beast itself or another, stalked them for hours until Ilian threw a rock at it and demanded it go away, otherwise he'd slay it. When Faine snorted, he hadn't been amused and avoided speaking to her or looking at her for the remainder of the day. But he had gotten rid of whatever followed them so deep past Steelmaw Woods.

"The chains are necessary if our boss wishes to believe you're actually our prisoner," Ilian informed.

"Ah." Faine nodded and kicked at a pebble along the dirt trail. "How is that going to play over when I ask for a position as a member of Silver Willow?"

Ilian slowed. Through many years of spying and learning people, Faine was used to different body language. As much as he was trying to hide his realization that this might not work, he wasn't doing the best job. In fact, she could tell easily that Ilian uncovered one of the most obvious faults to this plan. Their boss could fire them for something like this.

Ginevra was the one that came to terms with it first. "Let's just say you're an optimistic prisoner with an intriguing past. She'll like that." Although she bumped her elbow with Ilian's, he shrugged off her touch and looked in the other direction. The fladline didn't appear at all disheartened. As if that had happened more than once, and with multiple people.