The Goblets Immortal by Beth Overmyer (read 50 shades of grey .TXT) 📕

He hadn’t had a good shave in – well, since visiting his hometown and Tristram.

As he lathered up, Aidan thought of his old friend. He’d been putting off thoughts of the traitor for a while now, but the scraping of the blade against his skin brought the memory of pooling blood in an inkwell.

How stupid he had been to put his friend in the position to do something like that. And how stupid was he now, letting the seer into his circle. Aidan did not wish a circle. He did not need a circle, and yet here he was.

“I need to get rid of her,” he muttered to himself. He knew that the seer could not be trusted. She had proven that during their first meeting. “She hasn’t tried anything yet,” he told his reflection. The blade was dull, and the shave was not as close as he would have liked. Aidan grumbled and went over his face a second time.

It was true: Larkin had not tried anything yet. But just because she’d been acting under a master’s orders before, it didn’t make her any more reliable. And that was another matter: Had she been acting under orders to distract Aidan so Dewhurst could capture him? And if so, what was to stop her from lying about being under those same orders still? He did not think she would try anything at the moment; for whatever reason, she wanted help reaching old Cedric’s grave. She would not be the first person to ask for Aidan’s help in that matter.

“Meraude,” he muttered, splashing his face with cold water. If either Lord Dewhurst or that witch wished for the Goblet, it was best to make certain that neither got hold of it. He could refuse Meraude, since she had no idea of his current location and had no longer contacted him by way of the Seeing Pool. But the seer. She could see things before they happened. But how much? Would she know he planned on leading her in circles away from where he suspected the Goblet to be? Even now, she could be sitting down there, watching the future shaping before her very eyes…if that was how it worked. Somehow, Aidan doubted it.

Well, there was nothing to be done about it at the moment. He dried his face, threw on his vest, and went down for breakfast. For a moment, he panicked, feeling so many Pulls, and none of their owners looking any friendlier at him than they had earlier. Some of the men outright pointed and snarled their disdain at him.

“Coward,” one muttered.

Aidan let no emotion show on his face and made for the private room where they’d dined the night previous. The seer was sitting at the table, smoking a pipe and prattling on about some nonsense. She seemed rather pleased about something, but stopped talking when she noticed that Aidan was standing there in the doorway.

Slaíne, on the hand, was worrying her lip and wouldn’t look Aidan in the eye. This did not bode well. The last thing he needed was a mischief-maker on his hands, and he suspected the seer was just that.

“What’s this?” Aidan said, trying to keep his voice even.

Larkin laughed like a drowning bird through a mouthful of smoke. He thought she rather looked like a dragon in that moment, and suddenly wished for the silver sword. But the fancy passed without either seer or Slaíne noticing anything awry.

“What’s so amusing?”

“Nothing’s amusing, sir. We’re – that is, I am worried.” She shot a look at the seer, who shrugged.

Aidan crossed his arms over his chest. “I can see that you are worried. What has you so?”

“Them out there, they’re saying right horrible things about you.”

It felt as though a millstone had been lifted from around his neck. He actually chuckled. “Is that all?”

Slaíne’s brow puckered. “But they called you a – well, a….” She shied away from the word. He would not.

“Coward,” Aidan finished for her.

It was the seer’s turn again to laugh. “See, miss? Our man doesn’t care what others say or think of him. The only opinion of himself that he cares about is his own.”

Aidan rubbed his shoulder, which prickled with painful coldness. “When I sort out whether that was meant as a compliment or an insult, I’ll respond appropriately. Where is breakfast? I ordered it to be here nigh thirty minutes ago.”

The girl managed to meet his eye that time. “Madam had to re-order it.”

That rose Aidan’s brows. “Whatever for?”

“The innkeeper’s wife, she doesn’t like you much.” The seer winked at him. “I told you not to get on her bad side.”

Aidan swore before remembering he was in the company of women. “Forgive me.”

“Oh, don’t worry; I say a lot worse than that.” And with that, Slaíne turned back to the fire and fiddled with the poker.

He chose to ignore that comment. Instead of responding, he sat down and poured himself a cup of cider, felt for any strange Pulls, found none, and drank deeply.

“Your own fault, milord, for not fighting last night. All of the able-bodied men, stranger and local alike, took arms against the sea of wraiths and drove them bravely away into the night.” She smirked. “Or, so they tell it. More likely the wraiths realized they were outnumbered and went to gather stronger numbers. Give me some of that. Yes.” She, too, poured herself a glass of cider and drank deeply. “Will you fight tonight?”

“Firstly, you told me to stay indoors last night. Secondly, who says they’ll return?”

“The woman who knows, that’s who.”

That did not sit well with Aidan. He did not wish to remain here another night. The sooner he could get rid of the seer, the better. “What was your vision about last night?”

The woman coughed on her own smoke. She sat there wheezing and thumping a fist to her chest before she was able to quit, and then stared up at Aidan with watery eyes. “What makes you say I had one?”

Aidan