Chapter 41
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
AUDREY
“The One does not remove the pain we feel, but he gets us through it.”
~ The Book of Bread and Salt
T he first thing I heard was the crackle of fire. My whole body hurt, and I felt tender to my bones.
Vaguely, I recalled the empty barracks, the unanswered call for help, and the rage that dragged me away from anything resembling sense. I remembered yanking open doors. I didn’t remember screaming, but my throat ached. Had there been people? I recalled finding the Captain, the way his cock had gleamed in the torchlight, and how he’d clutched his pants trying to hide it, but I had no idea who’d held the torch or dealt with the man.
But I knew he’d refused to help.
And I knew Thomas had hugged me.
I pulled the blankets up higher and wanted to weep, but I just felt hollow. I’d made a fool of myself. I didn’t need to recall every moment to know that whatever had happened, it’d been public.
Killing the Captain would certainly solve issues around how to deal with that going forward. Not that he’d want to talk, I suspect. Not considering who had been in his bed. You didn’t just bone the wife of one of the most influential merchants in La’Angi and get away with it. Especially with your boots on. Who left their boots on?
Disgusted with my own brain, I threw back the blankets. The fire was full of bright coals, and a little note was folded in front of a jug of cordial. Some hard bread and cheese sat beside it.
I went for the note and poured myself a drink, ignoring the discomfort in my body and mind. In plain, somewhat blocky script, it read:
Audrey,
Thomas and I have gone to get Isolde. We’ve a group of volunteers. Situation in keep is bad. Stay in until we return. Eat and drink, even if you don’t want to. You need it.
Kaelson is taking over running the hospital for a few days to give us time.
C.
My head spun. I turned the page over, but that was the entirety of the message. I tossed it into the fire and looked at my fingertips, pleased to see that while they were scratched, they weren’t a shredded mess the way they’d been the first few times we’d practiced scaling the wall deep in the garden.
I’d been taught to always have an escape plan ready. But escape didn’t always mean getting away, and I hadn’t understood that at the time. Sometimes, escape meant finding a different way forward.
I would’ve gotten over that wall if that guard hadn’t come along. I could’ve done it.
I’d lost myself afterward, but in the moment? She would’ve been proud of me.
The cordial sat heavily in my stomach. I stood, but it was no better. I drew a bath and took my time about it.
That mage who’d come for Ylva had manipulated wind and storm alike, but that wasn’t magic I knew about. Magic-manipulated machines. They worked to make processes simpler or more efficient. Old magic might’ve interacted with the world, but no one knew how to use that anymore, and the cost was paid in blood. Had the mage been using blood magic?
My intuition said no , but I couldn’t put my finger on why. I let the thought rumble around in my head as I filled my bath. I wondered what it would cost to fuel that sort of spell. If one paid in blood, how much blood was required, and did it need to be fresh? What if it spilled and soaked into the ground? Would corpses work?
Had Ylva planned to kill us all along?
I’d assumed they’d clearly see she was free, even armed, and riding willingly alongside us. I didn’t think that was such an unfair assumption. Still, she’d had no way of organizing it in advance. More than likely, she was as much a victim of circumstance as we were.
I hid my boots, belt, and knives, though I hadn’t seen the servants in days. I burned the skirt that wasn’t mine. Avoiding questions was easier than answering them, and I had no words to spare for casual conversation. Those questions weren’t a threat now, but would be soon.
When Isolde got back, she was going to be exhausted. I scrubbed dirt out from under my nails, ignoring the pain of the movements, and started compiling a list of what I needed to have ready for her to make her recovery easier. I paused, the world doing a sharp half-turn around me.
My nails weren’t black. Slightly blue, of course. It was cold, and I’d drawn the bath at a snail’s pace. Blue was normal. The One knew my body wouldn’t be acting properly after the short-changed sleep and copious stress of the last few days.
Distracted, I tried to recall where my mental list had gotten to, and couldn’t. Instead, I focused on getting my hair clean and tangle-free before Isolde returned. No matter how sick she was, if she saw something that needed doing, she’d do it. I didn’t want that for her. So I rinsed, lathered, and combed.
Storm was gone. She’d been my girl for almost a decade now. She was my friend.
Breathing deeply, I refocused on what I had to get done. I was mostly dressed when I saw the pile of cushions and blankets on my bed and started tidying them. Isolde might not be comfortable with taking my bed unless I made up a good reason. It did have better warmth, with the main fireplace being in the room itself, but I doubted that alone would convince her. I gathered up an armload of covers and carried them downstairs, making a nest for myself on the divan before the fire. Chay had refilled the fuel supply, so I took some upstairs, then more. She’d need to keep it burning high. I started to light it myself, then realized I hadn’t finished getting dressed.
By the time I heard a commotion in the bailey, I’d finalized more tiny tasks than I’d started, but they all fell out of my head as I moved over to the big window.
Chay’s horse was obvious from this angle, but it wasn’t him in the saddle. My heart lurched to see how Isolde slumped low, barely staying in her seat. She didn’t climb down herself.
I ran to the fire and threw on more logs. I should’ve gone to get herbs or posies. See if there was another mage about.
Rushing downstairs would only slow them down. Instead, I ran back up and continued throwing my ribbons in their box, then spotted the nub of a candle and tossed it into the fireplace. If I went down, she’d feel obligated to greet me. We’d have to pause to talk. She needed warmth. I needed to stay up here until she got up here, and then I’d see her. I’d done most of the waiting. It wouldn’t be much longer. I might have time to get her soup, though, and mayhap soup would help her? She wouldn’t have eaten, although Chay might’ve taken the rest of the bread he’d left me with himself.
I blew out a hard breath and scrubbed my hands over my face. Stop it. Just stop it.
“I’m stopping,” I told myself, firmly. “We’re okay. It’s going to be okay, eventually.” It was too hot, so I went back downstairs and spotted a quill that needed to be returned to its stand, and a chair that was off-center.
When the door finally opened, Isolde stepped through. The relief was so overwhelming that I was frozen to the spot, watching her drag herself forward. Chay and Thomas stopped what felt like a respectful distance back.
I thought about moving forward to help. And I thought about the energy that refusal would take from her. I followed a half-step behind instead, taking in the tiny rips in her skirt, the fine twigs and leaves caught in her hair, the mud caked on her boots and lining the bottom of her skirts. There wasn’t a drop of blood on her. She was bent almost double and labored up the stairs without pausing, as if fearing that she may not be able to start again if she stopped.
“Take my bed,” I told her when we reached the top. “I’ve moved my things down. You’ll be warmer.”
It was proof of how ill she truly was that she did exactly that, collapsing at the foot of it like an exhausted hound.
I drew blankets over her. “Leave me,” she said, though the words were sturdy as wet parchment. “Sick.”
“I know you’re sick.” I added another blanket and put a pillow near her head, but didn’t want to disturb her.
Her cloak was damp around her pale face. The veins beneath her skin looked like cracks in fine ceramics. I put yet more fuel on the fire.
“Go,” she said, or I thought she said.
I went.
Downstairs, Thomas and Chay broke off their quiet conversation. Thomas bowed to me. “I think I can get Kaelson to step in and support the Captain,” he said without ado. “If it’s your wish, my lady.”
I remembered little from last night, bar the Captain’s disinterest in helping and the crushing waves of fury. “How would he feel about being Captain?” I asked.
Thomas clasped his hands before him. “My lady, I understand your disappointment, but the Acting Steward appointed the Captain.”
“Actually, the Master Steward appointed the Captain,” I disagreed. “The Acting Steward can’t appoint a Son-struck thing.”
“Neither can you,” Chay said, then shifted, making his belt jangle and setting my teeth on edge.
In my mind’s eye, I could see myself striding down the halls, the swirl of the skirts around my feet, the drag of my cloak in my wake. I could feel the weight of the knife in my hand. I could see the Captain’s eyes wide with shock. I’d sidestep the spray of blood from his throat. Kick his body over, too, because he could at least fall on cue. He did nothing else right.
“Check with Kaelson,” I told Thomas.
He bowed again, and left.
“That man barely slept last night and hasn’t stopped since,” Chay said quietly. “Be careful how often you use spurs . ”
Disoriented, I shook my head. I hadn’t meant today. A quick glance at the window indicated there was enough daylight to return to the field hospital, barely. But by the time I’d processed that, Thomas was already gone. I could’ve run after him, but what would it change? Would he opt to stay and rest?
The reality was I needed Kaelson here, making it work. La’Angi was vulnerable to external and internal forces, and damned if I was letting it get to trial by combat just to survive a day in this city.
Not that it’d ever been much different, I supposed. And mayhap removing the veneer was good. Mayhap it helped us all see.
“What happened?” I asked Chay.
“I gather she sheltered overnight with a beekeeper, then made it to your stockpile.”
The cache. It was known to Ylva, now. Isolde wouldn’t want to replace what we’d lost from it, but find another somewhere nearby. She liked to keep one along every route out of the city. “She escaped unscathed?”
“Apparently. She didn’t say much. The weather did her no favors, but that beekeeper probably saved her life.”
“The Southerners?”
“No sign of them, but we didn’t go even half the distance to where they attacked us.” He poured himself a cordial. “I can’t believe she got away and made it so far on foot, sick as she is.”
If he still needed convincing, then I didn’t know how to help him. “I know I lost my head last night,” I said, just to have it done. “I’m sorry.” I wanted to offer some sort of assurance on how I’d deal with it next time and what I could do to avoid it, but I didn’t know what tomorrow held, and any assurances would be a lie. It would happen again if we all lived. It was just where and when I couldn’t be sure of. And I didn’t have the energy to explain any of that to this man, who rightfully resented me.
I was sorry he’d come after me all that time ago. I was sorry he’d sworn that oath. I was sorry I hadn’t let him take his chances with Mikus in that tourney and limp home to lick his wounds. I was sorry I’d gone riding that day and fallen into his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I repeated, letting go of old regrets and turning toward new ones as I went up the stairs to Isolde.