Between Ink and Shadows (Between Ink and Shadows, #1)

by Melissa Wright

Nimona Weston was about to do something dangerously foolish. It would not have been the first foolish thing she’d done but possibly the most dangerous. A debt to the Trust had her tied to society’s dark underbelly, forced into a game of bargains. The magic held by those of the Trust could be bought by sacrifice, and Nim was an unwilling thief, bound to do the bidding of the very organization that had seen her shunned. She had been born into it, but it was not where she would die. She would regain her freedom, even if she had to resort to underhanded tactics to get it. The Trust would not own her any longer.

Promises broken were what she’d come to expect, along with more than her share of unfortunate luck, but it would be different this time. She had no other choice.

Kings had their crowns, but the Trust held the power.

She hated tithe day more than anything, and her list of hates was amply long.

“I don’t deserve you.” “No one does, love. It’s why I’m alone at five and twenty.”

“That is how you know you can trust me, Nimona Weston. Because my intentions are nothing like theirs.”

He stood and crossed to her, the long line of his body lit by moonlight that dipped into shadow on his opposite side, splitting him into two. Graceful was not the word that came to mind. Predatory. Wolfish

“My father has done the same.” Beneath the table, her hands clenched into fists. “And I shall never forgive him.” The room was still and silent for several long moments before it was broken by Wesley’s whisper, his answer to her fears. “My lady.” When Nim looked up, he said, “It was the seneschal who saved me from them.”

“The society doesn’t give anything without a bargain. Nothing is without cost.” Her throat went dry. “I made no agreement. I bargained nothing. I didn’t even want the fool thing.” The locket made a thin metallic crunch inside Warrick’s closed fingers. He tossed it into the hearth, and a hot flash of magic lit the darkness, his power burning the locket to ash. “Nothing is without cost.”

“Why can I feel so much from you? Why can I sense things here that I cannot at the Trust?” Why am I not terrified? He pushed himself to standing, and they were suddenly very near one another. The power in his presence was undeniable, and Nim had always found herself drawn to magic in the worst possible way—with a desire to touch it. “I told you,” he said, his tone once more a vow. “I’m bare to you.”

“I’ll have a bath and be down fashionably late, like only the highest of society.” “Very good,” Allister said. “I’ll inform the head of household, so that she might prepare your noose.”

“Just ask your question. I didn’t come here for games.” “Oh, but you did.” He leaned closer, his words whispering over her skin, tightening around her and restricting her ability to breathe. Beside her, Calum wet his lips. “You’ve simply no idea that you’re not a player.” He shifted, coming near enough that she could feel the pulse of his magic in the beat of her heart. “You, my dear Nim, are a pawn.”

Nim was used to giving things up. Practice never made it any more pleasant.

His voice was low, a vow. “My waking hours are devoured by thoughts of you.”

“You’ll take Wesley. He can protect you from the magic. The two of you will be safe together.”

It did not feel as if he wanted to let her go.

Warrick’s eyes trailed over her before he speared Calum with a glare. I warned you, the look said, and his words from before echoed through Nim. Touch her, and I will end you myself.

“Rules,” he said. “Calum wouldn’t stop interfering, so Warrick had to do something, had to set up boundaries to keep him away.” “You know the terms of the contract.” He shook his head. “Only the rules. Calum keeps his magic out of Inara, and Warrick stays above ground, away from the Trust.”

It seemed very likely that the bargain was all that held a war between magic and the kingdom at bay. Because Warrick was not just Calum’s brother. Warrick was the son of a king. Calum was older and heir to the Trust, but he had no claim to Inara. That was Warrick and Warrick alone.

“I’ve known since I was a boy that my fate would be tied to someone else, that we would all rely on a single hope. I’m glad it’s you, Nim. Do what you must.”

“Are you ready?” “I don’t suppose it matters,” he said with a half smile. She nodded. “I don’t suppose it does.”

“I trust her,” Wesley said, “as much as I trust you.”

“What if I’d rather stay here?”

“If you stayed here, I would be forced to treat you as you deserve.” There was a delicious uncertainty to the word that skittered over Nim’s flesh, but Warrick’s reply broke off as he paused to lean in and brush his lips softly over the curve of her jaw. His promises were a whisper against her flesh. “I would be forced to elevate you above court, to give you a title that warranted the respect of your station”—his nose grazed her neck, down and back as his mouth rose painfully near her lips—“of my partner.” My equal

“A long engagement?” Warrick sent her an intimation of his closed bedroom door, the two of them behind it in the dark, and Warrick holding her against him as the sun rose in the room beyond. “Not very, if I can help it.” The fluttering in Nim broke into a sensation that rose through her, bursting free in a quiet, breathy laugh. And then she had hold of him by the tie of his shirt, drawing her to him for a deeper, lingering kiss. “I agree to your terms.”