Chapter 26
Chapter twenty-six
Marco: Kin
It’s the day after the battle, and everything aches.
I’ve given the men the day off training for the obvious reason that I can barely move at all.
I stink of every ointment Evander could find to slather me in, and my thousands of cuts and scrapes are wrapped up tight.
But it’s my muscles that hurt the worst, so stiff and bruised that I want to shout with every movement.
Robin’s just as injured as I am, and I hate the thought of him fighting for bench space at the breakfast table, trying to find some hot water to bathe his wounds while the other men stand around talking, gawping. He must be exhausted, mentally as well as physically. At least he has Evander there.
But I’m going over too. As soon as I can gather the strength.
I couldn’t stay away from him if I wanted to.
And I don’t anymore. I can’t. I fought it for so long, but we’re stronger together.
I see that now. It was that connection, that attraction, that obsession, that led me to him, that got him down by my side, where he saved my life.
Maria’s twice as attentive as usual this morning, which is a lot. She barely even lets me lift my own teacup. She’s begging to rewrap my injuries, but it’s wholly unnecessary. I guess it’s all she can do. She’s trying to protect me and what we have, this little island of calm in this vile city.
I think sometimes she feels guilty that Deathball is what I have to do to take care of us. But I’d be doing it either way, so I wish she’d relax a little.
“Just have some juice,” she insists.
“You have some juice.”
She’s already pouring it, for me, not her. “I’ve heard the acid helps the muscles knit.”
“Sounds like bullshit to me.”
“Well, it’s hardly going to hurt, is it?”
The door sounds, and her eyes snap up. “Are we expecting someone?”
“Not this morning.” And my heart’s slamming against my ribs. Evander, come to tell me Robin took a turn in the night? That he’s worse than he looked? That he’s dead?
Or the Emperor. Surely he can’t want me already. He must know how injured I am. I can’t face that.
But the sound of Maria’s quiet footsteps has dissipated as she moves through the villa, ready, no doubt, to try to turn whoever it is away with her best scowl.
Yet it’s only a few moments before her soft, curious, “Marco?”
“Hmm?”
“I think you need to come.”
The anxiety her reaction provokes quiets the groan that wants to escape. Pain shoots through me as I stand, aching with every step through the cool halls, until we turn into the living room.
Cornelia, with a guard, both sets of sharp eyes watching me carefully. And beside her, a small blonde girl with scared, angry eyes that flare at me in warning.
It’s her.
I can see it. I can see Robin in her chin and her nose and her hair, but more than anything, he’s there in those defiant, furious eyes.
“C-Cornelia,” I force out, trying my best to remember the order of things here, “I hadn’t expected you, um. Sorry, I would have prepared.”
“I know, and I am sorry to barge in on you after the game. But you see, the auction is tomorrow, and this one…” She glares down at the girl who keeps her flaming eyes on mine. “She set fire to the bed. Quite deliberately, I’m told.”
Maria takes in a little breath and glances over at me with questioning worry.
“And so,” Cornelia flicks her fingertips in the girl’s direction, “this is your only chance. If you want her, now’s the time, or she goes to market tomorrow.”
“I’ll take her.” The words are out before I even have time to think.
“Marco!” Maria flings shocked eyes at me, but I cut her off.
“Whatever price you like. Please, can I have her now?”
Even Cornelia looks a little disgusted at my keenness, but I’m past the point of caring. She gives me the nod I need, so I scramble for the drawer to send a note of purchase. “Maria, take the girl through and feed her.”
She does no such thing, only stands there staring at me. “Marco, have you gone mad?”
Cornelia glares at Maria. “I can see why you need better help around here.”
An indignant yelp snaps out of Maria, but the jibe at least propels her to place her hands on the girl’s shoulders and move her gently toward the terrace.
She’s slow to go, assessing me, flinging a half-pleading look back at Cornelia, but no doubt she knows how much help Cornelia’s likely to be to her.
I make out the note of purchase, thank Cornelia, try to let all her insinuations and jokes roll off my back as I send her away. Then, as fast as I can, I hobble back through the house.
I’m on the terrace, Maria standing at one end of the table, this slip of a child who means all the world to Robin watching her through pale lashes.
“Esme?” I ask softly.
Her lips twitch, her darkening eyes filling, but she doesn’t say a word.
I walk around the table, drop to my knees in front of her. “?Vienes de la isla del sol y el mar?” Do you come from the island of the sun and the sea?
Not a word, but those same lips begin to tremble.
“If it’s not you, you can stay with me, all the same. I won’t hurt you. I’ll keep you safe, and you’ll live here, with Maria.” I look to Maria for support.
Completely thrown, clearly furious with me, Maria still has the wherewithal to say, “That’s right. Y-you’re safe here.”
Thankful, I focus back on the girl. “Please tell me, if it is you, if you are Esme, do you have a brother?”
The spark of understanding lights in her eyes, even as she presses her lips tight.
“Do you have a big brother who loves you more than anything else in this world? Who’s searching for you? Who was taken, just like you were?”
Her whole body shakes as the emotion overcomes her, and her tears begin to flow when she drops me one small nod.
“Can you tell me his name?”
Barely perceptible, she whispers to me, “Robin.”
I take her hands, and she lets me. In our own mother tongue, I tell her, “You have two brothers now. I’m Marco, and I’ve sworn to protect you, just like he has. You’re safe. From now on. He’s coming to see you today.”
She wraps her slender arms so tight around my neck I can tell it’s the first hug she’s had since the last time she saw Robin. And I pull her in tight, stroking her matted hair, holding her trembling body, horrified that the single use of his name has gained me every ounce of this girl’s trust.
“Maria, please prepare a room for Esme. She’s going to be living with us. She’ll need clothes, a decent meal, her hair washed; she’ll need… just anything she wants. Anything at all.”
But all Maria gives back is a short and incredulous, “Robin?” When I make no reply, she steps over to Esme and strokes a gentle hand over her hair. “That boy’s going to get you killed, Marco.”
“I don’t care,” I reply, and it’s the truest thing I’ve said in years.
All I can think about is how happy Robin’s going to be when he sees Esme again. About how she’s safe, here and now, under my protection. How I’ve done this one good thing that means he will sleep at night, and so will she, even if I can’t.
I don’t care at all.
This is worth it.
He’s worth all of it.