Chapter 24
Gideon
“What are you doing, sir knight?” Keeley’s voice was a welcome sound in his current state. Sweaty, shirtless, a little dirty.
All things he would love to be as a result of her attentions, instead of due to manual labor.
He spared her a glance, attempting nonchalance, as if he were so taken by his task that he barely noted her presence. A farce, really. Her presence was all he noticed. Not the task before him, and barely the anxieties around his little sister’s impending flight on Fluffy.
He needed to stay focused for when they returned. Tatianna, Clare, and Blade would never allow anything bad to happen to Lyssa. And if not them, Rebecka Erring was tagging along as well, which, in Gideon’s opinion, meant the only people in danger were the ones who might get in her way.
“Damn!” Gideon gritted out, dropping a slab of wood next to the cart, gripping his shoulder, and glowering at Captain Catastrophe. “Almost ripping my arm in two, apparently.”
Keeley stared at his injury, forcing him to flex his biceps—or urging him to. But it only caused the gash on his arm to bleed worse. There was a cost, apparently, to his vanity.
The captain stepped forward, her gloveless fingers brushing around the edges of his wound. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “Are you all right?”
Gideon gaped. “I think I hit my head.”
Keeley jumped, panicked. “What? When?”
“I thought I just heard you apologize. I must be near death.”
She blew out a frustrated puff of air that made Gideon woozy.
“I am trying to be helpful, but once again you make it as difficult as possible. Come here and sit.” Without ceremony, Keeley dragged Gideon by the uninjured arm and forced him to sit on the stones of the back courtyard, tugging out tools to sew him up.
The sun was beginning to set upon the horizon: the ideal time to attract the guvres’ attentions, under the cover of night.
Gideon was running himself ragged—self-inflicted punishment for all the mistakes he’d made. With…well, everything. It felt like since he’d returned he’d been doing his best to make amends for his absence, for his selfish and poor choices.
Regret didn’t assuage guilt, unfortunately.
It burned it brighter and unbearable.
As did Keeley dumping a clear liquid over his wound, stinging the ever-loving shit out of him.
“Deadlands, Captain!” He tried to pull his arm away, but she was already dabbing the wound dry with a clean towel, preparing a needle and thread to close the two sides of the ugly gash together.
“You enjoyed that,” he accused, faltering when her rose-colored lips tugged up at the sides.
“I did,” she agreed unapologetically, tugging the thread through in careful pulls, so concentrated on her task that it gave him an unobstructed view of her face. Her pert nose perpetually pointed up, her full lips, the dimples at her cheeks that looked like a perfect place for his mouth.
He narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “You’re being abnormally kind to me.”
She choked on a laugh. “I told you I enjoyed hurting you. How is that kind?”
“Because you smiled,” Gideon said casually, so as not to startle her with too intense a compliment.
She startled anyway, her head snapping up, the setting sun turning her honey-colored hair into a gleam of golden strands as she tied off his stitches.
“Gideon.” His name on her lips sounded indecent, and it was all he could do to restrain himself.
He was filthy, smelled like sweat, and was hardly in fine form to charm anyone.
“Do you think…” she began carefully.
Did he think what?
That she should kiss him again?
Marry him?
Clock him over the head with a rock?
Pour alcohol on his wounds for the rest of his days?
Yes to any, to all, as long as she said his name like that while doing it.
Unfortunately—or fortunately—he’d never know, because in that moment, he spotted a figure wandering into the thorny grove, wispy skirts trailing behind her as she angled her waiflike body to run.
A favorite pastime…for their mother.
“If you’ll excuse me, Captain,” Gideon murmured.
With long strides, he’d caught up to her in no time at all, unable as she was to get any farther into the thorny grove.
“Mother.” The word was so charged, it should have lit a spark, burning the grove to embers, but instead, it merely stopped her in her tracks.
She didn’t turn, but Gideon could see the rigid set of her shoulders, the pack slung haphazardly about her waist. The sturdy boots upon her feet, the cloak around her shoulders. It was the attire of someone set to make a break for it.
To leave.
“Go back to the manor, Gideon,” his mother said in a voice and tone far firmer, far unkinder than any he’d ever heard from the woman. “Please don’t make this more difficult.”
His heart was thudding so loudly, he swore she heard it. She turned slowly until he saw the coldness in her normally warm brown eyes, the hardened resolve in a face he’d known the longest in his life. She wouldn’t do this. He had to be wrong.
“You’re not leaving.” Gideon willed the statement to be true, refusing to ask it like a question, refusing to make any of this easier for her. “You can’t—by the gods, Mother, you can’t leave.”
The hardened resolve remained, but a sheen glossed over it. A sheen Nura blinked away. “You don’t understand.”
“I don’t understand what?” Gideon laughed incredulously, feeling anger surge. “You told her you’d stay, that you’d be there for her. I defended you! You cannot do this again. It’s not fair!”
He couldn’t say Evie’s name, didn’t need to. Their mother was aware of who would suffer most deeply in her absence, the one who’d feel the pain of it most sharply.
It made Gideon hate her, just for a moment, just enough to keep fighting. “I won’t let you.”
Nura shook her head, smiling sadly. “What will you do, drag me forcefully back there? Tie me up? Chain me down? Because that is what you’d have to do to keep me from this. That is what it would take for me to stay.”
This was cruelty—deeper, stronger than any of the foul wrongs of Benedict, a man who was evil without artifice. But their mother was making a choice…and Gideon could not stand it. “At least don’t be a coward. Give a measure of respect to your daughter and say goodbye to her. Face her.”
Nura grabbed her head—in an attempt to either keep his words out or her thoughts in, it was unclear which.
“I wanted to, I intended to. But there are some wrongs that cannot be undone. Just tell her—tell her I’m so sorry. Tell her I love her very much and I wish… Oh, how I wish I could do it all differently.”
“Funny,” Gideon spat sharply. “I think the only thing Evie ever wished for was a mother—who stayed.”
Nura flinched, clutching her stomach, eyes widening at someone behind him. “Evangelina,” she whispered brokenly.
Indeed, his younger sister had appeared like an apparition next to him, her face streaked with drying tears, her eyes red from the strain…or the anger.
“Then leave.” Evie flashed a crooked smile with a wave of a hand toward the forest. “Trystan, won’t you see my mother out?
” As if she’d summoned him, Maverine was swiftly at her back.
“Do you have need of a horse, or did you arrange your own transportation?” Evie asked politely—sweetly, even. It was…
Fucking scary.
Nura’s hard resolve softened as she took a step forward, hands out, imploring. “I love you, my sweet girl. More than you know. There are things that you cannot understand. Not until you become a mother yourself.”
Evie gave their mother a piteous stare, lifting her chin and saying with the bearings of a queen, “I became a mother the day you left.” Evie took a step closer to Nura, then another, and another until there was hardly a foot between them.
“I can tell you with utmost certainty: no matter how difficult my life has become, no matter the obstacles I have to navigate in my own mind, no matter my very uncertain future”—she smiled, her eyes going somewhere else—“I am certain I would never leave her.”
“There’s another book,” Nura whispered, clutching at her arms, rubbing them to soothe herself.
“What?” Evie murmured. Gideon took a step closer to hear their mother better, because surely, he hadn’t heard her right the first time.
“The original book of Rennedawn was written in magical ink. Blue ink, to be exact.”
Evie gasped and stumbled back, jumping when she realized how close Maverine had moved toward her. “The ink Papa bought from Clare? The same kind?”
Nura nodded. “Indeed.”
Keeley, who’d been quietly observing, chimed in. “What is the ink’s relevance?”
“If you write with magic-imbued blue ink, a single drop from that vial will copy anything written from that ink. Past, present, and future,” Evie said hollowly.
“So there’s another book. A copy,” Maverine concluded, looking stone-cold, eyebrows flattened, mouth set in his tense jaw. The man appeared ready to do battle, when he wasn’t constantly glancing at Evie. “I don’t suppose you know where it is, Mistress Sage?”
Maverine didn’t ask cruelly, but nor was he kind. He was professional. Diplomatic. Prince-like.
Deadlands. In theory, one day Maverine could be…king.
“I would if I could.” Nura shrank, breathing out in a slow measure. “But I cannot.”
“You won’t,” Evie murmured, shaking her head. “You won’t tell us.”
Nura objected. “No, hasibsi, that isn’t true. I want to tell you. I just— That’s all I can offer you. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s all right, Mother. No need for apologies.” Evie’s voice was light, her face impassive, all her emotion hidden in the depths of her eyes. “I do not believe them any longer.”
Nura nodded, biting her lip. “Trystan…might you walk me out?” She gestured toward the thorny grove.
Maverine stepped forward, offering their mother his arm in a gallant but unfeeling gesture.
“Evil Overlord?” Evie called after him, and Maverine halted like her voice was a command he had to follow. “When you return, I’d like to have a word about my magic.”
Maverine’s eyes rounded. “For what purpose?”
“I believe it’s time for me to start my training in earnest.”
“For what?” Gideon asked warily.
“To become The Villain I was always meant to be.” Evie gave their mother a final parting smile. “I was never able to fix a broken world, Mama. But of course—that was always meant to be your job.”
And then Nura Sage did what she’d always done.
She left.