Chapter 48
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
AUDREY
“Old friends can be lovely, but question—what is it they want from you, and why are they here? Remember: our duty is first to The One.”
~ Etiquette in Arcanloc
C hay was sleeping sprawled all over my reading chair, limbs akimbo and lips slightly open, when I woke. It didn’t look comfortable, but he was out cold, so it couldn’t have been too bad.
My body ached. The gloves I’d been living in ought to have been dry by now, but I left them and just tucked the blanket around myself, going up to bank Isolde’s fire and pass her some warm water.
She sat up, shuddering with the cold. She hadn’t made it further than the chamber pot in days. “Go,” she told me, shooing me with a weak flick of her hand.
I went, once I was certain she was as okay as I could make her. I didn’t tell her about yesterday afternoon or how I’d stood in the rain for hours, watching the sliver of a shadow over the road that I suspected, but wasn’t certain, was an enemy archer. I didn’t tell her about how my veins had looked black, and my bones had hurt so much I couldn’t make a fist.
I missed being able to tell her everything.
Tears jammed up in my throat, and I dressed with extra care. There was going to be a lot to do today. We had to relocate an entire hospital, and Chay had taken a prisoner. He wouldn’t have killed the man.
He was still sleeping when I returned. Resisting the urge to give his foot a nudge, I curled up in my mountain of warm blankets and rested my aching body, trying to gather up my strength rather than sit and worry. When that failed, I practiced my breathing.
When he finally stirred, I heard the change in his breathing and the sigh of fabric moving against fabric. I opened my eyes to find he was staring straight at me, a crease on his cheek from the arm of the chair and his dark blue eyes shiny from sleep.
“Morning,” he said, blinking a few times. “You’re looking better.”
I’d probably looked poorly when I’d dragged myself in yesterday. I’d sure felt it and hadn’t had the energy to disguise it. I wondered if I was allowed to point out that he ought to shave and organize a haircut. Plague or no plague, guard expectations remained.
He sat up and vanished for a while. My eyes fell on my gloves, stiffened now, beside the fire. Then, beyond them, my boots. Not my lady boots, but my sensible boots that had returned with me from the wild flight from Ylva’s people.
I went and found the beeswax polish and brush and set to work. I’d need these boots again, possibly even today. The less water they’d take on, the better they’d serve me.
The rhythm of the task was soothing. I remembered sitting beside Isolde working wax into leather in silence, a chair under the door. She’d let me lean my shoulder into hers. A few times, when her smiles were soft and free, and her eyes were bright, she’d even pressed a kiss to the top of my head.
Something had to give. How many others were like Isolde, curled up and unable to help themselves, but not yet gone? The soft brush rubbed circles into the leather, and the pieces of the puzzle rumbled around in my head. I felt like they were all there, but I couldn’t put them together. And I didn’t have anyone I could ask.
Ylva had cited pre-Barloc information. That was treason.
What I’d give to go back to her now, with what I knew, and ask her some equally treasonous questions.
My mind went to those yellowed scrolls I’d retrieved quietly in the aftermath of Isolde’s decline, which were also most definitely treasonous to have accessed.
Our library was deep and old. I’d always known it had been cared for throughout the ages by crafty scholars and gutted by warriors expecting no resistance.
But knowing and actively exploring were separate things. Discussing the forbidden was another tier again.
Acting on it, even if I could figure it out? I’d wish I was dead if word got back to the powers that be.
But Isolde was dying.
I reached for Chay’s boots. They were the ones he’d worn here, in the cut of Raider’s Ban, lower at the back and front, with a soft, rounded toe and an indent for stirrups in the arch. His had decorations stitched across the top, black designs that might’ve been waves or perhaps horses’ manes. Brush already in hand, I avoided the threadwork, focusing on the points of wear, and wondered if the Matri’sion footwear would be different again.
When Chay returned, the crease was gone from his face, his hair was neat, and he was holding a platter of food. His sword belt chimed gently as he made his way in.
I swapped him his primary pair of boots for some food, and he took them with a surprised, “You polished my boots?”
Breakfast was porridge made with more water than milk and a little honey. My stomach rolled, but I took the spoon. “Mine needed to be done, and yours were there.” I cringed at the thick sludge hitting my tongue. At least it wasn’t cold.
“Thanking you,” he said firmly, and almost like a reprimand. “That was kind.”
I swallowed down the mess of it. He was still standing, holding the boots. I was tucked up inside my blankets again. He didn’t have the expression of someone who’d been on the receiving end of an act of kindness. “My apologies?” I offered, unsure, hoping he wouldn’t go back to being as cold and distant as he’d been previously. He’d been grumpier than usual, but at least he’d talked over the last few days. “Was it the wrong thing to do? I should have checked.” I should have, but I hadn’t thought to. They were just boots. But they were his boots.
He didn’t have much that was just his, I supposed.
“I’m grateful,” he said firmly. “Even if it’s just a small thing for you, it means I can wear comfortable footwear today. It shows me you were thinking of me.”
Heat flooded through my bloodstream. I’d tried very hard not to do that. He’d made it clear he didn’t want it. And he didn’t look happy now. His dark brows weren’t bunched up, but his eyes were slightly narrowed, and he shoved food in his mouth like he was forcing himself to eat.
It was horrible food.
I needed to figure this out. We needed to be able to work together. “Should I not do it in the future without asking first?” That would be inconvenient in instances like this morning, when it was easy to go from mine to his, just like when I did Isolde’s. But I could manage. A bit of forethought went a long way.
“Help yourself to my things any time you feel like doing some polishing,” he said.
There was something off about the way he said it. “I’m not feeling very well,” I admitted, hoping honesty would carry me through. “I’m going to take that at face value, so if you’re mocking me, best to tell me now.”
He reached over, closing the distance between us with ease I didn’t expect, and nudged my bowl closer with a single fingertip. “I’ve never been so serious in my life, Embers. You ought to eat.”
I looked into the gray, stomach-turning mass. Had it been a spiced pear tart, I still would’ve struggled right then.
But he was right, even if it was all an elaborate ruse at my expense. So I ate.
We took extra food with us to the dungeons to visit the prisoner. “We don’t want the Butcher’s help ,” the man spat at me. “His help is the reason we’re already in chains!”
He didn’t want my empathy, either, so I kept it to myself. On the way out of the dungeons, I turned the situation over in my mind. I didn’t want to keep him, but nor could I afford to feed him forever. If I released him, he’d just organize his group of hunters again, and we’d become quarry. I could put him to work loading the dead carts, mayhap, but ensuring he remained present would take manpower. Was it worth the investment, for one prisoner?
Kaelson was found in the barracks, within reach of the Captain’s desk he fit so well behind. He hailed us. “I was on my way to Bernadette,” he said. “We may as well all go. I’ve dispatched extra volunteers with wagons to start relocating Thomas to the market square, my lady. I suspect we’ll need to leave a small contingent out there, though, as local villages are stopping by there first.”
“Can we staff it?” I asked him.
“A few volunteers. Mayhap a guard or two.”
“And the market?”
“Yes. The hospital itself hasn’t been the target of anything much except a lot of unwell folks, and I do suspect that’ll continue. No one wants to get too close to plague carriers.”
I thought of my own resignation to it. If only Isolde wasn’t so worried, I could just enjoy her company now. “What about those already sick?”
“Possible that it wouldn’t keep someone already unwell away. But not something we’ve experienced yet. There are easier targets. I think that’s important to remember. We don’t need to make it properly secure, just secure enough. ”
It was a strange thought and one I never would’ve come up with. “I’m very glad you’re here, Kaelson.”
He sent me a surprised look as we turned into a side corridor that would take us to the kitchens. “I’m not too unhappy with it, myself. Wish the situation was better, I must say, but given everything…”
My eyes caught on a shadow up ahead. Kaelson cleared his throat and stepped forward, blocking my view. To my left, Chay said, “Do you get whales in this bay, Audrey?”
I glanced over, distracted. “Absolutely not. Our beach is too shallow.” From here, I could see the ocean off in the distance, over the sea wall. “Do you? At Raider’s Ban?”
“Sometimes,” he said. “There are a few viewing points along the peninsula, further around from ’Ban. It’s nomad country, and there’s no access to the ocean there by foot.”
Kaelson was moving out of time with us, positioning himself between me and that shadow. I halted abruptly, and Chay cut off his story just as quickly.
A skinny child was huddled in a corner, more shadow than human. Their eyes were black pits, and their head had slumped on their knees. Beside them, a kerchief, like one used to carry baked goods, was open. A few crumbs remained close to the dead child’s open, bone-white fingers. There was a hole in their shirt that could only have been made by a rodent.
Isolde curled up like that, in a tight little ball. The thought of rats gnawing into her flesh to get her sweetmeats made my head spin.
Kaelson’s hand on my shoulder jolted me, and I was pulled along. “I’m sorry, my lady,” he said quietly. “We’ve people who sweep the keep. They must’ve missed this one in the morning go-round. They’ll be at rest tonight.”
I floated, and Kaelson towed me along.
From far away, I wished I’d listened to Chay’s stories about whales.
“Oh, here’s trouble,” Bernadette sighed when she saw us as if nothing was wrong. “You smelled the buns, Kael.”
“Half the city smelled the buns, Ettie.” I watched as they shared a look that was friendly. Perhaps even on the very friendly side of the scale. And I felt hollow. “I found the lady on the way to chat with you. We need to figure out logistics for a hospital in the market square.”
Someone had found that corpse, taken the food the child was carrying, and left the body.
Was there another child out there now, starving? Not dying of plague, but hunger?
Bernadette punched the dough in front of her absently. “So your runner said. I’ve ideas. You’re going to love ’em,” she told me. “Grab a bun, both of you, and sit down. This might take a little while, because there’s a few moving parts, but it might help us recover some of the harvest if we do it right, or at least get the corpses out of the city so the rats don’t get too much fatter.”
Eating a bun with that image in my head wasn’t going to be possible. I held the warm, yeasty treat, shoved down my grief, and listened as she explained the three arms of the organization she wanted to put in place. Food, shelter, and work. Not work for the food and shelter, but as an option for those who wanted to, and could help.
And I wanted to weep as I listened. Because these people, they were the ones who knew what was really happening. I was here only for encouragement and to give a semi-official seal of approval.
“I’ve a prisoner,” I told her, hoping she might work her magic on this problem, too. “His people are starving but won’t accept support. Mayhap this is a way forward for them? If it’s more removed from the keep, and therefore my father’s shadow.”
They both went silent for a moment, shared a quick look, and then Kaelson said, “I’d be cautious with prisoners, my lady. They’re often a lot more trouble than they’re worth. I don’t wish folks ill, but that particular chap was willing to take bread from a hospital.”
And that was that.
While it answered a lot of questions I hadn’t even thought to ask yet, they hadn’t been able to guide me on the issue of the prisoner.
“How are you faring?” Chay asked me, as we headed back to my rooms.
Restless. “Fine, thanking you, and yourself?”
He sent me a long, level look that made guilt swirl in my belly. “How are you, really?” he asked me pointedly.
I blew out a breath. “You’re not supposed to be annoyed. No one wants a real answer when they ask that.”
“I do.”
I rolled my eyes. “You’re the one person. I didn’t know this. I guess you’re allowed to be annoyed, but it still doesn’t make sense.”
“Lots of things don’t,” he said, and he sounded amused. “I’m thinking of going to give Bliksem a brush. Storm could use some love if you’ve the energy for it. The kitchens were warm, so I figured you might?—”
“Storm’s gone, Chay.” I’d done my best to avoid thinking about it, and had mostly succeeded. It seemed foolish to mourn my horse when my best friend was dying.
He shook his head. “She made it back herself.”
I staggered to a stop, the world spinning. She wasn’t gone? “Why—how?—”
“She’s flighty,” he warned. “And not in great condition. But she’ll be okay, given a good long rest, a nice warm stall, and some love.”
The thought of her big brown eyes and happy greetings made me want to cry. She’d been here for weeks, and I hadn’t known?
I’d been such a coward. I hadn’t even checked.
The path to the stables seemed like it went on forever. The thought of grabbing up my skirts and running didn’t even occur to me until I finally made it there, so deeply was decorum drummed into me. But my heart beat furiously against my ribs, and I struggled to draw breath until I was in the dark, dusty stables and saw my girl, right where she should’ve been.
The joy I felt was so pure it hurt. She lifted her head and came over to the edge of the stall, meeting me at the gate and forcing me to watch my feet in the exuberance of her greeting. I buried my face in her neck and felt the warmth of her, the solid strength, and I cried.
She let me hold her, her head over my shoulder, as my heart broke and mended and broke again.
I hadn’t really lost much. Not compared to some. But it was coming. I could see it coming. I was watching, day by day, as my best friend slipped away. And while I tried my best to ignore that, it seemed, in that stall, with my horse back in my care, to be a burden I could put down, rather than ignore.
I heard a bucket being set down nearby, the slosh of water. “I’m going to give Bliksem some attention,” I heard Chay say. “I think this is Storm’s grooming equipment. It looks fit for such a wonderful girl, anyway.”
I finally went into her stall to find he’d brought what I’d need to get her cleaned up. “Thanking you,” I said, but I didn’t know if he could hear me, and I couldn’t point the words his way. It would mean turning away from Storm, and that seemed insurmountable.
Brushing her was a slow process because she wanted her head to be on my shoulder or her nose to be up in my face. I’d made good progress when I heard Chay chuckling from the stall door. I glanced over her back and saw him offering her a carrot. “Come on, there,” he said, his voice low and soft. “You let her get those itchy hairs out. You don’t need them all, now, do you?”
She inhaled the carrot and turned back to me, brushing the leafy top over my head in her haste to check on me.
“Want a second pair of hands?” he asked, amused affection in his words.
Mayhap I was too tender, but it was hard not to enjoy hearing that tone, even when it wasn’t directed at me. “She’s anxious, but if she’ll have you, you’re welcome.”
“Storm and I are friends, aren’t we, girl?”
One of her ears went back as he opened the gate, and she put herself between him and me.
“See, best buddies,” he said. “Give me the comb. I’ve seen what you’re like with them. I’ll sort out her mane.”
It sounded like a jab, but it was said with a sort of amused resignation. I didn’t know what he meant, except that he was helping, so I handed over the comb and ignored the rest, turning my focus back to her withers.
“How come you weren’t riding her the day we met?” he asked me.
In the quiet, calm oasis that was the stables, it was easy to believe the rest of the world didn’t exist, that all the worries and fears couldn’t reach us here. And still, speaking freely about what Isolde and I did was an anathema. Explaining how she’d hurt her foot kicking a stablehand and how the boy had hit her, and the whole saga, just seemed like too much. I just shook my head. Conversation wasn’t what I wanted.
The sound of Storm’s breathing slowed, and she relaxed into the attention, letting us care for her. I knew she would’ve returned home driven by instinct and made it all the way through sheer luck, but I didn’t care. It felt personal to me. Like she’d come home to see me.
I was grasping at straws, but they were all I had, and this particular straw was worth holding.