Chapter 38 #2
“You’re in luck, I’m sometimes the one who brings the tray to her, so the guards shouldn’t question me.
We use a serving trolley. It should be big enough, at a push.
” He looks me up and down, sizing me up in a way that’s almost comical, given the circumstances.
“You might be able to fit underneath. We normally drape a tablecloth over it. They sometimes check, so they might find you.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
“It’ll hide you, but only if you can make yourself very small.”
“I can do that.”
“It won’t be comfortable.” He looks me up and down some more.
“Comfort isn’t my concern right now.”
Ferris nods slowly. Then faster, as if convincing himself. “I’ll go and get everything ready. Give me a few minutes.”
“Ferris.” He turns back. “Can I trust you? Can I trust you to do what is right?”
His face tightens. I see the struggle in him.
“Think of all our years as friends,” I say.
“Much has changed. I won’t deny it. But the heart of who I am remains the same.
I want what is best for this kingdom. For everyone in it.
Human and fae alike. There are other kings who have returned like me.
I plan to find them. To build something strong enough to stand against Snow. ”
Ferris holds my gaze. His eyes are bright. Then he nods, once.
“I’ll help you, Baldwin.” He catches himself. “Sebastian…sorry…um…yes…I’ll help.”
He disappears into the kitchen, and I let him go.
It’s tough because trust is something I have always struggled with. Right now, I trust my instincts are right, and I trust him…I do.
I must.
The minutes crawl. I stay in the curing room, listening to every sound, analyzing every footfall and voice for a hint of alarm. None comes.
Then Ferris returns, pushing a large metal serving trolley draped in white linen.
I heave out a sigh.
Thank the goddess.
On top of the trolley sits a candle in a silver holder, a bottle of wine with an opener, and two glasses. One is plain, and the other is ornate crystal. There is also a silver cloche covering what I presume is a sweetened pastry, and some silver cutlery.
He lifts the edge of the tablecloth. “Get in.”
I do as he says. The space is not meant for a full-grown male, especially one as tall as I am.
My knees press into my chest. My shoulders are almost too broad to wedge between the trolley’s legs.
I have to twist my spine at an angle that sends a sharp complaint through my lower back.
One of the cross-braces digs into my ribs.
It will have to do.
“This is…” I grit my teeth, adjusting an inch to the left. It doesn’t help. “Quite miserable. You will need to be as quick as you can, please, Ferris.”
“I’ll do my very best. Keep very still and very quiet.”
I nod.
Then Ferris lets the cloth drop, and the world goes dark, save for the thin line of light at the floor.
The trolley jerks forward, and Ferris lets out a groan. Then a grumble. Then another groan.
“You think you’re uncomfortable?” he mutters. “Do you have any idea how much this thing weighs with a giant like you in it? I’m going to put my back out.”
Despite everything, I smile for a moment.
We move through the kitchen. One of the cooks calls out to Ferris.
“Is that a delivery for the Ruler General?”
“Indeed,” Ferris replies.
“So early?” There’s a questioning lilt to her voice.
“I don’t question orders. I just carry them out,” he says with exactly the right amount of put-upon.
“Okay, then,” she sighs. “Hurry back, we’re behind on preparations.”
“I will.”
We pass through a corridor. The voices in the kitchen fade behind us. He grunts as he turns a corner. Then grunts again halfway down what has to be the long hallway.
“You need to slow down on the food,” he whispers.
My mouth twitches, but I can’t quite manage a smile. Not when my left leg has started to go numb.
Then we stop.
“Are you going up to the solar?” a male asks.
“Yes. The Ruler General wants her dessert,” Ferris says.
“In you go,” he says.
The trolley moves forward, going over a bump. Ferris grunts.
There’s a mechanical grinding sound. I think it’s the pulley system. It’s how large items are transported up and down in the various towers. There is a lurch that sends my stomach dropping; we begin to rise. The lift rattles and creaks as it hauls us upward. The mechanisms groan under the load.
The platform stops with a jolt.
“Kakara’s teeth,” the same male complains from just below us. “Why does this trolley weigh twice as much as usual? Make that thrice as much. Are there rocks in there?” he shouts.
My body tenses. I hold my breath.
“It’s a fancy new trolley,” Ferris says. “It’s made from a solid metal frame. Don’t ask me what the head cook was thinking when he ordered them. I’ve been complaining all evening. The thing weighs more than I do.”
“Bloody management. They never think of us little people. The ones at the bottom,” the platform operator grumbles. Then he groans as he pulls the rope. We jerk up again, coming to a halt several times before we finally make it to the top. It takes a while before Ferris wheels us out.
We continue down what I know must be the upper corridor. The route to the Ruler General’s quarters follows a shorter passage with guards posted at intervals.
Ferris greets them, and they grunt or greet back.
We stop again.
“Has the Ruler General requested her late tray already?” The guard’s voice is clipped and authoritative. “Surely it’s too early?”
“I was given the order to bring it,” Ferris says. “So here I am. I’m following orders. I can leave if you want, but you might get into trouble.”
Ferris is doing such a great job.
There’s a pause. The sound of the cloche being lifted. I hear someone chewing. Then the cork being pulled from the wine bottle. A sloshing sound. Someone drinking.
The guard is sampling the food and drink, which is standard practice to ensure that it hasn’t been poisoned.
I grit my teeth when my right calf starts to seize. The muscle tightens into a knot that sends fire up the back of my leg. I want to shift, to stretch, to do anything to relieve the agony. But I can’t move. Any sound, any shift in the trolley’s balance, and it’s over.
I bite down on the inside of my cheek and will the cramp away. It doesn’t help.
“All clear,” the guard finally says. “Go ahead.”
The trolley moves.
We go further down the corridor. Then we stop. Ferris knocks on a door.
My cramp hasn’t let up. The muscles between my shoulder blades have also started to burn from being so folded.
“Who is it?” It’s a female voice.
“Your dessert and wine, Ruler General,” Ferris says.
A pause. “I didn’t order anything.”
My blood goes cold. After everything, she might still send him away. Every muscle in my body screams to move, to get out, to do something.
There is silence, and it lasts long enough for me to count five of my own heartbeats.
“Bring it in,” she says, sounding irritated.
The door opens. The trolley rolls forward over a thick carpet that muffles the wheels. The air changes. It’s warmer and scented with something floral.
“Leave it there,” she says.
“Yes, Ruler General. Have a good evening.”
Ferris’s footsteps retreat. The door closes behind him.
Thank you, my friend.
The Ruler General moves around the room. There’s the sound of wine being poured. A sip is taken, and then the cloche is lifted. A pause as she inspects whatever is beneath it. Then the cloche is replaced with a soft metallic ring.
I stay still. My calf is on fire. My back aches. My legs have gone numb in places, and the numbness is worse than the pain because it means blood isn’t getting where it needs to go.
She moves again. Footsteps crossing the room. Another door opens and partially closes.
I wait, counting to sixty.
When no sound comes from the other room, I ease the tablecloth aside.
Every movement is agony. My legs don’t want to cooperate. I slide out from under the trolley inch by careful inch, lowering myself to the carpet. I stretch my right leg and the cramp releases all at once, a relief so intense I have to bite my tongue to keep from gasping.
I get to my feet. My legs tremble beneath me. Pins and needles race through both calves as the blood finds its way back. I roll my shoulders a few times as I press myself into the darkest corner of the room and wait for the feeling to return to my limbs.
I can see the sitting area from here. The trolley sits where Ferris left it.
I contemplate going in now. Confronting the Ruler General before Isla arrives.
I decide against it. Isla needs closure. She needs to have this meeting with her mother. Once it is over, I will find a way to get us out of this court.
I smile to myself. Who am I kidding? It is Isla who will more than likely save my ass yet again.
My whole chest warms just thinking about her. I can’t believe I’ve been such a fool.
I hold my breath when the woman returns and takes the bottle of wine into the bedchamber with her. She leaves the door open this time. I hear the creak of a chair. The soft sound of her drinking.
I slip closer to the archway, peering inside. She is at her desk. She dips an ink quill into a pot and starts writing.
I fall back into the shadows, where I wait.
The Ruler General refills her glass. She continues to work.
I wait some more.
I’m beginning to wonder if Isla will ever make an appearance when she says, “Mother.”
The word comes out rough and filled with raw emotion.
The quill drops.
I edge toward the door opening so that I can watch the exchange.
The woman’s body goes rigid, then she turns.
Her eyes find Isla immediately. I see the resemblance. The shape of her face. The set of her jaw. Isla’s features are softer, younger, but the bones beneath are the same. Their eyes as well. They have the same shape and the same coloring.
“Isla.” The woman chokes on the name. “It’s you. I didn’t think you’d come. I hoped… I longed…”
Neither of them moves. The moment stretches thin and taut between them. I can feel the weight of it from where I stand. Years of grief and absence and unanswered questions, all compressed into the space between a mother and the daughter she abandoned.
Then the woman is on her feet. Her chair crashes backward. She crosses the room in three strides and pulls Isla into her arms.
A sound tears out of her. Raw and desperate, perhaps a little broken.
Isla hugs her back. Her face presses into her mother’s shoulder. Isla makes a sobbing noise; she’s shaking. They both are.
I feel something tighten in my chest just watching them.
“My girl,” the woman whispers into Isla’s hair. “Oh, Isla, how good it is to see you.”
“I thought you were dead.” Isla’s voice is muffled against the white linen.
“I know.” Her mother’s voice breaks. “I know, my darling. But we are together now, and that is what counts. You came back to me. We can be a family now.”
She pulls back and cups Isla’s face in her hands. Her thumbs brush away the tears. She studies her daughter’s face like she’s memorizing every line.
“Look at you,” she whispers. “You’ve grown into such an incredible woman. So strong. So beautiful.” A sob escapes her, followed by a laugh. “So powerful too.”
She pulls Isla close again, one hand stroking her hair.
“This is how it should be,” she murmurs. “You can finally embrace who you truly are.”
I see Isla go still in her arms.
Her mother pulls back, her hands on Isla’s shoulders, her eyes bright and shining.
“You are Isla of the House of the Dark Dagger,” she says, and there is pride ringing in every word. “My daughter. Descendant of Ruler General Fenrik himself. You have a legacy, a birthright.”
Her smile widens.
“Welcome home, my darling. I told Queen Snow all about you. She can’t wait to meet you.”
Everything in me grows cold. Is this a trap? Is Isla going to accept? Is she going to change sides? Was she ever on my side to begin with?
No!
I need to stop this. I trust Isla. I know her. I meant it when I told Ferris that I had feelings for Isla. They’re real.
Isla’s face changes, the softness drains from it, replaced by something stricken and pale. Her lips part, but nothing comes out.
For a few beats, her mother doesn’t seem to notice. She strokes Isla’s cheek, her expression filled with what looks like genuine joy.
Then she stops, perhaps seeing something change in Isla’s expression.
“What is it? Aren’t you happy?” she asks, cocking her head, her eyes narrowing. “Please tell me you are happy to see me.”
“Of course I’m happy to see you.”
“Oh, Isla.” She pulls her in for another hard hug.
My heart starts to break for Isla. I don’t think that is the reunion she envisioned.