Chapter 37
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
AUDREY
“As the moon vanished, Hruudwulf looked across the fallen stones and bloody ground. It wasn’t until he saw the tears on Gaelena’s cheeks that he realized his belly was now full.” ~ Southern lore
I watched the young woman’s hands working the dough before her, hypnotized by the graceful movements. “…in the riot last night,” she was saying, cheeks bright, words breathless. “Richard says his cousin’s neighbor’s family hasn’t been able to get aught to eat for almost a week. Everything’s gone.”
The three guards in the corner stood as they saw us, scraping their chairs back. Dice disappeared into pouches. I stopped beside the cook, ignoring the bows they sent my way, and deliberately turned my back on them.
My heart drummed as I looked up and met her eyes. I didn’t know where to put my hands. I hated that I had to worry about that while trying to figure out what the crinkles between her brows meant and that pinched twist to her mouth. Annoyed? Worried? “Why are they here?” I asked her quietly.
“My lady!” she bobbed a curtsey but didn’t stop stirring. “Why, I’ve just sent you up a good bit of soup.”
She didn’t want to talk. That was the only answer. “I’m here for the prisoner,” I said, playing along. “Could I have another bowl, mayhap?”
There was quiet around us. The cook smiled. “Of course you may.” The guards watched her measure it out. “Would she like some bread, do you think?”
There was a combative set to the woman’s shoulders. “This will do,” I replied, wanting to get out of there. “Thanking you, Bernadette.” I leaned in close to take it. “Cough if you’re in danger,” I murmured.
She smiled, but there was determination in the line of her mouth, not joy. “You stay well, lady Audrey. Come back down once you’re done with her. We’ll have some pie, then.”
I noted that and nodded, doubting the invitation had anything to do with pie. But she didn’t cough. “I’m hoping to speak to the Captain. Do you think it’s particularly good pie?”
She considered it. “Tomorrow it’ll be cobbler. If you’re happy to wait, we’ll always have something for you.”
I walked out, wishing Isolde was with me to confirm she really had been trying to give me some sort of message. Could she just be trying to feed me pie? It wouldn’t be the first time, but there was something off in the way she’d spoken, and in her body language.
Finding the Captain, or an alternative, was definitely becoming urgent.
In the corridor outside of Ylva’s room, I stepped over some refuse and then stopped, looking down in horror at the body lying in the lee of the door. She’d died with one leg outstretched, her hands tangled deep in her shawl.
“They’ll get her in the evening run,” Chay said, urging me on.
“The evening run?” I repeated, struggling with the concept. “They…gather bodies? Multiple times a day?”
“They’re supposed to.” He drew out the keys. “They’re shorthanded, though.”
I was still trying to fit that knowledge into my understanding of the world when Chay opened the door to Ylva’s room. He was pulled forward violently with a crash and jangle of equipment. Instinct, or muscle memory, or some part of my brain that worked without my knowledge took over, and I dropped my weight in time to go down in a tangle of limbs with Ylva, rather than let her throw me behind her as she escaped.
She swore and writhed. My heart roared. I ignored her blow to my ribs and tossed her onto her back. Fabric tore, giving way like butter beneath me as I held her down. From the corner of my eye, I saw Chay climbing to his feet, unhurried, as he watched us. She kept fighting, and I adjusted my grip.
She’d scratched my neck, somehow, and my thigh ached where she’d tried to take out my knees.
“Fuck,” she said, thrashing furiously. “ Fuck you, bitch!”
My belly twisted, but my hands didn’t soften.
I wanted Isolde.
She collapsed beneath me, but her eyes went to the window. Tears sheened in them.
There was no question that she wasn’t defeated, just delayed. I knew that feeling well. And still I didn’t soften my hands on her.
The way I’d pinned one of her arms exposed the pale scars where I’d shattered her forearm. My father must’ve paid for a mage to heal her. It was the only explanation. And above them were other scars—deep, ugly, purple marks. I hadn’t seen them that night. They looked about as healed as the marks her bones had left from driving through her flesh, back in the autumn.
As she panted beneath me, my mind went to the guards in the kitchen, in the corridors, beside covered carts, and standing in front of silent buildings.
Everywhere except at their posts.
“You need to get out of here,” I said quietly. “You won’t be safe for much longer.”
She looked at me with such disgust I suspected she considered spitting on me a waste of energy.
The ground threatened to swallow me whole, but I didn’t loosen my hands.
She’d never been safe. Not here. And she never would be. Even my limited protection was running up hard against its limitations. My head ached.
I needed to deal with the Captain.
The woman who basically kept the whole keep running was being bailed up in her own kitchen.
I didn’t have time for this.
“I’m going to let you up,” I told her. “I want to make a plan with you. If you don’t want that, I’m going to pretend you just bested us, and hope your road was paved by the Son.”
“Keep your Son,” she said through her teeth. “I’ve got Khazari’s kin in the wind.”
The name meant nothing to me, and I saw no response on Chay’s face, either, but she said it the same way someone would say the One. My heart still drumming, I eased myself away.
She made no sudden movements, just rubbed her limbs.
“If you attack her, I’m oathbound to kill you,” Chay offered.
“I just did.”
His brows rose, but before he could respond I flicked my fingers at him to stop him from getting in the way, gaining my feet. A few layers of underskirt were ruined, but I could repair them later. For now, I scooped the mess up and closed the door. I needed a way forward. That was all. I just needed this sorted so I could deal with the guard, somehow.
“Get me a horse,” Ylva demanded, the words icy. “Or you’ll regret it.”
“That’s not really how bargaining works.” The soup was all over the room. I avoided it. I tried to gather my thoughts, but they were buzzing in my head. I didn’t know how to deal with the guard. My leg ached, and I felt very small. “What’s the next step?”
She looked at me like I’d grown two heads. “I’m not bargaining.” Then she glanced at Chay. “What do you mean, the next step?”
Frustration twisted inside of me. “You want to go? Fine. I’ve got bigger issues.” I was going to miss her, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was the knife’s edge this city was poised on. “I just need to figure out how I can get you out without disrupting—” I waved a hand at the castle, trying to find a word for the hideous maelstrom we were in, and failing.
Ylva’s eyes narrowed. “Are you okay?” she asked me, but there was no kindness in the words. Only mockery.
I felt sick. If she walked out, she’d probably be stopped. They’d underestimate her and end up dead.
Or she’d double back, and I’d end up dead.
She could come back even if I escorted her out. But if she was properly clear of the city, with a decent chance of getting away, I suspected she’d cut her losses and flee. She was a sensible woman. And then we’d come back home, and I’d figure out the next thing.
Beneath me, the rug on the floor was faded and thin. I wished I could’ve looked to Isolde, assessed her thoughts on the matter. She would’ve stepped in if I was putting my head on the chopping block.
Chay would, I suspected, when crunch time came, but I didn’t know if he’d see the issue before it arose.
“We’re going riding,” I said, then drew in a deep, bracing breath. She might pass as Isolde if I borrowed my friend’s riding habit and horse. Their builds were nothing alike, but with a cloak drawn high and a kerchief over her face… “You’re going to die of the plague,” I told Ylva. “And Isolde is going riding with us, Chay.”
He shrugged, straightening.
Ylva didn’t move. “You can’t be serious.”
“I can be,” I disagreed. “When I need to.”
She looked like she wanted to hit me again. “You’re scared.”
It wasn’t a question, so I didn’t bother to agree. “Wait here. I’ll return with Isolde’s clothes momentarily.” The other problems I couldn’t deal with just grew larger, but this one, this small thing, fell into place neatly and brought me a measure of peace. “I’m sorry I didn’t think of this earlier,” I admitted, struggling against the humiliation of my error.
“I’m sorry you didn’t, too,” she said, but there was less sting in the words. “Bring me with you.” I opened my mouth to object, and she silenced me with an angry hand gesture. “Trust me, fina. You don’t want that storm blowing in, and I don’t want to sit in this cesspit of death another moment.”
I glanced out the window, surprised to see the sullen clouds from yesterday had become a dark, threatening mass on the horizon.
And the wind was blowing from the south. The wind never blew from the south.
“You’ll explain on the road?” I asked her, unease prickling the back of my neck. She hesitated, and I pressed, “If I let you out now, you’ll tell me what’s happening?”
She was silent for another moment, then nodded her head in resignation. “Fine. Sure. Rivers and snow, this is not how I expected any of this to happen.”
Finally, we’d found something we agreed on aside from wanting my father dead.