CHAPTER 28
I opened my eyes.
Golden sunshine flooded the room, painting the walls with bright happy light. Someone must’ve opened the window in the study, because I could hear the birds singing their hearts out in the branches of the wine tree.
I turned my head. Everard met my eyes. He was still in the chair.
“Did you stay here all night?”
“I did.”
I didn’t know what to say.
“How’s the pain?”
I raised my arm, trying to test my body. My joints creaked like an old door.
“Tolerable.”
“I’m relieved.” He rose. “I will give you some privacy.”
He left and shut the door behind him.
My bed was empty except for me. Sushi must’ve gone out.
I sprawled on my sheets and stared at the ceiling.
I started yesterday with beautiful hair, an amazing dress, horrible shoes, and high hopes.
I met a handsome knight and delivered a warning.
I won an audience with a merchant princess of scandalous birth and started a trade war of succession.
I ruined the plans of the Lord Commander of the Redeemer Knights, who was clearly up to no good, and obtained a magical creature.
And then I was abducted, stabbed, tortured, and killed.
I died, came back to life, and defaced my killer in the most literal sense of the word. I was rescued and bathed, and then I was carried gently by the Sleepless Duke, who sat by my bedside all night and was probably nursing a raging backache.
Zero out of ten stars. Would not recommend.
I’d murdered my second person in three weeks.
The memory of cracking the Butcher’s skull was fresh. The visuals were a bit fuzzy, but I remembered the sound of his bones breaking, the wet splats, and the stench of the blood . . .
I’d killed the Butcher. I’d saved myself, but there had been so much pain.
The horror of what I’d endured had been too raw.
When I thought back to it, I felt trapped.
I had probably not been altogether sane in that moment.
I should’ve killed him and escaped, but instead I had stayed, locked into the endless cycle of smashing that mace into his face.
I wasn’t even sure how long I had stood there, beating a dead man.
When Everard showed up yesterday, he had shattered that weird, agonizing loop. He took me out of that nightmare, brought me home, and promised to guard me while I slept. And then he did.
The books had led me astray.
The Book-Everard was a merciless killer. He didn’t believe in degrees of guilt and punishment, and he seemed incapable of empathy. He was portrayed as a force rather than a human being, a personification of his domain. Whenever he appeared in the narrative, someone was about to die.
The real Everard was infinitely more complex. He was deadly and ruthless, true, but also subtle and smart. Smart was the problem here. I couldn’t help but admire the deviousness. The problem was, I had no idea where the manipulation ended and actual feelings began, if he even had any.
He had pretended to be Reynald, and he’d been very convincing. His speech had been less refined, he’d grinned, he’d laughed, he’d seemed . . . normal. I had cared for him. I’d liked him. I hadn’t ever realized how much until I saw the Fatefire and it had all come crashing down.
The way he looked at me when he carried me up those stairs . . . I shivered and instantly regretted it because all of me was very sore. If I ever met Omelyana of Gor, I would buy her a whole short barrel of the orange cherry wine she loved so much. She had all my sympathy. He was too much.
I needed to get my head on straight, because if things kept going his way, in a couple of months I would be standing by his throne in Selva, gazing at him in adoration with all my Kair Toren plans forgotten.
And I would keep standing there for years, until all my knowledge was exhausted, while he planned his wedding to the most politically advantageous candidate.
Yesterday was done. Today was a whole new day.
It sank in finally. We had won. I had taken out the Butcher. He was gone. The Sun Margrave would survive. Matheo was safe.
I took a deep breath. It hurt. My ribs didn’t like me breathing.
Now that the immediate threat was gone, Everard would want to know what came next. I had to be smart, sharp, and careful. But first, I had to get out of this bed. Up we go. How hard could it be?
I tried to sit up. No. Not happening. Bending hurt too much.
I groaned at my stiff muscles and rolled off the bed.
I opened the door and found Kaiden leaning against the wall across the hallway. His eyes looked haunted, his expression pinched and tight.
“Did you hurt yourself?” he asked. “I heard a thud and then there was groaning.”
After I rolled off the bed, I’d tried to do a push-up and got the biggest nope of my life.
“I’m fine now. Where is everybody?”
“Downstairs. Having breakfast.”
I didn’t like those ghosts in his eyes. We needed to get back to normal and fast.
“Having breakfast without me? I want breakfast, too.”
He offered me his arm.
“Are you escorting me downstairs?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you, Lord Kaiden.”
We headed down the staircase. Moving was a challenge, and my knees still didn’t like the stairs, but it was a lot better than last night.
“You’re shuffling like an old woman,” he said.
What I wouldn’t give for a bottle of ibuprofen right now. I wrinkled my face at him.
“We need to work on your manners.”
“Did you die again?”
“Yes. But I killed the man who killed me.”
“Don’t die anymore,” he said quietly.
Maybe I could get some of that bitter powder from last night. It seemed to help. “It’s not like I tried to die on purpose.”
“I know. Just don’t.”
He looked away. People in Kaiden’s life died too much.
“Maybe you should ask Everard to train you, so you can save me next time.”
“Maybe you can stay home and not go anywhere, so you don’t get kidnapped and murdered.”
“That won’t work. I’ll die of boredom.”
He rolled his eyes. A little bit of his former smartass swagger came back to his face. That was better.
My stomach felt a bit queasy. I needed food. Food would make everything better.
I stumbled. My right leg folded, and I careened like a ship in a storm. Kaiden grabbed my hand, steadying me. I straightened.
“That was a close one.”
“Like an old lady,” he repeated.
“Let’s not tell Everard about that.”
I looked up and saw Everard standing at the bottom of the stairs. Damn it.
“You were supposed to tell me when she left the room,” he said.
Kaiden raised his chin. “She is hungry.”
“Then it’s good that I have breakfast ready.” Everard walked up the few remaining steps. “I’ll take it from here.”
Kaiden didn’t move.
I held out my left hand. Everard stepped to my side, I rested my hand on his arm, and the three of us descended the steps, Everard on my left and Kaiden on my right.
We reached the bottom of the stairs and strolled into the hallway, filled with the delicious aromas of cooked meat and fresh bread; I tried to keep from drooling. Ahead, voices floated from the kitchen.
“You should go,” I told Kaiden. “I’m slow right now, and I know you’re hungry.”
He glanced at Everard, let me go, and started down the hallway. Halfway to the kitchen he turned, walking backward. “No more dying.”
“I’ll try my best.”
He turned the right way around and jogged off.
Voices floated from the kitchen.
“. . . I fucked up,” Lute said.
“The woman was tortured to death, Lute,” Gort growled.
“That’s not a fuckup. Leaving your weapon outside the latrine in the rain is a fuckup.
This is the worst thing that could happen.
Where were your eyes? How in the void did he get the drop on you?
If it wasn’t for my brigandine, he would’ve shredded your kidney.
You would’ve bled out right there on the street. ”
“Fine,” Lute growled back.
“No, it’s not fucking fine.”
“What do you want, Dad?”
“I want you to take responsibility—”
I braced myself. I just wanted a quiet meal. Walking into the Magnar storm was a little much right now.
“We’re not going in there.” Everard steered me toward the door.
“Oh good.”
He led me outside to the stairs leading onto the wall. Yes. We were heading to my favorite spot.
“Shall I carry you again?”
“No, thank you. But please catch me if I take a tumble.”
He offered me his arm again. I climbed the stairs.
It hurt but they finally ended and then we were on the wall.
Someone had tilted the sail by the little table so part of it shielded us from the street.
We could sit in private and watch the river.
I spied a teapot, two cups, a platter of sausage, eggs, and the familiar golden pastries.
I sped up.
“Maggie?” he asked.
“Sambocades,” I told him.
He smiled and helped me to my chair.
I was full and happy. Shana’s sambocades were the stuff of legends.
Everard reached to refill my teacup. I took the teapot from him.
He raised his eyebrows.
“It’s not appropriate, Your Grace.”
“I’ve poured your tea more than once.”
“That was when you were Reynald. You’re not him any longer.” And he would never be Reynald again.
He reached into his jacket, pulled out a folded piece of paper, and offered it to me.
I unfolded it. A middle-aged man, brought to life by a talented artist. He had a long face with hollowed cheeks, a full mouth, and a broad nose.
A short curly beard, black touched with gray, hugged his jaw.
His eyebrows were thick, and his eyes were a startling light gray.
He looked intelligent and grim; a worn-out knight tired of fighting for causes he didn’t believe in.