Chapter Twenty-Four #3
A beat of shocked silence. And then it was Kai who was laughing; it was a low, resounding sound, and Avette didn’t take well to it at all.
She gripped the pendant tighter, twisting its chain, forcing the King’s head forward so he had little choice but to meet her eye as the aged silver slid between his gills and made him gag.
Protector, protector—
“For goodness sake, breathe, Gerard.”
Avette went on in that careful, melodic way of hers, voice slightly raised over the sound of the King’s pained and spluttering gasps.
“Look at all I have accomplished,” she was saying softly.
“From an unwanted heir on the cusp of disownment, to the Queen of Eisalaan. The only legitimate daughter to a stupid, vain old man who would have handed this kingdom to a cousin he barely knew, all so he could have his name live on. Oh, I know. He said it was you, my heart, just as I told you. He said that I’d ruined myself and my virtue.
That no one would want a Merrow’s whore for a queen. But all he truly needed was a reason.”
Word by word, she tugged the chain tighter, almost absentmindedly, sliding into a pensive, dreamy tone before she seemed to remember herself and shook her head with a soft hum.
“Well. He got what he wanted. And so did I. So yes. I am the Mother’s favoured daughter. And I am the Saviour of Eisalaan.”
Kai was not laughing any more.
“That pendant,” he wheezed, slow and choked yet somehow urgent. “Avette, the Mother’s undiluted power, so close to your heart—it’s not without a price. You know that, don’t you? You know it’s poisoning you, that your mind is—”
“Then allow me to relieve you of your poison,” she said, light and airy as ever.
And with that, she slipped the pendant over Kai’s head and held it aloft.
“I will ask you just once more, my heart, where you found this crude little scrap of magic. And before you respond, I should like you to consider how I found you—and what else I might find, if I set my mind to it.”
Kai’s features tightened.
“Do you understand me?” said Avette pleasantly, for all the world as though she hadn’t held his throat in a vice of twisted silver. As though they were discussing nothing more significant than the weather.
He nodded.
She mirrored him, one elegant dip of her head; “Go on.”
And after a long beat of hesitation, he did.
“Tunnels,” he croaked. “There were surviving Merrow. They dug tunnels beneath the ice, just after the Frost began. They could not get as far as I did, but they took what they could from the depths and built a new life.”
Avette waited. “And that is all?”
Kai glared up at her from beneath his brow. “That’s all.”
Avette sighed.
“How anti-climactic indeed.” She lifted her chin, spine straight, and held the pendant out to the side, the chain pinched carefully between her fingers like she held something soiled and disgusting. “Lady Snow, a gift.”
Imogen froze beside him.
Her hand twitched in his for just a split-second, but he released her at once.
Maybe it had been pity, or one last dying ember of their sort-of friendship, or repayment for how he’d helped Mareda on the balcony.
Whatever this had been, whatever reasons Imogen had for helping him through his body’s impending meltdown, they both knew better than to keep Avette waiting.
Ger’s neck ached to turn, to watch as Imogen made a path through the slush, to make one more pointless attempt at reading her face, understanding her.
But she arrived swiftly at Avette’s side and bobbed an elegant curtsey.
“You honour me, Your Majesty,” she said, once more the honey-sweet courtier.
“It is nothing. Truly,” Avette turned her head to direct the word at Kai, “nothing. A useless piece of glass with little value. At most, it may help you work a touch faster. Now that my heart is returned, we must all direct our attention to the wedding.”
Kai, who had been watching Imogen from the floor with his brows tugged together, suddenly frowned deeper, wary gaze snapping to Avette.
“The wedding,” he said flatly.
He jerked back as Avette reached out, but she took his face in her hand as though he’d made no objection, and gave his stubbled cheek a loving caress.
“Yes, my heart. The wedding.”
They all watched the realisation dawn on Kai, horror rising on his face in the slow widening of his eyes. He gave another useless tug on Benan’s grip, seeming not to care when Doran’s swordpoint kissed the nape of his neck.
“You’re deluded,” he spat, still thrashing, “if you think after all you’ve done—”
“Adeline,” Avette cut in, the soft syllables too sharp on her tongue, honed by curt impatience.
“You and my cousin were travelling companions, were you not? I daresay you became close on your journey to sunny Dhalias. The Eisalaan Gard have become acquainted with many sweet Dhaliaans, too. I could ask after your dear friend. Ensure she is safe. You would like to keep her safe, would you not?”
Avette’s careful double talk had never rung quite so loud as it did in that moment.
So much so that Kai recoiled from the threat as though she’d screamed it.
And then, so minutely that Ger wasn’t sure he’d really seen it, the Merrow King nodded.
Avette tilted her head with a breathy gasp of delight.
“Wonderful,” she said. “Now, my dear Captain Doran, won’t you please see that King Cumhaill is shown to his quarters? He shall need plenty of rest; we have so very much to plan.”
???
Ger barely remembered finding his way to the kitchens, but when he tried the door and found it locked, sense flooded him in an overwhelming wave.
What was he doing here?
Of course, it was locked at this hour. Why had he come here?
Why had this been his knee-jerk reaction to the flood of paralysing fear that roared in his veins like a poisonous river?
Congealing in his chest and mind, killing him slowly like he’d always feared it would.
Ger leaned against the door, kneading at his chest with one hand like he could get the too-thick blood flowing again, get his heart and lungs and brain functioning so he could find his way to Kai’s rooms and—
The door fell open beneath his shoulder, and Ger pitched sideways, colliding with a slight but solid frame.
“Fuck—”
“What are—”
Jack steadied him, long fingers warm around both of Ger’s arms as he found his footing.
“Goddess, are you alright?” Jack’s face went from startled to perturbed, the soft arch of his black brows flattening. “Come in. Come on, sit down.”
Ger had seen the kitchens like this only once before, the night of the strawberry jam kiss.
It was quiet and clean, still warm from a full day of endless cooking.
The sconces were doused, with only a lantern to spread thin, yellow light to the far corners of the main kitchen, the open chambers beyond engulfed in shadow.
Jack guided him to the nearest table where the lantern sat, its glow flickering as though it had been lit for some time already.
It was only when he sank onto the bench that Ger realised he was shaking uncontrollably.
It was even worse when Jack stepped back, an awful chill sweeping in like the crash and drag of a wave, washing away the warmth of Jack’s hands.
He watched, teeth chattering, as the porter moved efficiently around the kitchen.
With the flurry of ice and adrenaline that raged over Ger’s senses, Jack seemed impossibly calm and capable moving around in the lantern light, casting slim shadows that danced along the stone walls.
It was soothing to watch; his breath came a little easier, he found, if he focused on the fluid movement of Jack’s hands instead of the movement of his own floundering heart.
So he sat with his back to the table and watched those hands catching at the handle of a copper pot, thumbing through a tray of spices, flicking open a cupboard for honey.
He was so entranced, in fact, that it didn’t occur to him what Jack had been doing until the porter finally walked over and reached past him to set a steaming mug down on the table.
“We’ll let that cool,” Jack said softly, and then in another of those calm, assured movements, he dropped to a crouch before Ger and caught his eye. “And if you like, you can tell me what happened.”
Ger felt his head tic; he couldn’t find his voice, but Jack seemed to understand it for the denial it was.
“Alright,” he said simply. “Do you want to tell me what you need?”
“I—” Ger faltered.
What did he need? Why was he here?
He blinked and found his eye had drifted to Jack’s hand, where it grasped the bench for balance.
The long calloused fingers and that intriguing, angular jut beneath his thumb.
There was a slight dusting of cinnamon on the back of his knuckles from the tea he’d made, its scent still warming the air.
Ger felt the curl of the steam fill his lungs, honey and spice—and realised he could breathe again. Quite easily.
And out of nowhere, he heard himself blurt the thought aloud before it had fully formed in his own exhausted mind.
“Were you waiting for me?”
This close to the lanternlight, it was hard to miss the flush of warmth that kissed the porter’s cheeks. His straight, black lashes bobbed, gaze dropping away, and for a moment, Ger was sure he’d deny it. But then those brown eyes fixed on his—and his heart leapt.
Jack nodded.
“Yes,” he said, with that same comforting calm that had coaxed away the cold panic. “I was waiting for you.”
Goddess.