Page 118 of Avalon Tower
“Someone else with primal powers? And who would that be?”
She shrugs. “Or you might have drugged him, for all I know, until he believed he was mind controlled. All I’m saying is that it obviously needed testing before such a rash decision was made. Bloody outrageous.”
The sound of footfalls on leaves turns my head, and I turn to see Raphael striding through the grass behind us. My heart speeds up at the sight of him, looking divine in his crisp white shirt and navy trousers. He’s gazing right at me, the golden sunlight glinting in his pale eyes. He carries a small valise that will be part of our disguise.
“There you are,” he says quietly.
Ginevra stands and flashes him a charming smile. “Thank the gods you’re here. I’ve missed your company, Raph! You’re always terribly amusing.”
“Is he really?” I murmur.
“We didn’t see anything of concern at the tavern,” she goes on. “Four men and two women went in during the past hour. Three men stepped out. I’d estimate that’s normal traffic on a day like this. No sign of an ambush.”
“Good.” Raphael’s jaw clenches. “Ginevra, I need you to stay here on the lookout, at least until Nia and I get into the cottage. If you see anything that looks like an ambush or attack, run for backup.”
She crosses her arms. “Are you sure you don’t want a more experienced agent to go with you? Someone who knows you better?”
“We discussed this. Nia’s magic might come in handy. And you’re the fastest rider among us. We need you to deliver messages to and from command. For now, stay hidden and keep a lookout for anyone suspicious approaching town.” He turns and starts walking down the hill. The autumn landscape is bathed in flaming shades, gilded by the sun.
I follow him, carefully avoiding the thorny branches. I’m wearing a pale blue dress as part of my disguise, and I don’t want my costume to be accidentally ripped.
Raphael cuts me a sharp glare. “So, we’re back to where we started, are we?”
“Your friend Ginevra is fucking lovely, by the way,” I mutter. I have a million questions I want to ask him about what he said to me, but this isn’t the time. We’re about to go into a very dangerous situation, and we both need to be focused. I didn’t need any emotional turmoil turning me into the next Alix.
As we near the town, Raphael glances at me. “Our cover story is that we just got married,” he says. “We’ll walk around a bit first and observe, then head to the tavern to meet the contact. Try to act as if you don’t hate me.”
“I can act.”
“Oh, believe me, I know you can act.” An edge undercuts his velvety tone, and he’s giving me an expression I cannot interpret.
We’re already at the cobbled road that rings the town. Raphael grabs my hand and gives me what looks like a loving smile.
We walk through town, just a couple of newlyweds, hand in hand. And that’s all people around us see—the two of us looking in shop windows, at bakeries. When we stop to peer in the window of a cake shop, Raphael slides his arm around my waist. I do my best to ignore how amazing he smells and how good it feels to lean against his muscled body. I try not to think about him. I need to keep my eyes on those around me, taking in the looks people give us, trying to assess threats.
Using the window’s reflections, I keep an eye out for anyone who might be following us. Of the people who pass us by, I note two I find suspicious: a woman who makes a point to avoid looking at us, and a man who follows us briefly before breaking away.
We stop to look at a flower shop with gorgeous wildflower blooms and crowns in the windows. I stand on my tiptoes, and Raphael leans down. “Two possible informants,” I whisper in his ear. “A woman and a man.”
“I saw,” he murmurs. “The man followed us because he enjoyed staring at your arse, for which I can’t blame him. The woman avoided looking at us because she had a recent breakup and seeing a loving couple makes her want to scream.”
“How can you tell that the woman had a breakup?”
“Because I know how heartbreak looks,” he says darkly.
I sigh. “If only she knew the truth about us.”
Another inscrutable expression. “Maybe we should focus, like you said. Let’s go to the tavern.”
He takes my hand and leads me to the tavern, a stone building with blue shutters open to the light and candlelit tables set up on a wide stone terrace. Lanterns cast a wavering glow over the walls.
Although we’ve been monitoring it for more than an hour, part of me is still scared of a trap. My muscles tense as I casually look to my left and right, making sure there are no armed guards waiting for us. My gaze sweeps over an ivy-covered wall that curves to the left and the Fey ambling along the sidewalk to the right.
We walk up to the tavern’s blue door, and Raphael pulls it open. Inside, sunlight pours through the windows onto wooden tables and tile floors. Rough-hewn beams span the ceiling.
As we make our way to the polished oak bar, I check the back door, planning the best route in case we need to make a run for it.
“Good afternoon,” the barman says in French, wiping the bar with a cloth. He’s human but nearly as tall as a Fey, with braided ginger hair that flows over his shoulders. “New in town?”