Chapter 13 #3
He gripped her shoulder, pinning her against the wall.
“Adelaide may have taken a liking to you, but I most certainly don’t care for your tongue.
A mystique hardly needs one to perform their duties.
I suggest you keep whatever comments you have to yourself, if you prefer to keep your tongue intact. ”
If Adelaide saving her from Alan earlier wasn’t enough, he confirmed Amaris’s suspicions. Adelaide liked her.
“Fine,” she mumbled.
Alan pulled back, satisfied from his power trip, and remained silent the remainder of their walk to the main hall.
Dining room was too small to describe it, and cafeteria didn’t do it justice.
Two long tables sat on either side of the room, with a path leading up to a fifth one.
The duke was seated beside a woman who Amaris presumed was the duchess.
She had deep, fiery hair so similar to Viv’s that it hurt.
Several others, who must have been important figures, sat on either side of the couple.
A small hand shot in the air and waved Alan over. He grasped Amaris’s arm and tried leading her the other way, but most of the seats were already taken. He released a sigh and headed toward the older woman.
She was a petite lady with icy-blue eyes and blonde curls on the verge of turning silver. She wiped her hands on her apron and pointed to empty seats near her. “Alan, introduce me to your friend.” The woman smirked. Her accent was different than the others, deeper and thicker.
“This is Miss Carter. She’s to be the new mystique,” he answered, but his tone was far from polite.
She raised an impressive brow at Amaris, and the corner of her lips turned up. “Been time since old mystique died. I’m Ms. Borstad, keeper of manor. Hope ready for position. Highly esteemed role.”
Alan inclined a brow at Amaris, but Ms. Borstad was too busy fussing with the centerpiece to notice.
“I am.” Amaris faked a grin for Alan to bear witness to her attempts at playing nice as he rounded the table and took the seat across from her. “Your accent is different. Are you from…err…here?” Amaris had already forgotten the name of the kingdom.
“Not from Godwin,” Ms. Borstad exclaimed. “Immigrated from Mosfelkov long before war. Don’t worry, not enemy traitor looking to stab heart in middle of night.”
Amaris let out a nervous laugh. At least not everyone knew she was being accused of murder or Ms. Borstad would stab her in her sleep.
Amaris gazed into the clay bowl. Chunks of meat, potatoes, and vegetables swam in a broth.
It reminded her of Derek’s pot roast, as the scent of rosemary filled her senses, causing her tastebuds to salivate at the comfort.
She sank deeper into her chair and took her first bite.
It sure wasn’t beef floating around, but Amaris was no stranger to gamey meat.
With another bite, she closed her eyes and savored the delicacy, not taking notice as the seats around them filled.
“We’ll discuss that later.”
Amaris’s eyes snapped open to see Theodoric seated beside her. She should’ve known with his daunting presence. A battle raged within her to ask of his health or ignore him after he’d thrown her in that cell.
Her spoon dug into her palm, but she turned and sighed. “How are you feeling?”
The side glance and short raise of his brow was all she needed for her blood to boil. He took a sip from his drink and returned to his conversation.
“Esaias, do you plan to visit your father now that we’re home?”
Fuck him.
“Are you joking?” Esaias asked.
Amaris recognized him as one of her fellow kidnappers.
“You can’t avoid your family forever.”
“Watch me. My nieces and nephews will cling to every limb, begging me to stay. My father will have a line of curses to spew, and we won’t even speak of how my mother will react.”
Esaias’s hair was a match for Viv’s, too, and it made Amaris’s stomach churn again.
His deep-red hue was neatly cut above his ears.
His skin however was vastly different from a normal ginger’s.
Where Viv was pale with freckles, Esaias had the same tan skin as Theodoric and not a single freckle marring it.
“Stupid boy,” mumbled Ms. Borstad so only Amaris could hear. “Give up life for women and swords.”
“Theo!” A scrawny boy with gangly legs, far from proportional to the rest of him, ran through the doors. Russet locks fell from their tie and flopped to his shoulders in a wavy mess. A bright smile flourished his cheeks, and his green eyes were wide with excitement.
Theodoric turned, and the child who couldn’t have been any older than nine or ten slammed into him and wrapped his arms around his neck. “Don’t ever leave me again!”
Theodoric let out a laugh, a real laugh, as he hugged him and pulled the child back to gaze at his face.
Another sibling? Amaris watched as Theodoric smiled at the boy. She didn’t think he was capable of such a thing.
“It’s good to see you, Jeremiah,” Theodoric said, ruffling his hair. “I haven’t had a chance to ask how your season in Oakheart was.”
Jeremiah rolled his eyes. “Warin is bossy, and all Kaz and Lina wanted to play was Afgiga.” His nose scrunched up, and he crossed his arms over his chest. “When I asked for them to teach me, they laughed and said it wasn’t a game for dowmi.”
“If calling you a fish was the worst of their insults, I’d say be happy and swim on.” Esaias added with a smile, but Jeremiah stuck his tongue out at him. He returned the gesture.
Jeremiah slid into the seat beside Theodoric and dragged the bowl and utensils closer, immediately devouring the dish.
Esaias looked down the table, and his gaze landed on Amaris.
He raised a seductive brow, causing his bright-green eyes to light up.
They weren’t like Theodoric’s or Adelaide’s but were similar to fresh blades of grass.
His smirk sent her stomach to further turn to boiling knots.
He turned his attention back to Theodoric and Jeremiah, his heated gaze not registering with anyone else.
Who the hell does he think he is?
“My family can wait another season, or even a year, before my next visit. Their last letter stated they would ponder attending the Conjugation. Colette is pregnant with her and Ricard’s fourth child and isn’t able to travel.
Apparently, if one of them isn’t able to, none of them are,” Esaias rambled, leaning back in his chair and swirling his kusu in his silver goblet. He coughed before taking a sip.
Amaris grasped her own, downing half the glass in a single gulp. She could bathe in the stuff, but she’d settle for the aid with the increasing pain in her hand. Her thumb traced the design crafted into the silver. A bay with a fish in the center being stabbed with a knife.
“Must we continue with talk of the Conjugation?” Theodoric droned.
Conjugation? Amaris pondered the affair but thought better than to trouble her mind with anything other than gathering information for her escape. She pulled from their discussion, searching the main hall for Adelaide, but she wasn’t seated at the head table, or anywhere else for that matter.
“Your looks are wasted on you,” Esaias said. “You could have any woman as your escort, but you’re going to choose some wrinkly old—”
Amaris dropped her spoon and choked on a piece of meat. She coughed and smacked against her chest, attempting to clear the blockage. Theodoric thumped her on the back, and the meat flew into her mouth. She turned away, spitting the contents into her napkin.
Esaias coughed. “I was going to say book, my dear, but I love where your head is at. Also, you must learn to swallow properly. I find spitting to be impolite.” He smirked, taking a long drink of his kusu and refusing to avert his eyes from Amaris.
Her jaw dropped at his audacity. She gripped her spoon and thrust it in his direction. “Well, I find your vulgarity repulsive. I should take this spoon and shove it down your throat. We’ll see who’s gagging and spitting then.”
The few around them fell silent as their eyes trained on Amaris with her spoon poised to attack. Theodoric’s hand slid around hers and the spoon, lowering them to the table.
“I suggest a different piece of cutlery if there will be any throat-gagging or even slashing.” He waited to release her hand until she let go of the utensil.
Amaris’s cheeks flushed, the room growing stifling hot, even as goosebumps raised on her skin. She was done with them. She refused to be someone’s eye candy while also being belittled and degraded.
“If you wish to threaten me with your spoon by assessing my gag reflex,” Esaias began, grinning like a fiend, “it’s only fair I retaliate with similar action.”
“Esaias, enough of your witty antics,” Theodoric said, grasping Jeremiah’s ears. He gave Theodoric an annoyed side eye but must have believed appeasing his stomach was more important and continued to scarf down his food.
“Witty antics?” Amaris seethed. “Witty?” Her hand darted for the spoon, but Theodoric was quicker, snatching it off the table. “Fuck both of you.”
“At the same time?” Esaias mused.
“You both are insufferable.” She pushed out her chair, slamming her hands onto the table as she stood. A gasp escaped her as searing pain burned up her arm.
Alan’s chair tipped back, but Theodoric shot him a look. Amaris’s foot gave out beneath her as her vision began to tunnel. She caught herself at the expense of her hand when her elbow slammed into the table.
Theodoric leaned in. “What’s the matter with you?”
“I’m fine,” she snapped. “Sound familiar?”
Her eyesight returned with vivid and blotchy colors outlining Theodoric’s face. She made for the door, gripping the backs of chairs as she passed through the main hall to make sure she didn’t faint. What a spectacle that would be. Two fainters in one day.
She stopped a few feet outside the door, forcing a few breaths.
Her vision was returning, but the pain still lingered.
Each throb of her heart was an agonizing pulse through her bones.
She unwound the makeshift bandage, and an all-too-familiar aroma leaked from the cloth.
A rush of nausea washed over her. Where the glass pierced her skin, yellow pus now leaked.
The rest of it was either bruised, red, or swollen with infection.
Heavy shoes followed behind her. She was almost thankful for Alan. She could officially demand to see Pricilla and maybe spew a line of curses at him for not taking her seriously. She turned around, but it wasn’t Alan. Theodoric stepped closer, his eyes darting to her wound.
“Ugh, why you?” Amaris groaned.
“Has no one tended to your hand?” he asked.
“No,” she shot back, “and I don’t need anyone to. I can do it myself.”
She tried to walk away, but he grabbed her arm. He brushed the back of his hand over her forehead, dragging it down her cheeks.
“You’re overcome with fever.”
“No, I’m not,” she muttered, pushing away from him. “I’d know if I had a fever, and I’m certainly not taking your word for it.”
“We must see your hand is tended to,” he said, ushering her down another hallway.
“I don’t need your help. Point me to Pricilla.”
He scoffed, “And allow you to roam the manor alone?”
“I have an infected hand. I’m not running away in this condition.” She ripped free of his hold.
“Do you plan to run later then?”
He sped in front of her, and Amaris slammed into him at his abrupt stop. Another surge climbed up her arm. Her vision narrowed again, and he gripped her shoulder to keep her standing.
“No,” she lied, “and stop manhandling me.”
“You can barely stand by yourself,” he retorted.
“You aren’t even allowing me to try.”
He released both hands, but her legs gave out. She dropped to her knees and breathed through the pain rippling up her arm.
“Do you want my assistance or not?” He took a step back, likely to mock her fragile state.
What an asshole. Amaris stood, but the blood drained from her face at the fast movement, and her vision went black.