Chapter 51
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
CHAY
“Less information allows easier decision-making. Provide what people truly need to thrive, and they will.” ~ Barloc’s Wisdom, compiled by F. Bergsoniir
S he’d already told Isolde where we were going. I couldn’t lock Audrey in, and even if I could, I wouldn’t.
The trek with Ylva had almost killed Isolde. Audrey’d told me that, no, the night outdoors in the cold had almost killed her. “I’ll wear so many layers you’ll think I’m a solstice gift,” she’d promised me.
She wasn’t only a gift at solstice, though.
I paused in the process of packing a small bag to look at my hands. My sun-browned skin was unusually pale.
I reached for gloves.
She appeared with a scarf wrapped over the lower half of her face and a heavy fur-lined cloak, the same basket she’d borne into the city in her hand. I eyed it, trying to see where the bow she was hiding would fit, but couldn’t see an easy place for it. We’d fill it with food, I expected. “Should I bring a tent and bedroll?” I asked, tugging once on my sword belt to ensure it was secure.
“We’ll be back long before dark,” she said, pulling the door open with one hand. I wondered if she remembered me making a similar promise. “I—I didn’t even…should we bring Thomas, do you think?”
I remembered the way his face had hung slack off his bones. He’d been working long, miserable hours. “He’s managing a lot here,” I told her. “And we’ll attract less attention with just the two of us.” And however tired he was, he’d never let her go without him if he knew.
Her gaze skimmed my tabard, all but hidden by the cloak. Did her eyes linger on my chest longer than they needed? Heat spread through me as she turned away as if unsticking her eyes. Mayhap she didn’t only enjoy the company of women.
“As you say.”
I took a deep breath and shut her door behind me. If I were an honest man, which I was occasionally, I’d admit that the thought of leaving La’Angi was lovely. But as soon as we stepped into the bailey, the wind bit through the clothes I’d layered and cut me to the bone. If she’d felt this way and still come out into the city that day to save us from the ambush…I’d underestimated her determination. And even now, she strode forward, barely flinching at the cold as she headed to the stables.
Piles of sleet had built up in the corners of the stones, and the sight of it surprised me. I hadn’t seen the rain or the sleet.
I’d had no attention to spare last night.
Audrey glanced back at me, and my heart squeezed in my chest at the invitation in her eyes. I lengthened my stride to catch up to her as she pried open the door to the stables. We moved together in the gloom, confident in the darkness with the smell of horses and hay. She could prep a horse as fast as any stableboy I knew. “When this is all over,” she said to me as we led the animals out into the gray morning, “I want to spend more time on horseback.”
When. Not if.
I stepped into the wind ahead of her and closed the door after her. “A noble pastime,” I agreed, because I couldn’t argue.
“Will you join me?” she asked without a trace of guile.
I glanced over at her as she boosted herself into the saddle and resettled her scarf over her face. Her pupils hid most of the gold that lit her eyes, but she was still in there, and now she was looking at me. Her focus made my blood heat in my veins.
I remembered my early musings about teaching her to ride. I imagined hearing her laugh and talk animatedly as we picked our way through the naked boughs in the winter sun. She’d know strange facts about the orchard that I’d never considered. I wanted them. I wanted the way she’d light up as the information tumbled forth. I wanted to see if she’d spin in the sunlight, whether frost would crunch beneath her nigh-silent feet, and whether she’d leave boot prints in the snow. I wanted to know if she’d have a favorite flower come spring or whether that, too, might be a source of strange and fascinating speculation. Would she spend the time to soak her feet in a stream come summer, or did she prefer to fish, or skip stones? Would she strip down to her leather undergarment the way the Steppe nomads did, and do her hair up in plaits to keep her neck cool, or would little pieces of hair escape her hairstyle to lay against her neck?
“Never mind,” she muttered, shaking her head.
My mouth dry, I had to stop myself from grabbing her reins. “Yes,” I promised. “Yes, I very much want to join you.” She didn’t look like she trusted me. I lowered my voice, just a little, refusing to allow that misunderstanding to draw another breath. “You know when all the ideas hit you at once, and you need a moment to sort them?”
Her eyes creased up at the corners a little, with a smile I couldn’t see but could feel in my chest. “Oh.” That must’ve made perfect sense because she was suddenly relaxed again. “Well, that’s…good, then.” She waited for a beat, as if she, too, needed to sort through that, and right there in the deserted La’Angi bailey, my heart turned over in my chest. Then she nodded, appearing content.
I dragged my eyes away from her. If there was some miracle cure, then I’d be very excited to spend expanses of time with her in whatever fashion she found enjoyable. But that explanation felt far too improper to be aired in the bailey of her father’s keep. So with need and sadness warring within me, I guided my horse forward.
The city was so quiet and empty that the sound of the horses’ hooves echoed along the cobblestone streets. A fat rat peered at us boldly from the front steps of what looked like one of the most affluent houses in the merchants’ row. I didn’t point it out to Audrey, but I didn’t try to hide it, either. We spoke not at all—Audrey gave directions with a pointed finger the few times she needed to. I watched the windows above us as we rode. I marked the ones with shutters that eased open, but none held bowmen intent on killing us this morning.
Almost out of the city and down in a tier slightly closer to what I’d considered the poor quarters than the rich ones—but still an area with glass in the windows and clean, well-maintained sidewalks—we stopped.
A cart stood in the middle of the road. It had been a body cart, clearly, complete with the heavy cloth cover they tossed over and the horrific lumps beneath. But it was left utterly abandoned. A few bodies had been dragged to lay near it. One was wrapped, flowers atop the stained blanket and black feet poking out one end. One looked like someone had done their level best to get the corpse close to the cart but hadn’t the strength, and in the end, their friend or family member was left half on the cloth they’d been dragged upon, arm outflung and covered in mud.
“I’ll report it,” I told Audrey before she could climb down to deal with it herself.
At my voice, a rat popped out from under the cart and peered at us, its muzzle dark.
My stomach rolled.
Audrey turned her head and urged Storm to continue on.
I didn’t breathe easily until the castle was out of sight behind us. The apple trees that surrounded La’Angi were naked of leaves. They softened the horses’ footfalls and muffled the sound of our passing. Once again, we traced the path Ylva had guided us along.
“It seems the rats can’t get it,” Audrey said eventually. “I heard the last Ltonan war, the rats got so full they’d pick out the livers of the fallen. Sometimes the eyes, or the brain, but mostly just the livers.”
Perhaps I didn’t need all of the unusual things she’d learned. I took a deep breath and said, “I bet there were a lot of drunk rats running around.” The wind sank talons into my chest, my hips, my legs. The agony of the cold was something I couldn’t comprehend. I looked at her, and she was shrunken down in the saddle but seemed undeterred. Faith? Desperation? Or a keen sense of survival tempered by her father’s ruthless determination?
She glanced over, taken aback. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
I didn’t know if it was true or not, but before she could start mulling over it, I asked, “What’s your plan?”
“I have to get to the stone and activate it.”
I shook my head, then had to resettle my cloak to maximize its coverage. The road was utterly deserted behind us, the orchard eerily silent around us. I felt safe to ask, “No. I mean with your father. What’s the grand plan?”
Now she sent me a sharp, wary look, but whatever she saw must’ve reassured her. Deep in the orchard, beneath the naked branches of the apple trees and with the city just a threat on the horizon, she said to me, matter-of-factly, “I’m going to kill him.”
There was none of the rage that would’ve fit that sort of statement and not a shred of the passion that had gripped her this morning. This was the cold woman focused on solving a problem who I’d watched choke a man unconscious and then throw him over the sea wall, and cut the Captain of the guard’s throat in front of a hungry crowd. I studied the seriousness of her expression but could see so little of her.
She had one hand braced in the mud, and was doing her best to claw her way back to her feet.
I’d known that, really. I’d seen evidence of it. Over and over again, she’d told me with her actions what was important to her. Finding a way to make things right—trying to protect people, even grumpy road apples like me.
My heart ached for her. For the child she’d never been. I hoped she knew that girl, now, the way I’d gotten to know the boy inside of me.
“It won’t undo what he’s done,” I warned her, in case no one else had.
“No,” she agreed, turning her eyes forward again. “It’ll put a stop to what he can do. It’ll show that there are consequences for everyone’s actions, no matter how wealthy and powerful they are. And as I’ll be doing it publicly,” she continued, as if discussing the weather, “it ought to ensure that the King doesn’t try to marry me off to his second-best General, because La’Angi is mine, and I intend to care for it.”
There were layers to the plan that I hadn’t predicted, a lack of feeling when she spoke of him I couldn’t relate to. It made me uneasy. And could a place ever belong to a person?
It would thwart Darrius’ plans. If the people followed Audrey, they wouldn’t follow Luca or anyone else chosen to climb into her bed.
At that thought, rage rippled under my skin, and I let it out in a hard breath.
“What makes you think you’ll make a good Duchess?” I asked her, because I wanted an answer. Because I wanted to defend that hard-won kernel of respect for her.
She glanced over at me again, and I regretted the anger that had crept into my voice. But she asked, “You think I can do it? Kill him?”
That was what she’d heard. That I believed in her. That was how hungry for any spark of hope she was.
“Many things can happen,” I said. “That doesn’t mean they should.”
She looked taken aback by this. “I—well, I don’t know why I’d be good,” she admitted. “I’ve the advantage of knowing the city, and I’ve been lucky enough to be educated. I’ve got good friends. I try to look at the big picture, and I want to learn. I have half a chance, and that’s half a chance more than almost everybody else.” She fidgeted with her saddle horn, the first show of unease since she’d started to discuss this treasonous plan. “To be honest, I don’t know what else to do but hope that’s enough.”
Her answer was not the one I’d half-feared she’d utter, but was it a good one? I thought of Kadan, a born leader with his charming, low-pressure way of getting things done. I’d never had to ask if he’d be a good leader. I’d seen him lead. I knew how he worked. But if I’d asked…I suspect he’d have said something similar.
“So.” I watched as she ducked under a branch, then avoided the same hazard. “What’s the plan, then? An arrow in his heart during a big event?”
“Trial by combat.” She didn’t look at me as she said it.
I cast my mind back over the times I’d seen her act defensively. Bow, yes. Her shots hadn’t missed that day. Knife, perhaps. And then I recalled her standing in front of me, tears on her face and silently pleading with me to train her to use the sword.
My heart sank.
I’d said no.
The wind howled through the trees, but if she felt it, she gave no sign, just lifting a finger to point. “I know these hives. We’re about halfway. The terrain gets worse.”
I examined the ground. It was safe enough at a walk, but the sun was well into the sky. We’d started much later in the day last time. But we’d also left in a hurry. Who knew how long it would take to attempt to activate this old magic. The cold was surely in my soul by now. I didn’t dare take off my gloves to see if my nails, too, were black.
She must’ve followed my thinking, because she urged her horse to go just a little faster. We rode uphill in silence for a time, and this time I didn’t worry about her seat at all. I felt foolish for having considered making her walk Storm last time, which in and of itself was also foolish. She had almost come unstuck in the orchard.
She wanted to challenge her father to a trial by combat. She knew he was a swordsman. Even if she could somehow force him to accept the challenge, he’d choose the weapon she was useless with.
She needed me. She knew it.
She hadn’t forced it, though. She’d barely even asked. And she’d never explained. Not even a hint.
There was an argument that she’d had her hands full, and that was true enough. But despite the crushing urgency of the crises unfolding around us, we’d spent plenty of hours sitting about in her tower, filling time, waiting for situations to unfold. There had been ample opportunities.
“Why didn’t you flee?” I asked her before I could think the question through fully. “I’m sorry. You don’t need to explain yourself to me, Audrey, I?—”
“This is my home,” she answered flatly. “I wanted things to get better. Often, it is good here, even when he’s around. It was so easy to wait just a little longer.”
I felt the burn of that hope, deep in my heart. The hopeless, torturous perhaps that kept you coming back. I wondered if my mother’s ghost still clung to that hope, even now.
“It never does. Get better.”
“No.” She said it with an acceptance that I didn’t know she truly felt. “No, it won’t. Not while he’s alive. I’d almost come to terms with that, but then the plague came.”
And she’d felt obligated to stay. “Seems like another version of the same dangerous hope,” I said, though I didn’t want to.
“Mayhap,” she agreed. “I know the world isn’t inherently fair, Chay. But I want to make it fair.”
And how did a woman who’d grown up warm, fed, educated, and cared for—even if only by her maid and her expensive horse—know what was fair?
I remembered, in detail, the conversation she’d had after I’d killed those children to protect her.
She’d basically put Bernadette and Kaelson in charge of the keep. They only checked in with her out of courtesy and because she showed an interest.
“What if you end up poor and living in a village? Nothing to read. Not even shoes on your feet.”
She glanced back over her shoulder at me, frowning. “That feels unlikely. I could get work as a tutor. And anyway, fair isn’t everyone having nothing. Fair is people getting what they need.”
“What do they need?”
She shot me another look. “I don’t know, Chay. I haven’t asked yet. What’s the point when I’ve so little to give?” Then, without looking this time, she added, “But I do believe access to food, clean water, somewhere to sleep, healing, and knowledge is the minimum. Why is it so few are trained as mages?”
I’d heard Kadan ponder on that same thing. And also plan to kill important men. They were more aligned than even he had known.
I didn’t mention to her that she might have allies. I’d need to discuss it first with Kadan. He’d be willing, I was sure.
But it was the older generation we’d need to convince. The ones who looked at Luca and saw a shining example of what nobility could be.
“It’s a wild dream,” she said, hunched down in her saddle. “Isolde says I should retreat to the tribes, learn what I can, and return when I’ve matured if I still wish to. When I’ve experience and knowledge.”
It was solid advice. “But?”
“People need help now. ”
And she was helping them. Not so much herself, but by adjusting the situation and supporting the people who could make change.
I blew out a long breath. If I could support Luca as King, I could support this woman as Duchess.
“It isn’t just revenge,” she said, sounding ancient. “There’s no way I’ll ever really get that. I want it. I want him to look at me and realize he was wrong.” My heart sat in my chest like a stone at the conversational way she delivered that truth, and the depth of agony I knew those words could never, ever touch.
I knew that need.
“But I doubt he ever will,” she went on, “and my world is greater than the pain he caused. That’s a privilege, damn it, but I may as well use it.” The end of her sentence lifted up like a question. Her head turned a little, but she didn’t look at me, rather, off to the side.
“I’m not hearing a revenge plot,” I acknowledged slowly. “It sounds like rebellion.”
“Does that scare you?” she asked, turning to me, her eyes full of anger and shadows, and the black, seeping plague.
“Of course it scares me,” I said, irritated. “But that’s not important. What’s important is whether that fear will stop me, Embers.”