Threading the Needle

Chapter 8: Threading the Needle

​The morning mist clung to the high glass arches of the private study, casting a soft, blue-grey light across the long mahogany table. Outside, the Northern Citadel was waking,the faint clink of iron armor and the muffled thud of supply wagons echoing up from the courtyard below.

​I sat in a high-backed armchair, a heavy fur blanket draped over my knees. My left wrist felt strangely warm where the silver rune-bracer rested against my skin, sending a quiet, rhythmic pulse of Joss’s magic through my veins. The violent morning nausea that had plagued me for weeks had lessened into a dull, manageable ache, thanks to the combined effect of Master Edwin’s tonics and the steady stream of royal power.

​Across the table, three parchment scrolls lay open, covered in intricate, mathematical grid lines and dark ink ciphers.

​I picked up a thin charcoal quill, my fingers moving with practiced, effortless speed as I cross-referenced dates, supply requisitions, and border patrol rotations.

​"You've been staring at those grid ciphers for two hours, Gawin."

​Joss’s low, resonant voice broke the quiet. He stepped out from the adjoining dressing chamber, fastening the silver buckles of his dark leather sword belt. His dark hair was brushed back, his golden eyes sharp and alert as he swept his gaze over me taking in my posture, the color in my cheeks, and the way the fur blanket covered my lap.

​"I don't need a babysitter, Lord Way-er," I said smoothly, not looking up from the parchment. "I am busy untangling a secondary espionage ring that your guards missed entirely."

​Joss walked over, stopping beside my chair. The familiar, furnace-like heat radiating off his broad frame enveloped me instantly, causing the silver bracer on my wrist to glow a soft, responsive blue. He leaned down, placing one large hand on the back of my chair and the other flat on the mahogany table, trapping me in his shadow.

​"Explain," Joss commanded softly, his golden eyes drifting from the parchment to the side of my neck, where my pulse beat steady against pale skin.

​I tapped the tip of my quill against the second scroll. "Grandmaster Vane didn't just deploy the eastern courier line to test your perimeter. That was a decoy. Look at the requisition dates for the grain shipments coming through the Western Pass. The quantities don't match the garrison sizes."

​Joss’s eyes narrowed slightly as he scanned the numbers I had highlighted. "Someone in the quartermaster's office is skimming supplies."

​"Worse," I corrected, finally looking up to meet his intense gaze. "They aren't skimming to sell on the black market. They are stockpiling rations at an abandoned iron mine three miles inside your western border. Enough grain and salted meat to sustain a fifty-man strike team for a month."

​Joss’s dark aura flared,a sudden, cold pressure that made the air in the room drop several degrees. "A sleeper cell inside the Northern Syndicate."

​"A classic Southern Guild tactic," I said, a faint, cold smile touching my lips. "Vane doesn't send armies across open fields. He plants seeds in your soil and waits for them to bloom into betrayal. He has a high-ranking informant inside your lower castle."

​Joss didn't look angry; he looked terrifyingly calm. He reached out, his thumb catching my chin and tilting my face up toward his.

​"You decoded this in two hours," Joss murmured, his voice laced with a dark, appreciative warmth that sent an unwanted shiver down my spine. "My intelligence officers spent two weeks reviewing those same trade ledgers and saw nothing."

​"Your intelligence officers are soldiers, Joss," I replied, leaning back slightly against his grip, though I didn't push his hand away. "They look for armed men and line formations. I look for lies. I know how Vane thinks because he trained me to think the same way."

​Joss’s thumb stroked the sharp edge of my jawline, his gaze dropping briefly to my mouth before rising to meet my eyes again.

​"Then tell me who the informant is," Joss demanded softly.

​"I can't,not yet," I said, shaking my head. "If we move too fast and arrest the quartermaster's clerks, Vane’s cell will go dark and pull back into the shadows. We need to feed them false information first. We let them think the western patrol routes are being shifted tomorrow night."

​Joss chuckled,a low, dangerous sound that vibrated deep in his chest. "You want to set a trap."

​"I want to break the neck of whoever is helping Vane try to reach me," I corrected, my dark eyes flashing with lethal intent. "I am an assassin, Joss. I don't sit around waiting to be hunted."

​Joss stared at me for a long, heavy moment. The harsh, possessive edge in his golden eyes softened just a fraction, replaced by something far more complex, respect.

​He leaned down, pressing his lips firmly against the shell of my ear, his warm breath fanning across my skin. "A brilliant strategy, Spymaster. But you aren't going near that western mine yourself."

​I stiffened, turning my head to glare at him. "Joss"

​"You will plan the operation from this room," Joss interrupted, his voice dropping into an unyielding, absolute tone as his right hand descended from the table, coming to rest firm and warm over my lower stomach. "My shadow-riders will execute the strike. You stay here, where my magic can protect you and the baby."

​My breath hitched as his palm pressed through the fur blanket, connecting with the subtle, hidden warmth beneath my skin. The tiny spark of magic inside my belly stirred in response to his touch, settling into a comfortable, quiet rhythm.

​I ground my teeth, hating the way my body immediately accepted his dominance. "You're keeping me in a velvet cage, Joss."

​"I am keeping you alive, Gawin," Joss whispered against my cheek, his fingers tightening gently over my abdomen. "Plan the trap. Give me the coordinates. And I will personally bring you the head of Vane's informant before sunrise tomorrow."