Chapter 22
The Delightful Little Baby Urge To Commit Violence
Halfway to the commander’s office, she received a note from the queen.
“It’s a note from the queen,” the castle attendant told her … for the second time.
He was just standing there, staring at her. And she was just standing there, waiting for him to realise that blind people couldn’t read notes from the queen. It took him a full minute.
“Oh …” He cleared his throat awkwardly and held out his hand for her to return the note she hadn’t bothered to unfold. She actually could see him, as she had activated her second sight as soon as he called her name, hurrying across the courtyard as she left the arena.
He kept his hand out, waiting.
She also waited. For him to realise that blind people also couldn’t see hands.
It took him another full minute.
“Oh, ah, of course.” He cleared his throat and plucked the note awkwardly from her fingers before unfurling it with unnecessary aplomb.
“Your etiquette lessons are to begin upon the conclusion of your Godsguard duties at 6:00 p.m. every evening, until late. Lessons will take place in the royal family’s informal dining room.
An escort will be waiting.” The attendant eyed her, waiting for some sort of confirmation that she understood.
“Fine,” she said.
He nodded, satisfied, and spun on his heel, snappily exiting the courtyard.
Eiko watched his retreating form because he didn’t seem like the brightest person. She half expected him to suddenly spin, realising he had forgotten to tell her something, but he didn’t.
She released her second sight, the world softening back into the familiar sounds of the courtyard, and turned for the main building, making her way to the commander’s office by memory.
She had walked this path so many times that she barely needed her cane to trace the way.
She let the familiar sense of dread lead her there instead, pausing only when she reached his office door.
Cairn is a traitor, Hymn said, sensing her dread and attempting to console her.
Add him to the list of people we need to get revenge on one day, she responded.
Okay. He seemed excited by that prospect. Anyone else?
She raised her fist to knock, but couldn’t quite bring herself to do it, and ended up simply laying her fingers against the door instead.
Chasin is at the top, of course, she said. For fake poisoning me, fake curing me, fake poisoning me again and then fake curing me again seven more times.
Of course, Hymn agreed.
And then the King of All.
Good second choice. His little head bobbed along her collarbone like he was nodding, as his tail hung over the other side of her neck, swishing gently. And then Cairn?
And then Cairn, she agreed.
Who else?
Lord Erendi, she decided. Actually, put him above Cairn and the King of All—the king is a creep and a raging, power-hungry dick, but he isn’t trying to hollow people out.
Should we put him above Chasin? Hymn sounded torn.
Eiko pressed her fingers to the door, her mind dragged back to the night before, to Chasin signing a word into her skin.
Mine.
No, she grumbled pettily. Keep him at the top.
With a fortifying breath, she formed a fist and knocked on the door.
“Come in.”
The words were whispered against the back of her neck, the sound harsh and broken.
She froze, too shocked to react, but a reaction was apparently what he wanted, because he decided to make his presence felt as well as known.
He stepped into her body. He didn’t press tightly, but she could feel the brush of his uniform, the brief, powerful flex of his thigh, and the heat of his broad shoulders and chest threatening to swallow her up.
There were many reasons to spiral, to panic, to begin shaking like a leaf and hyperventilating like Ky did when confronted with a new style of coat. And yet, all she could focus on was that Chasin Goldmoor no longer smelled of death, and the sudden change confused her beyond measure.
He smelled human, suddenly. Of leather and steel, of course, but other things, too, just beneath the surface, things that were painfully mundane and normal.
The snap of a flower stem, sap blooming.
Chopped wood, plucked herbs, rain-dampened greenery.
Parchment, ink, and glue. Tea. Fire, and stoked embers.
And beneath all of that—all of those achingly average, human scents—she caught the faintest whiff of sandalwood soap.
It made her wonder what she smelled like.
Probably arena dirt and sweat.
“I was instructed to report for specialist training,” she said to the door, because she had no idea what else to do or say. “Cairn sent me to you.”
“You chose already?” he murmured, the husky words like tiny claws scratching at her skin.
“Yes.”
His knuckles brushed up her spine, his finger tracing a word against her back.
Hasty.
And then another.
Impulsive.
It took her a moment to figure out which words he intended, as it wasn’t quite the same to feel them as it was to see them, but luckily, she had practised his language blind every night and continued to practise blind every night.
She knew the form and flow of the words, often shaping them with one hand while she felt them with the other.
She had traced them over her little desk in the library, and onto her bedsheets at night while trying to sleep.
The form of the words was slightly different when traced, of course, and she had only done it idly to help with her memorisation.
It was like a second language, a variation to his main language, which she hadn’t intended to learn.
She certainly hadn’t learned that way with the expectation that Chasin would begin to use her skin as a damn ledger, but here they were. As it turned out, she was remarkably adept at feeling out the language even when it was traced against her body.
“This makes sense,” he whispered, adding for you, in quick strokes against her back.
If anyone walked into the hallway at this point … there would be questions.
Mostly “What the fuck?” and “Uh, is everything okay here?” and, if the speaker were directly behind the commander, “Chasin, why are you talking to a door?”
She frowned. “It does?”
Yes, he signed, his head dipping lower, until his breath stirred her ear. “Most weapons require …” Strength, he signed. Power. “Poison requires careful planning.” Cunning, he added, fingers blunt and sweeping against her back.
“Does it hurt?” she found herself asking, before she could bite back the question. “To speak, I mean?”
Those deft fingers suddenly gripped her shoulders, spinning her around.
He pressed a single, long finger to her chest, easing her back against the door, and then he signed, Follow, against her chest, right above the shaped leather of her uniform, his touch burning through the mesh of her undershirt.
And then he walked away.
She swallowed nervously and turned towards the sound of his steps, following as he passed into the adjoining library. Her cane clicked lightly against the floor as she adjusted, trailing him past the long benches through the centre of the hall.
He opened a door at the other end—one which she had never ventured through—and stepped outside again.
Sunlight stroked her face, the air brisk and salty.
The stone felt warm, even through her supple-soled boots, the waves rolling in from somewhere below, distant but unmistakable. Seabirds cried overhead.
It was a small courtyard, and there seemed to be garden beds on either side of the walkway.
She felt the stroke of a trailing vine across her arm and reached out to let her fingers brush against the flowers blooming and spilling from the sides of the raised bed.
Spiked, soft, fuzzy, and velvety. Shy bulbs and boastful, unfurling blooms. Their scents curled around her, mixing in a happy way with the salty sea air.
She had spent so many mornings with Mei in the little garden outside Rion’s family’s cottage, helping to tend the flowers there for her stall in the marketplace—the stall that became Rion’s, once she was old enough, allowing Mei to pick up extra shifts in the mine.
Some of the flowers Eiko knew by touch and scent.
The bluebells and the roses, especially.
On the far side of the courtyard, she heard the unmistakable sound of a fragile glass door opening.
Humidity wrapped around her the instant she stepped through the doorway after Chasin.
She paused, overwhelmed by scent alone: crushed leaves, damp earth, sharp citrus, with something sweet and medicinal curling beneath it all.
Water dripped somewhere nearby, and the faintest sound of scraping as a leaf brushed back and forth against a glass pane.
Chasin planted a gentle hand against her chest, a silent command to stay where she was, so she did. She stayed, wondering how he could be such an asshole one minute, and so gentle the next.
She heard him move around her, the faint rustle of plants being brushed aside and glass clinking. He positioned her before a workstation of sorts, his body brushing behind her again as he raised her hands, setting them against a roughly bound book, already open to a particular page.
“Your first poison. Make it,” he commanded, voice now so quiet it was only a rough breath. “Submit it to me. Then you are done for the day. You will need your monster.”
To read the recipe and identify the plants.
She nodded. “Okay, but—”
The glass door creaked lightly. He was already gone. She sighed.
Right, of course. The commander didn’t care that the queen was summoning her for princess lessons. He didn’t care about how she was supposed to fit all this training into her day. He cared that he had given an order, and he expected it to be obeyed.
Cairn was a terrible instructor, but Chasin might just be worse.
Definitely worse, Hymn said. Anyway, this poison is called Blindman’s Bluff.
Seriously? Eiko asked dryly.