Chapter 18 #2
“What’s spreading?” Amaris asked.
“Who’s that?” Esaias attempted to sit up. He smiled as he caught sight of Amaris but winced with the little effort and fell back to the bed. “At least I can gaze upon a beautiful sight before I die.”
“What are your symptoms?” Amaris ignored his pathetic excuse for flirting and pulled back the covers. She gasped.
“That,” Esaias coughed.
“And a nasty cough,” Amaris added.
Esaias’s wheeze at the end of it meant the small passages in his lungs were starting to tighten. That might have been the least of his worries though. Amaris couldn’t avert her eyes from the black streaks spreading across his body like arcs of electricity.
“The rash, I assume?”
Esaias snatched the blanket from her grasp and hugged it up to his chin. “I’m freezing.”
Amaris moved to his wall of expansive windows, drawing back the golden curtains.
“What are you doing?” Esaias groaned, pulling the blanket over his face.
“Fresh air.” Amaris felt around the sill for the mechanism and unlatched the window. It was identical to the ones in her room.
Theodoric gave her a side-eye. “You figured that out quickly.”
Amaris returned a nefarious grin with a shoulder shrug.
“What will that do?” Esaias coughed.
“First of all, it’ll bring fresh air for you in this stifling room with that wretched cough,” she said before striding to the door.
“Where are you going?” Theodoric asked.
“There’s nothing in here that’ll help me cure him. I need supplies.” Amaris’s gaze shifted to Esaias, who was now having a coughing fit.
“What you need,” he gasped, “is the mystique’s—”
“The what?”
“The—” Esaias tried again, but his cough overtook him.
Theodoric sighed. “The old mystique kept a journal of everything he encountered. When he was stationed with us during the war, he would’ve recorded the cases of scrying fever.”
“Alright, where’s this journal then?”
“I’m assuming with all his belongings.”
Amaris cringed at the remembrance of the stacks of crates and chests she’d dreaded touching. “I might know someone who can help.” She removed the cloth from her face and headed back to the library. “I expect privileges if I’m going to be curing this deadly disease.”
Theodoric lowered his makeshift mask. “What sort of privileges?”
She stumbled forward, having thought he was going to flat-out deny her. Now she had to think of something, but what kind of privileges could he even offer? It wasn’t like she could ask for free time when he wasn’t there breathing the same air.
“First, I want an apology.”
“An apology?”
“Yes.” Amaris shifted her focus forward, turning her nose up. “You owe me.”
He stopped, but his gaze swept to an open window, his thumb swirling along the hilt of his dagger.
“Why do you do that?”
“What?” he asked, pulling from his trance, his eyes narrowing after their moment of glassiness.
“You hold your knife and rub your thumb along the edge of it.”
“A habit,” he whispered, resuming the trek toward the library.
Amaris ran past him, stopping as his chest slammed into her. He clenched his teeth, flaring his nostrils.
“As you said, we’re stuck with each other, so how about, instead of you being—”
“Will you quit insulting me?” he grumbled, and Amaris pulled back. “You have done nothing but spew hate at me, calling me all sorts of horrendous names.”
“You…” she stammered. “You kidnapped me! What am I supposed to call you, Mr. Ray of Sunshine?”
He turned away. “I’m sorry! Is that what you want to hear?” he shouted. “You have no idea what it’s like having to deal with all of this!” He stepped over and leaned into the wall, pinching his nose as his eyes squeezed together.
“Are you still dealing with headaches?”
“Yes,” he said, hunching forward.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she scolded, cocking a hip and folding her arms. “I could have given you something.” She was surprised he was still dealing with the concussion, but it wasn’t uncommon for symptoms to persist, especially with the severity he had.
“I can handle it myself.”
“Obviously not,” she scoffed. “You should be resting. All this stress is making it worse.”
He let out a small bit of laughter, but it wasn’t the happy kind, more like a creepy laugh that pricked the hairs on her arms. “There is a murderer within Luana’s borders, and you’re telling me I need to rest?”
A tough guy who thought he didn’t need to take a break. Amaris hated these types. “You’re no good if your headaches keep getting worse. A concussion is a serious head injury.”
“Good thing we have the best mystique,” he said sarcastically. “Tell me, how do you do it?”
“Do what?”
“Save people who are on the edge of death.”
“Is this seriously about what happened in the river?”
“Why are you so adamant about hiding your secret?”
“It’s not a secret,” she huffed. “I… Why would I bother giving you the answers you want? Have you ever been ripped from your family and unable to get back? You kidnapped me because I was in the wrong place at the wrong time and have treated me like I’m a piece of gum on the bottom of your shoe.”
His hand slipped from the hilt of his dagger.
“You all assumed I was the murderer in that clearing and didn’t bother to believe anything I said or to even look for evidence of someone else.
I’m sorry if you’re all too terrified, but I have a home and people waiting for me.
I don’t care about this murderer, this place, or what your father says. I want to go home.”
“You’re right,” he whispered. “I don’t think you’re a murderer.”
“Your damn rig— Wait.” Amaris’s breath ceased. “You don’t think it was me.”
He shook his head.
“Then why am I still a prisoner?”
“I hold no authority over my father or Bennet.”
“I’m stuck here until they decide otherwise?” An ache rattled in her chest. She breathed, blinking back tears.
“Is anyone looking for you?”
“I’m not a murderer,” she choked.
“Where’s your family?”
My family. Amaris didn’t know what to call what she and Derek were. Family didn’t settle well on the tip of her tongue, but what even was a family? Viv certainly felt like a sister, but an ache stretched a hole inside her that she didn’t know who could fill anymore.
“I have no idea,” she cried, dropping her face into her hands.
“Why were you in the woods?”
Tears spilled between her fingers, salty beads of shame for what she’d done. “We had a stupid fight, and I ran.” Her legs gave beneath her, and her knees hit the floor.
“Do you think they’re looking for you?”
“They have to be,” she said through the tears. “But…I don’t think they’ll be able to find me.”
Theodoric kneeled beside her, his eyes darting around them as he leaned in and whispered, “My father will only release you when he’s satisfied or if someone comes to speak on your behalf.”
Amaris choked, attempting to pause her sobs to speak. “What happens if no one comes or he isn’t satisfied?”
He dipped his chin and rounded his shoulders.
She’d learned they were the same age, but the sunken nature of his cheeks and the dark circles under his eyes added years to his face.
Adelaide had said he’d changed. Did he once have a pink tinge to his cheeks?
Did a smile once flourish on his lips every morning?
“Will he actually kill me?” she breathed, finally controlling her sobs.
He swallowed, and for a moment, she saw a boy kneeling before her. A young boy uncertain of the world, maybe even fearful. “I don’t know. Your skills as a mystique are valuable. I can’t see him giving that up.”
“What can I do?” Her eyes were puffy, and she wiped a bit of snot dripping from her nose.
“Use your skills and prove to my father you’re more valuable alive.”
It was no longer a fight for her freedom but her life. If she didn’t wow the duke, she was dead. How was she supposed to be a great mystique when she barely knew what she was doing?
“What changed your mind?” she asked as he offered a hand and pulled her to her feet.
“You jumped into a river with an injured hand to save me,” he whispered. “Someone you didn’t know and who treated you so poorly.”
Amaris gazed at his hand slipping from hers and settling along his belt as he sidestepped her, continuing toward the library.
She paused, running a thumb over her palm and watching as his figure shrank, and he once again transformed into that small boy.
She silently followed him, passing through the halls that all looked the same, down the grand staircase, and through the hall, where every portrait stared down at her.
He braced his hand on the plain doors and pushed them open. Amaris would never get used to it. Instantly, the smell of old books hit her, and it was a small bit of beauty in this prison. She wasn’t one to read much, but she understood it was an art, much like her drawings.
“Who are we looking for?” Theodoric asked.
“Pricilla.”
He took the lead. They made several weird turns, getting them completely lost by her standards, until they came to a small alcove.
It was a dead end about ten feet wide and circular in shape, with bookshelves lining the entire wall.
A single desk sat with scrolls pinned down on top of it.
A few red velvet chairs and a matching couch were among the hanging lanterns scattered about.
For a place tucked away, it seemed to be used frequently, with the worn couch cushions and books piled on the floor.
Standing on her tiptoes across the room, reaching for a book on the top shelf, was Pricilla. Theodoric strode over and grabbed the book for her.
“Thank you, Captain.” She smiled, then turned to meet Amaris. Her lips spread into a large grin, but Theodoric pulled back her attention.
“We need the mystique’s journal.” He eyed Pricilla as one might a child who’d done something wrong.
“You think I have it?” Pricilla balked.