Chapter Sixteen #2
He lets out a beleaguered sigh, knowing full well I’m not going to give up.
Slowly, I slide his shirt over his head.
I try not to linger on the sight of his corded muscles, the sculpted lines of his back.
I wince when I see it. A great purple bruise spreads horizontally across his lower back.
The edge of the table left an almost perfectly straight line.
Several large splinters protrude from his bruised skin.
He’s lucky he still has use of his legs.
I’ve seen worse, but I know he’ll be feeling it for days.
But that isn’t the only thing that catches my eye.
There are two intersecting ring-shaped white scars between his shoulder blades.
The scars are deep, ridged, and thick. They look painful, like the rings were branded on his skin with a hot poker—which I’ve only ever seen on livestock.
My chest tightens. I didn’t notice them before at Veteria’s.
He truly has the Rings of Fate.
They are a part of him. They look raw, like they haven’t fully healed, like they still hurt. He didn’t want me to see them.
I tear my eyes away and pretend not to notice. For his sake. For the crown, perhaps.
“Don’t move,” I tell him. “You’ll only make it worse.”
Another sigh is all the response he can muster.
I grab a pair of pliers from a drawer, fetch a clean rag from the cupboard, and fill a pitcher from the freshwater basin.
I dip the rag in it, then squeeze it out.
Dietan sits still, his chest pressed against the back of the chair, but his breathing comes in fits and starts, and his muscles spasm.
To his credit, he barely makes a sound. My own shoulder starts to ache from when I was thrown to the floor, but I ignore it.
“Brace yourself,” I warn, coming up behind him.
When I remove the first splinter, he sits up straighter and gasps.
I work for several minutes to remove the splinters, then wipe away the blood and press the cool rag to his back to ease the sting. From the cupboard, I retrieve a jar of the salve I make for when Bonnie or I get cuts or burns in the kitchen.
I pull a chair up behind him and open the tin.
“You saved me, even at risk to yourself. Thank you,” he says.
“Yeah…you saved me, too, so we’re even.”
I apply the salve in silence. The rain hammers on the roof, and the fire in the oven crackles, and the only other sound is Dietan’s labored breathing.
I keep my touch gentle, and I try not to stare.
But as my fingers brush his warm skin, I’m acutely aware of how close we are.
I could reach up and touch the fine down of hair on his neck.
But I don’t. Instead, I study the jars of jam on the shelves, and the apples in a bowl that still need peeling, and… Somehow, my gaze is drawn back to the scarred outline of the rings. Are they really in there, under his skin? Dear goddess, what a burden to carry.
“That feels good. Thanks,” he says.
I clear my throat, wiping my fingers on the rag. “Your men will be back any moment,” I say, keeping an eye on the door. “So that’s what’s after you, huh? The Kilandrar?”
“Yep.”
“It tried to kill you.”
“Yep.”
“Has that happened before?”
“Yep.”
I frown at his back and roll my eyes even if he can’t see it. “That thing might return. Why was it after you?”
He juts his thumb toward his scars, trying not to move too much. The Rings of Fate. How did that wind monster know Dietan has them? It didn’t look particularly intelligent. Granted, I don’t think Dietan is particularly intelligent, either.
That’s mean of me. From what I’ve seen tonight, he is far from dumb and very brave.
“Does anyone else know about this? Your Rings, I mean?” I ask.
He hesitates. “Not many. Father, Jared, Marcus…that’s it. I have to fix this mess I’ve made, and I don’t know if I can.”
“I think you need a warm compress now to help the salve work,” I say as I stand. I need a moment to think about what this means for me—a country barmaid getting mixed up in dangerous magic and royal secrets.
I return with one of the rags we keep right in front of the oven to wrap warm bread in.
He’s still hiding his face in his arms, but despite the dim light, I can make out the shape of his lips, the cut of his jaw, and the occasional twitch of the muscle there when pain rolls through him.
It’s hard not to feel bad for him, prince or not.
I want to touch him—to comfort him—but settle for draping a hot towel across his back as he tells me the whole story, about how he came to bear the Rings of Fate so cruelly under his skin.
Two young boys, friends, sneaking into the war room to take a peek at treasure.
One touch and then total blackness. Boyish ignorance had condemned him to this doom.
They’re the only thing protecting his kingdom and mine.
Which means he is the only thing protecting us.
I realize, like a punch to the gut, that this is the first time he’s telling me the whole truth—being vulnerable.
Unlike when we were at Veteria’s cottage when it was clear he didn’t want me to know his secret.
I don’t think he’s supposed to reveal this much to a random barmaid he’s only known for a few days, and I’m warmed by his trust. All the sneaking around, all the secrecy—it’s because he carries on his back the burden of trying to prevent a war he might have lost us when he was just a child.
I’m sorry I judged him harshly, even if he is really irritating.
When he’s finished talking, he looks at me with hope and grim resolve warring on his face. I’m not sure what to say.
“And you really think the mad king can help you remove them?” I manage, even though it was my idea in the first place.
“Yeah,” he says. “And it’s why I asked you to marry me. Will you?”
I throw up my hands. “Are you out of your mind? You nearly died, I nearly died, and you still think this is a good idea?”
“You know what’s at stake,” he says. The weight of his words feels real. I’ve been marked somehow, like he is, with the burden of knowledge. But I don’t want it. I never asked for this—but I suppose neither did he.
Do I have to pretend to be his bride, now that I know?
Travel with him to the Great Waste with bells on?
I blanch, suddenly relieved that neither of my sisters caught his eye after all.
“I’d rather have a healthy tooth pulled with blacksmith’s tongs than be paraded from town to town like a prized cow—”
He interrupts me with vehemence. “Look, you’re one of four people who knows the truth.”
“Five,” I interrupt, biting my bottom lip, deep in thought.
“Excuse me?”
“You forgot Veteria,” I correct him.
“Okay, one of five people in this entire realm who knows that the truth. The Kilandrar have returned. You’ve seen what one can do. Imagine hundreds of them. Everyone is in danger, including your sisters, your father, your precious tavern.”
“What about what Veteria said? Not to seek out the mad king. Aren’t you afraid?”
“The Usurper has shown his hand. All I know is that if I don’t return the Rings to my father, there’ll be nothing to stop them—all of them. They’ll remake the world, just like they did in the age before memory. Everything, everyone, will be destroyed.”
I gnaw on my lip some more. It’s all true. But…
“I can’t help you,” I say finally, with a shake of my head. “I’m sorry. I can’t marry you, even if it’s just pretend. Find another girl who doesn’t have responsibilities. I’m needed here. My family needs me. I can’t abandon them, even to save them.”
He presses his lips together and closes his eyes, pain flitting across his features before subsiding. “Truly? Aren’t your sisters off to the capital? Aren’t they already taken care of?”
“There’s still my father,” I say weakly. “I can’t leave him. I’m sorry.”
“I’m sure Jared would be happy to bring him along, and your sisters and their new staff would take wonderful care of him.”
It’s tempting, I’ll give him that. I imagine my father ensconced in a palace, waited on hand and foot. I imagine him, at his age, plucked away from everyone he’s ever known.
“He’d never leave Evandale, and what kind of daughters would force him?”
Dietan continues to look at me, and when I stare right back with no sign of budging, he heaves an enormous sigh.
“All right, then.” He groans as he stands, limps to the counter to the right of the wash basin and wraps his hand around a bottle of Alarician ale left over from last night. He swirls the contents and takes a long swill.
I stare at him, aghast. “That’s it? That’s your answer?”
He lolls his head tiredly toward me, inspecting me with those bright blue-green eyes, like he’s surprised I’m still here.
He was so adamant earlier about getting me to marry him, going so far as to propose in front of everyone in town—so adamant that the fate of kingdoms depended on my decision—and here he is now, pretending it doesn’t matter.
Of course it doesn’t matter. I’m just someone for him to use, like all the rest. He’ll find another woman.
“After all that, you’re just…fine?” I accuse.
He winces as he lowers himself back into the chair.
“I’m not going to force you to do anything you don’t want to do.
I’ll just have to find another way to get to the Great Waste by myself…
But for now, I’m going to get very, very, very drunk,” he says.
Then he adds, with a wink that isn’t fooling anyone, “For the pain.”
I throw the rag down on the counter. “Dumbass.” I leave him to his own devices in the kitchen and start sweeping up the ruined dining room.
While Dietan is drinking himself into a stupor instead of plotting his way out of imminent peril, my mind whirs.
Marry him?
No way. Not even as a lie, not even to save the world.
I’ll admit it. I’m terrified.
I’m no warrior. I’m not some brash adventurer like in the stories I used to make up for my girls when they were little, dreaming of daring heroics and happy endings.
I’m just a plain-faced barmaid in a small town, with no prospects and no great future except for the tavern.
But isn’t leaving Evandale and traveling all across the kingdom the very thing I’ve always dreamed of?
That dang prince doesn’t really want to marry me, and that’s why I said no in the first place. Plus, why is saving the kingdom my problem? Isn’t that what kings and princes and armies are for?
And there’s still Father to think about. If I’m to travel the world instead of staying in Evandale to take care of him, I could never stray too far. He needs my care. My apron strings will always be tied to the front door.
But I can’t stop thinking about what Dietan said. Let my girls take care of Father for a change. They’ll have the means.
Like it or not, he was making sense.
What do I want, then?
I’ve stopped sweeping to stare at an empty spot on the floor. I’m bone-tired. My shoulder aches more fiercely than ever, and I want nothing more than to sleep for a full day.
The last thing I hear before leaving is the sound of Dietan opening another bottle in the kitchen.
Royal drunk.