Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Dorian
I needed air. Different air.
The side door let me off into a narrow hallway. I burst into it and let the door close behind me. Low light, probably a servants’ passage. Right now it sat as empty and quiet as a tomb.
I leaned back against the stone wall and closed my eyes. Eurydice appeared behind my eyelids, resplendent with another man’s fingers on her. I wanted to rip his hands off at the wrists and beat him with them until he cried for his mother.
What was wrong with me? I had spent half a life thinking nothing tasted sweeter than revenge. Now I knew better. Her mouth, between her thighs…
Haskel had been wrong. I wasn’t just pining—I was unraveling.
The door opened, and I jerked upright.
Finch appeared, looking sheepish. He stepped in and let the door shut behind him. He didn’t speak, only wrung his hands.
I sighed. “Haskel sent you to find me, I assume?”
“No, ser. I saw you leave, and…”
I leaned back against the wall, rolled my face his way. “And?”
“You looked to be in pain. I thought it best I come check on you.”
“I see you didn’t bring wine.”
“I can—” He turned to go.
I raised a hand. “Stay. More wine will only loosen my tongue, and that’s all we need tonight.”
He approached, and eventually mirrored me by leaning against the opposite wall.
I gazed over at Finch. Maybe I’d told him to stay because no one else would follow, and I knew the rareness of the thing. Even if he was my squire and not even grown.
He went on fidgeting with his hands; words seemed to press at his twitching lips.
“Just say it, Finch. Whatever it is.”
“I saw the way you were watching Queen Eurydice.”
I closed my eyes. “All right, you’ve said enough.”
“Well, ser, I feel I understand your pain.”
His coltish form slid once more into view. “Is that so?”
“I’ve been in love.”
I couldn’t help my smile. Perhaps I had underestimated this boy. “You were in love?”
“With the loveliest girl in my village.”
“The most beautiful?”
He made a face at me like I’d offered him overripe fruit. “The most beautiful was a terrible liar. She would kiss one boy to make him fight another. Wildmother, I’d be glad never to see her face again.”
My smile grew. Yes, I had entirely underestimated him.
“Brenna had a soft, sweet way. She would nurse a baby bird to see it fly again.” Finch had stopped fidgeting now.
"She had freckles across her nose, and when she laughed, she’d cover her mouth with three fingers.
” He lifted his hand to his lips. “And, ser, no disrespect to you, but the greatest gift of my life was that she told me she loved me, too.”
What an oddity of a boy. Like a strange, magical creature. Pure, if such a thing were possible in Feyreign. “What village did you come from, Finch?”
“Brackenford, ser.”
The name meant nothing to me. It must be small, or on the fringes. “How many in Brackenford?”
“Three hundred.”
“And what’s its purpose?”
“Dyes, ser.”
A village of three hundred producing dyes for the court. Probably for the dress Eurydice wore right now.
“Why are you not in love with Brenna now, Finch?”
He slumped against the wall. “It’s not that as such. I just… stopped letting myself think of it that way.” He shrugged, the gesture too careful to be casual. “My parents sent me away. I might not ever go back.”
“You’ll go back, after you’ve served.”
“Not as who I was, ser.” For the first time, his gaze held a certain challenge—a wisdom I couldn’t argue with.
He was right. None of us came back the same, if we did come back from the citadel.
Few wanted to return to simplicity after knowing grandeur; fewer could live in peace after seeing the worst of Unseelie-kind.
“That’s true.” In the hall, shadows danced across our bodies. “But you might go back worthier, after you’ve read every book in my study.”
He let out a breath of a laugh. “That would take decades, ser.”
Kinship slipped into my veins. I’d resisted it, and now I couldn’t deny it. Haskel, you bastard. You knew this would happen.
I pushed off the wall, ruffled his brown hair. “You have the time.”
He pressed his hair back to shape with both hands. “Please don’t do that, ser.”
My eyebrows rose. “Why, Finch, did you just draw a line on my behavior?”
He kept smoothing his hair. “Oh, no. I just—”
“Come on, then." I straightened my doublet, rolled my shoulders back. "A thousand ladies are missing the sight of your lustrous locks.”
Finch fell into step behind me. The corridor stretched long and golden, and with every step I rebuilt myself. I was her veyre. I had a duty. Whatever I felt, whatever I wanted, it lived beneath that duty, and I would keep it buried for as long as the night demanded.
We reached the ballroom door. I pushed through.
Music swelled. Fae swirled in silks and masks, a kaleidoscope of color and large smiles. I scanned the room for her—force of habit, or something deeper—and I found her.
On the dance floor. In his arms.
Black hair. Dark eyes behind a hawk’s mask. And that scar along the jaw, the one I’d put there five years ago when I should have put my blade through his throat instead.
Gawain.
He held her close. His hand at her waist, where mine had been. His mouth near her ear, saying something that made her tilt her head.
Everything I’d just built collapsed into rubble.