Chapter Thirty-Five
Adeline
She’d been staring at her untouched needlework for what felt like hours by the time Ger came tearing through the door. Adeline noted the way Avette’s eyes slid, for the first time all afternoon, away from Benan and lit with unfettered interest as her attention came to rest on Ger.
Brute though he was, Benan was hardly blind; he noticed, too, bristling all over.
It might have been amusing if it weren’t for the look on Ger’s face. The one that said he was struggling to draw breath, and fighting not to show it. His hand twitched at his side, pinching the hilt of his sword briefly before he swept into a bow.
“Your Majesty,” he began.
“Do you have news from the Laune?”
Ger’s voice faltered, squeezed out between a tightening throat. “The tunnels collapsed on their way out, Your Majesty. Everyone who went in is accounted for—”
“Then where is my Pearl?” Avette cut in, tone flat even as her black eyes roamed Ger’s form.
“Lady Imogen has it, but—”
“Then you may see Lady Snow to my chambers, at once.”
“Your Majesty, she’s with the Healers.”
Ger’s head was still bent in his bow, speaking to his own snowcaked boots.
His cheeks were flushed red with the cold and the pace of his undoubtedly frantic heart.
Adeline swore she could hear it, or perhaps that was her own.
Perhaps it was Mareda’s. On the other end of the settee, her sister had gone as rigid and breathless as Adeline felt.
Pale as the walls of their mother’s frozen parlour.
Adeline reached tentatively across the cushions and folded Marry’s trembling fingers in her own as she stared at her best friend.
The momentary silence that hung over the room was the only indication that Avette was caught in the grip of that same shock.
“Is she alive?” she asked.
There was something to her voice; concern, without the honeyed tone or theatrical gasps. It was almost authentic. It was almost as though she actually cared.
“She’s alive. Everyone,” he added, eyes flicking sideways at Adeline, “is alive.”
Adeline’s breath returned to her in a rush, but the tension did not leave Ger’s shoulders. She squeezed Marry’s hand; It’s going to be alright, her touch said. She was not sure either of them believed it.
“And the Pearl?”
Mareda’s watery gaze flicked up at the tactless question, more steel in her spine than Adeline had seen since she’d come home.
Avette, however, was entirely preoccupied with Ger, her neat, black brow tight.
Well, there it is, thought Adeline. The concern was authentic—whether it was concern for Imogen was debatable.
“The Healers won’t allow anyone in to retrieve it until morning.”
“I am not anyone,” said Avette, lethal quiet in every word. “Nor are my Queen’s Gard.”
Ger swallowed, straightened, and met the queen’s eye. Adeline’s heart twitched in solidarity, but he forced a breath and set his jaw.
“The Queen’s Gard have tried, Your Majesty, but we’ve been told any further interference could be a danger to Lady Snow’s life. And knowing how important she is to your plans for the kingdom, we assumed—”
“Fine.” Avette cut him off with a flick of the hand and shifted in her seat; Ger’s shoulders visibly loosened at the turn of her attention. “Return to escort me first thing in the morning.”
“I can escort you, Majesty,” said Benan, sullen as a toddler.
Avette gave a soft click of her tongue, one placating hand on his meaty forearm. Adeline barely had time to dry heave at the heat that passed between them before the queen’s long fingers were clicking in her direction.
“Gard, bring my cousins to His Majesty’s rooms as promised.”
Adeline was at once on her feet, yanking Marry up behind her before Avette could spare them a glance—or Goddess forbid, change her mind.
It was a little horrifying to find herself grateful for Benan in that moment.
He held Avette’s attention as Ger ushered them out the door, his voice dropping to an oily, intimate hush.
“You are so very beneficial.”
“Benevolent,” Avette corrected.
Her hand stroking up his arm was the last thing Adeline saw before the door saved her the sight.
Not a word passed between the three of them as they clipped through the frozen hallways, putting as much distance as they could manage between themselves and the queen.
The sisters walked hand-in-hand, Marry’s fingers a vice around Adeline’s, her sniffles harsh on the still, winter air.
It was not until they’d reached the bottom of the tower stairs that Mareda drew up and reached for Ger’s shirt sleeve.
He turned, twitching and distracted.
“Imogen,” she half-whispered, then swallowed, visibly steeling herself with a swift swipe at the tears streaming down her cheeks. “Was she conscious?”
Ger’s eyes widened. “Oh shit, no—I mean yes, sorry. She’s with the Healers, but they didn’t say any of that.”
“What?” Mareda said flatly.
Ger winced. “She’s fine. I just said that to buy some time.”
Relief moved through Marry, but not so swiftly that Ade missed the moment it gave way to disbelief, and then to rage. She sidestepped between them both, grabbing at each of their wrists before Marry could land more than a glare.
“Let’s go see her, then. Come on.”
But Ger resisted her tugging, his weight pulling her back. The set of his golden brows, when she turned, was far too solemn for her liking.
“I need to bring you to Kai,” he said quietly.
“He’ll understand if I take a quick detour—”
Adeline cut herself off at the look on her friend’s face, unease swallowing her words and sinking through her throat. Ger just shook his head, wordless as they stared at each other. It was Marry who broke the silent spell, a gentle hand at Adeline’s back to urge her forward.
“Go,” she said, then with another gentle shove, “I’ll give Imogen your regards, just go.”
Adeline couldn’t recall if Ger had said a word to her on the hurried walk to Kai’s rooms. If he had, she hadn’t taken it in, didn’t know anything but the dread sitting heavy in her stomach. Ger opened the door and glanced fervently back down the corridor, one hand up to stop Adeline’s approach.
“Ade, it’s bad,” he whispered. “If anyone finds him like this—”
“Like what?”
As if in answer, a brittle gasp from inside the room cut between them.
Ger’s eyes squeezed shut beneath a pained wince—and Adeline’s blood ran cold.
She slipped past her friend and into the room, freezing just a half step past the door.
It was dark in here, the frost much thicker than in most of the palace.
She could feel the cold ridges through the soles of her shoes, her eyes straining to find the source of those stuttering breaths that clouded the air.
But there he was.
Seated on the floor like a broken doll, long legs stretched out before him and his head resting on the mattress above him. He stared blankly up at the ceiling, eyelids thick and half-closed.
“Kai?”
He didn’t respond, barely moved, but for the twitch of his hands at his sides.
In one of them, he clutched her conch shell in a white-knuckled grip; in the other, a crumpled piece of paper.
Adeline’s pulse thundered in her own ears, but all she could hear was the uneven shudder of Kai’s breath as she sank to her knees and reached for his hand.
Without looking around, he let her unfurl his fingers; pry loose the scrap of paper.
It was Alun’s writing, but the letters were craggy and uneven, the ink smudged and waterstained, the words still so carefully chosen that it took Adeline several readings before her gut finally twisted itself in a knot.
He got the others out, it read. He remains with the Mother.
For a moment, she could say nothing at all, but the pained gust of her breath seemed enough to stir him.
“Do you know,” said Kai, “that little voice we all have in our heads? Our conscience, my father used to say. Mine always sounded like Os. Always.”
His voice was flat; as distant as the gaze that remained fixed on the frozen ceiling.
“He was there. He was calling out to me. Telling me about the others, telling me to run. And I’m so used to hearing his voice, I thought I was losing my mind, so I just ran faster, but—it was really him.
It was Os. He was calling for help. He was right there, and I could have stopped.
I could have helped him, I—” He frowned, lips curling back as though recoiling from the words. “I could have.”
Adeline swallowed. “I want you to listen to me, Kai.”
She set the scrap aside and took his hand, but he tugged it away again, rolling his head sideways to meet her eye, his stare both burning and glassy.
It made her chest throb.
“You’re going to tell me it’s not my fault. Just like Eda and Simon.”
“It wasn’t. It’s not.”
“Don’t,” he ground out. “Don’t. He wouldn’t have been in that cavern if I’d warned them sooner. He wouldn’t have been here at all if it weren’t for me. None of us would be here, none of this would have happened—”
“That’s just not true,” she said, gentle over the slow rise of his voice.
“It is. Because I walk chest first through life without a scrap of armour. Os knew that about me, he saw it, and it scared him, and he was right to be scared because I got him killed.”
Kai’s voice cracked.
His face flickered at the sound. They blinked at one another, both aware of that precipice where he’d stumbled to a halt.
Each word he’d spoken was tighter than the last, throat closing as though his body might protect him where his mind could not.
And Adeline knew, even as her own eyes welled, as her heart bled and withered for him, that she would do the very same.
She would protect him, too. She shifted closer, and though Kai shook his head, he let her take his hand.
Let her drag him upright and into her arms; he went willingly, long legs folding beneath him before he collapsed against her.
“It’s alright,” she breathed, once she had him.
Her throat strained, but she swallowed the ache.
“No,” he whispered thickly, even as he clung to her.
His fingers dented her skin, his face buried in her shoulder. Her body tensed and shuddered under the full weight of him, arms and core straining to keep them both upright. But she would. She would hold him as the world fell to pieces around them; she would not let go.
“It’s alright,” she said again. “I have you. I have you.”
And with a last shuddering breath, Kai broke apart in her arms.