Chapter 50
CHAPTER FIFTY
CHAY
The curse came from the broken bones of the mountains and the pools of tears that became the lake.
The winds blew it across the villages and cities, and the sun baked it into those who’d lost everything in the defense of the people.
They were cursed to live. They were cursed to continue the fight.
They were cursed to bear the pain of the past and to know they could end any fight. ..permanently.
—Southern lore
18th Day of Autumn’s Son Moon,
Age of the Locways, Year 272
La’Angi City
Kadan told me he could only take three men. It meant that I was away from the Black Borough cronies who’d been dogging my steps at every turn.
I sat in the brightly lit, richly decorated room. The dark-haired serving girl who attempted to stir me merely received a polite response. She went to top up my drink, but there was no room for it. I’d drunk naught.
Behind me, the painted eyes of the woman I’d sworn a Blood Oath to burned into the back of my head.
It wasn’t the popular image of her standing framed by the La’Angi gates, holding a torch like a human lighthouse, but a later iteration of that.
She stood, her expression severe, beside the empty chair of her father, people in La’Angi colors a blur behind her, clearly facing off against a foe, torch still in her hand.
She was totally alone in the foreground.
Not even a black blob to show where Thomas or I might’ve been, or a hint of Isolde.
As if we’d let her face anything by herself.
I hated it.
Shoving that down, I glanced over at where Kadan and Luca sat, a game of chance going stale between them.
Kadan was clever enough to be an excellent diplomat, wise enough to be a great advisor, and handy enough to be a good warrior.
It made sense he was one of Luca’s choices to bring tonight.
He covered all the bases. But me? What was I?
I set down the goblet of wine on the table and wished I could take up my post at the door.
Muscle. Trusted muscle.
After all this time, I should’ve been glad I still had a seat at the table, I supposed.
Why Luca had insisted I take it, I didn’t care.
My mind was back in the keep, up the tower with the lady who’d taken to the festivities like a duck to water.
Meanwhile, my mouth was as dry as the Steppes in summer as I thought of the gift I’d ordered.
She needed it for the first day of the tourney, a belt to go with the dress she’d wear to the feast, all whites and greys.
Any belt would’ve done, but she didn’t want any belt. She wanted one she’d re-use.
A grey war-belt, with horses embossed onto it, silver clouds stitched into the top layers, and silver buckles? I couldn’t see a way she wouldn’t love it. And since the craftsman had it in his supply and it’d just needed to be modified for her waist, it ought to be no problem.
I was more useful than just my sword, even now.
I wondered, somewhat bitterly, if Luca thought that since I was good enough to defend the Duke’s daughter, I was good enough to guard him.
“I didn’t mention,” Luca said, throwing some dice absently and glancing over to me. “I got word from the front in the South.”
I said nothing. I thought of the way Audrey’s expression would soften for him. Not for the man. For the dream.
He wasn’t giving her that dream. I’d tried to warn her.
Dreams were resilient things, though. They filled our heads and lingered around our eyes, clouding our judgment.
She deserved that dream. But she didn’t deserve this man.
“The Duke’s making progress,” he told me, as if I’d asked. “He broke the resistance at one of the passes with force and magic.” He met Kadan’s glance with a slight nod. “I hear Alric sold him the salt he’s after.”
“Shit,” Kadan muttered. “When’s it arriving?”
“Once the snows melt. Late spring, I’d say.” Luca nudged the dice in front of him. It rolled onto the six, but he didn’t react to the win. “I do worry about how Audrey might react to our plans for her father. I’d hate to wound her.”
Kadan’s brows rose. “There’s no love lost there, is there?”
Luca was quiet for a long moment before looking, pointedly, at me.
“I haven’t asked her how she’d feel about your plans,” I told him, without a scrap of a lie.
“Does she speak of him often?” Luca asked me, the picture of doting concern.
The last time I’d seen Audrey, she’d been shedding mud and debris she’d picked up during her jaunt through the orchards.
They’d gone away from the crowds, just her and Isolde, slipping away and leaving me guarding an empty tower with an aching heart.
She’d smiled at me the way she’d smile at a stable hand on the way through, her body moving with the fluid quality I recognized from the aftermath of our training sessions…
and more intimate times. She’d be a puddle, now, asleep in the center of her bed in a cocoon of blankets.
I could feel her warmth on my hands, the way her skin would feel against my lips.
If he thought her delicate still, after what she’d shown him these past moons, then he was a lost cause.
As for how she felt about her father…it would’ve been easy to reflect on the hours she spent drilling, the buckets of sweat and the bruises and the aches and the hours lost to repetitive movements all done for a single goal.
But that wouldn’t have been fair. How much of that plan had anything to do with her feelings for him, I still wasn’t sure.
The rare long, heavy sighs, the way she’d look out to the horizon, her brow furrowed ever so slightly, the way she shook like a leaf with fear and also with rage, the way she’d soothe and pamper guests, the way she never flinched with a door opened too hard but always stilled, the failure is not a choice you can make mindset—that was her father. Whether she knew it or not.
Not for the One himself would I tell a word of that to Luca, though. He’d had all the same opportunities I had to see it. He just wasn’t looking.
“I can’t speak for Audrey,” I told him. He waved his fingers as if that was a given.
The arrogance of the man grated. “But, best as I can tell, most people feel some way about their parents.” I refused to have my own experiences in my head as I spoke.
“He’ll always be her father. Some work through it, some ignore it, but it’s there, at least at some point. ”
Luca’s expression remained perfectly bland. The disbelief was in the little curl of his lip, in the way he ducked his head as he reached for his cup. It wasn’t the answer he wanted, so he was opting for disbelief. Mayhap, if I pushed him too hard, he’d even go to mockery.
He wanted me to tell him no, she’ll love you well, even if you murder him.
The opportunity to needle him just a little, to say, she’d need years to forgive anyone who hurt him, probably, was right there.
It wouldn’t even be a lie. Mayhap I’d been spending too much time with Isolde, that I was so sorely tempted to rattle Luca’s chain.
Mayhap I’d been spending too much time with Thomas that instead I looked down at the cup of cider before me.
The painting behind me stared through me.
It said everything that needed to be said.
“I just want to make it as easy on her as I can,” he told me, spreading one hand wide in a gesture of gentle helplessness.
“Have you considered discussing it with her?” I asked, in a level tone I was very proud of.
From his chair opposite me, Kadan shot me quick look, not a hint of emotion on his face.
But I knew he was laughing on the inside.
How many other fuck-ups had Luca walked into because he was too arrogant to ask?
The laughter bubbled up in me too, loosening my shoulders, letting me sit back more comfortably.
“I couldn’t put her in that position.” He underscored the seriousness of this with a deep frown and a sharp shake of his head.
The laughter in my chest swelled. He couldn’t ask her about her own feelings, but he could watch her organize the largest faire the country had seen in decades in a few short months, coming out of a plague?
There was probably a trade joke in there about scarcity and sense. She would’ve strung it together.
“Not just because it’d cause her undue worry,” he went on, as if we cared, “but because last time I entrusted her with a secret he would’ve killed her, if she hadn’t been so clever.”
I felt coldness trickling over my skin. Whatever this story was, clearly Kadan knew it, because he didn’t look surprised.
“He’s in the South, mired down for at least another two years, bar the brief visit coming soon,” Kadan pointed out, sensibly.
“She’ll be asking questions, you know. She’s old to be unwed. ”
Under the table I’d be able to locate Kadan’s foot with precision. A swift kick would’ve been excellent retribution for that remark. Before I could do more than consider it, Luca opened his mouth.
“Well, I told her I’d take care of it.”
Someone kicked the air out of my lungs.
He was pulling strings to keep her for himself.
“Did you mention specifics, by chance?” Kadan pressed, a grin, a teasing note, softening his words.
Luca sent him a long-suffering look that was answer enough.
I was forcibly reminded of how out of my depth I was, watching them playing this game from the outside.
Give me horses, swords, fighters—sure. This dance I couldn’t follow.
Or I wouldn’t. Alongside the rush of resentment was a little flicker of relief that I hated even more than the dark anger.
I didn’t want to be grateful to Luca for marrying her and protecting her from worse.
Every morning, I walked past her bed, full of mountains of blankets even in summer. Would Luca move into her tower, or simply visit her? Would I have to creep past his sleeping form? Watch as he fawned over her, proving how little he knew?