Chapter 13
Amaris
The woman who had hidden in the back of the throne room raced after Amaris and Alan, grabbing him by the arm and whisking them up a back stairwell.
They whispered back and forth, but even with Alan keeping a firm grip on Amaris’s arm, her attempts at eavesdropping were futile.
Their echoes turned to muffled speech as they bounced off the walls of the narrow passage.
She pondered the mystery within the throne room—Theodoric’s widened gaze and his quick recovery as he sped into the hall.
She’d wanted to chase after him, but Alan had held her back.
The duke demanded Alan take her to be cleaned up and see her to her chambers, which Amaris understood, bars or not, was still another prison.
With Alan’s hand wrapped tightly around her limb, she knew she wasn’t simply a visitor or their mystique. She was a prisoner and would be carted around the castle like one. Her muscles clenched as she waited for Alan or the woman to slap iron chains around her, but they stopped at single door.
The woman whispered to Alan, “You better explain yourself later.” She gave Amaris a side-eye. “It would seem you were sparse with your details.”
Alan released Amaris’s arm, drawing closer to the woman as he whispered, “I didn’t know.”
She eyed Amaris over Alan’s shoulder, then leaned close and whispered something in his ear. He ground his teeth, pushing into the room. She didn’t follow him but instead leaned into the frame, crossing her arms as she dragged her eyes over Amaris.
“What did you do to your hand?” she asked, grabbing Amaris’s forearm.
Here we go. She waited for a shackle to latch on to her arm, but the woman released her grip.
“Accident,” Amaris breathed.
Confidence radiated from the woman. A long leather jacket framed her shoulders and hugged her toned arms as it draped down to her knees.
There was no denying that she must have been related to Theodoric.
She was a third his size and barely old enough to drink a beer, but she still looked like she could kick his ass.
“Must have been one crack in the realm of an accident,” she said, nodding for Amaris to follow her into the room.
Amaris stepped over the threshold into the biggest disaster ever.
Not only had her life crashed in a matter of seconds, but she stumbled into the woman’s room.
With her slicked-back ponytail and neat presentation, Amaris expected her room to be pristine, with her comforter tucked and pressed like a military cot, but this was chaos.
A large four-poster bed with black drapes sat in the center and appeared to not have been made in days, with her comforter half on the floor and her top sheet poking out from under the bed.
Off to the side sat a black-marble fireplace with red velvet chairs surrounding it.
It was the only part of her room not covered in clothes.
The woman, too, struggled to cross the treacherous floor, tripping over a pile of rolled up shirts.
The clanking of metal rattled as she kicked it under her bed.
She relinquished her jacket, tossing it onto the mattress.
Without a single care, she fell into a chair and draped her legs over the side.
“You can wash in there,” she said, pointing to a small bathroom.
Amaris’s legs anchored themselves to the floor. She shifted uncomfortably as they both studied her, but the woman’s eyes didn’t relinquish their focus from Amaris’s hand.
“Do you have some rubbing alcohol and a bandage?” Amaris asked, raising her hand in a plea.
“Rubbing alcohol? Like rum?” the woman asked, turning to Alan, who leaned against the mantel with his hands hovering over those long knives.
“No,” Amaris started. Whatever this place was, she hoped it didn’t follow the rules of medieval medical practices. She didn’t want to fend off critics trying to use mercury and bloodletting. “Something to clean it.”
“Using alcohol instead of herbs? Is that a new medicinal practice?” The woman shrugged but continued before Amaris could get a word out. “I’m sure Pricilla will have something for you when she acquaints you with your duties.”
“What about clothes?” Amaris folded her arms across her chest as she spotted her bra poking out from a rip in her shirt.
“I’ll have something for you after you’ve bathed. The others returned reeking of horse dung and horrid body odor.” Her gaze drifted to Alan as she inclined a brow.
Amaris refrained from smelling her armpit.
Whether she smelled or not was the last thing on her mind.
Escape, run, get help. She sucked in her lips, giving a wry smile as she tiptoed across the room and closed the door to the bathroom.
A breath escaped her. She’d survived another encounter in this hell.
Her eyelids squeezed tight, and she held her breath, counting to four before releasing it in a slow exhale.
She had to stay calm. If she got worked up, there was no telling what they would say to the duke.
What if they kill me? Amaris remembered the hate-filled words spit back and forth between her and Derek.
She held back the emotions climbing her throat.
How was she supposed to prove herself when she didn’t know where she was or how to be whatever a mystique was?
Escape was her only option, but first a fresh pair of clothes, something to eat, and a decent bandage.
She took in the immaculate bathroom, a far contrast from the rest of the bedroom.
She brushed her hand along the edge of a brass tub.
A black-marbled vanity and sink sat to the side, and a toilet was posted in the corner.
At least indoor plumbing existed. Her eyes caught a glimpse at her reflection in the vanity mirror.
She kept her distance, not wishing another mirror to suffer under her wrath, or to see the cut and bruise marking her cheek.
She turned from the mirror, fending off an emotional outburst. As warm water spilled from the spout, she tore off her clothes and slid into the tub.
Amaris couldn’t even begin to fathom what had happened in the last forty-eight hours. The only explanation was she was in some other world. She’d never been one to believe in wormholes or alternate dimensions, but nothing explained the behavior of the soldiers, the kingdom, or even the ocean.
The ripped and bloody excuse for a bandage fell apart when she began unwinding it.
Her hand was swollen and red around the small cuts.
Biting her lip, she dared to touch one. Instant pain.
She dipped her hand beneath the water, needing to do whatever she could to clean it.
She expected to flinch or pass out from the soap, but it was a different sensation of pins and needles skittering up her fingers,
Am I trapped here? She didn’t even know how she got here, let alone how she’d go about finding a way back home.
Bathe, clothes, bandage, food. Escape later.
After scrubbing the last remnants of her weary journey, she stepped from the tub.
Her body may have been clean, but she still felt tainted as she caught another glance in the mirror.
No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t wipe away the bruise on her cheek.
Learning all she could about Luana Bay and its inhabitants was her top priority.
They all seemed hell-bent on incriminating her.
If she wanted to get back and fix things with Derek, she needed to find a way to escape first, which meant doing a little interrogating of her own.
Whoever this woman was, she wasn’t welcome in the throne room.
Why else would she hide behind a curtain?
Amaris wrapped herself in a thin towel and peeked into the bedroom. The woman still sat in her chair, twirling a blade between her fingers as she bickered with Alan. She wore a black blouse under her leather vest with rolled sleeves to reveal small, white scars scattered across her arms.
She looked the part of a warrior, but without a uniform or a sword or knife attached to her hip, Amaris questioned whether she, too, was one of these soldiers.
With Alan’s and Theodoric’s lack of uniform today, maybe not everyone bore their weapons or their rank for the world to see.
They certainly hadn’t searched Amaris, but maybe they didn’t expect her to be carrying an old heirloom in her boot.
The woman sprung from the chair as Amaris slid through the crack in the door.
“I presume you prefer trousers, judging by what’s left of your ripped garments, but I also laid out an assortment of dresses, skirts, and tunics.
I have an older pair of trousers, but I question whether they’ll fit you.
Your curves are more prominent than mine. ”
Amaris slinked toward the bed, sifting through the pile of clothes. The material was odd, not cheap fabric, but sturdy and without any elastic. “Thank you…”
“Adelaide.” Her tone was short but lacked the callous inflection Theodoric’s held. “I also found these for you.”
Adelaide handed Amaris a small wooden box filled with linen squares and a roll of cloth. Amaris wasn’t sure if they were sterile, but she’d deal with that when she spoke with Pricilla. The soap and water would have to hold her over until then, but an aching feeling spread up her arm.
Amaris placed several of the linen squares over her knuckles, but Adelaide must have sensed her awkward struggle to hold her towel in place, along with the squares, while she wound the bandage around her arm.
Adelaide reached for the bandage, but Amaris’s towel slipped from the small corner she tucked underneath her armpit.
Amaris snatched it off the floor, hauling it over her naked body.
The inflamed cheeks on Alan’s face were a match to her own as the flush spread up her neck.