SCARLIGHT BONUS SCENE:
THE MISSING KNIFE
The place Bryn loved most in Barendur Hold wasn’t technically a place at all; it was a former place. She had discovered it one day while exploring the castle; Rangar had left that morning for a training exercise with the Baer army, leaving her to her own devices. After climbing the winding tower stairs to the castle’s flat stone roof where Mage Marna had first carved hexmarks into her skin, she had discovered an old, dilapidated wooden shed once used for homing pigeons. The roof had mostly caved in, and it was clear from the windswept piles of dirt that no one had set foot here for many years. But once Bryn had swept it out and thrown open the wire-cage windows, she found that the pigeon shed had the most beautiful view in the entire kingdom. It was perched at the corner of the castle’s roof, looking down over the sea cliffs and the distant, uninhabitable rocky islands out at sea.
Here was a place she could have total privacy. As much as she’d come to love life in the Baersladen, theirs was a very communal existence. Even the royal family slept on the floor of the Great Hall with the commoners and livestock. The Baer people had few personal possessions, preferring to share tools and even clothing. But Bryn had grown up used to having her own room and her own belongings. While she saw the value of a more cooperative system, sometimes she craved a space of her own.
She dug a maiden rose out of her pocket and hung it in the dilapidated rafters to dry and then set a silver comb and a wooden cup Rangar had given her on a makeshift shelf.
All my worldly belongings.
It was a scant treasury for a princess, but Bryn didn’t mind. It was hers.
Footsteps sounded outside the pigeon shed, and in the next instant, the creaky old door swung open on its broken hinges. A familiar, scarred face looked in. “There you are.”
“Rangar!” She pressed a hand to her chest. “You startled me. I thought I was alone up here. Didn’t you go to the forest this morning with the army?”
“I was summoned back early,” he said, eyes searching over the abandoned pigeon shed that she’d cleaned of dust and cobwebs. “My father had business to discuss. I thought I’d find you to see if you wanted to join me for the midday meal in the Great Hall. I’ve been looking for you for the better part of an hour.” His mouth hitched in a teasing grin. “I didn’t expect to find you hanging out with the birds.”
She folded her arms tightly. “The pigeons are long gone.”
He ran his hand over the makeshift shelf with her few meager belongings. “I remember this place from my childhood. The head mage then used homing pigeons to communicate with some of the more remote villages in the Baersladen. I used to come up here and feed them table scraps after breakfast. It was my first chore; I was four years old.” His hand stopped at the end of the shelf where the window began. The waves beyond were hypnotic in their crashing rhythm.
Bryn went to stand beside him, enjoying the quiet moment of seclusion with him. “I didn’t think anyone would mind if I put some of my things here. I’m not quite used to the Baer way of sharing everything.”
“Your secret is safe with me.” But he frowned as he looked over her belongings. “Where is the knife?”
Her eyebrows rose. She knew exactly which knife he was talking about but decided to feign innocence. “What knife?”
“The knife I gave you when we fled Castle Mir. At the river.” His eyes hardened. “When you thought I was a knave who was going to assail your honor.”
Rangar had actually given her two knives. One had been a small dagger with hexmarks carved into the hilt that she’d lost when the castle had gone up in flames. The second knife she’d managed to hang onto until they’d reached Barendur Hold, where she’d left it with her clothes while soaking in a hot bath, and the bathhouse servants had taken it away.
She flushed as she admitted, “I lost it.”
After the bath, she had found the servants and attempted to ask about the knife, but she hadn’t spoken Baer at the time, and they hadn’t understood her hand gestures. She’d mostly forgotten about it since then and hadn’t asked about it again; the Baersladen felt so safe that she hadn’t worried about protecting herself. Not when Rangar practically made it his career to watch over her.
She expected him to admonish her for losing yet another knife, but he only frowned in concern and said, “You should keep a knife on you, Bryn. We still don’t know what Captain Carr might be planning or what spies he might have sent after you.”
She leaned against the open window. “You’re right, but it wouldn’t do any good. I don’t know how to use a knife for anything besides buttering toast.”
“I’ll teach you.” His voice lowered as he took her hand. He gently stroked a finger down her open palm. “I’ll teach you how to fit the hilt into your palm for the best hold.” He turned her hand over and folded each of her fingers inward one by one. “I’ll show you how to adjust your grip.” He moved behind her, his chest flush with her back, as he guided her hand in a jabbing motion. “I’ll show you where to stab a man.”
Bryn felt her skin warm at his proximity. His breath brushed her neck whenever he spoke. His body against hers was all sharp contrasts: he was nothing but rigid muscle, and she soft and graceful.
When he released her hand, she wished he hadn’t.
“I’ll try to find the knife,” she said. “Now that I can speak Baer, I’ll ask around.” It had been a unique knife. The hilt was set with alternating iron and wooden bands—anyone who saw it would immediately identify it as Rangar’s knife. Bryn was surprised it hadn’t already turned up and been returned to her or Rangar directly. It had to be somewhere in the castle. Something about the situation made her a little nervous; was there a chance someone had found it and kept it for themselves? That wasn’t the Baer way, but anything was possible. If they had, why?
“I’ll get you a new one,” Rangar said. “Your own knife.” He took her hand, pulling her closer with a devilish look in his eye. “And I’ll enjoy teaching you how to use it. As long as you promise not to use it on me.”
She smirked as she let herself melt into his arms. “No promises. I’m still debating if you’re a knave or not.”
“Maybe I am,” he said, lowering his lips to hers. “And maybe you like that.”
His kiss started softly but soon turned more passionate. For once, they had complete privacy in the rooftop space, with only the ocean as a witness. Bryn tried to let her worries melt away as their lips devoured one another.
The knife will turn up, she reassured herself, though worry still snagged like a thorn in her gut. And hopefully not in an enemy’s hand.