Chapter Ten Idris #3
Father shakes his head, impatient again. “I mean, he didn’t leave the manor with you?”
“No, I haven’t seen him.”
Father casts an anxious look out at the harbor. “His yole is still here. It’s not like him to leave no word when he goes out.”
Abram probably sneaks out more than Father suspects, but he isn’t wrong—at a time like this, Abram wouldn’t have wanted to cause anyone to worry.
“He wasn’t at the manor?” I ask, an uneasy sinking in my chest.
“No, I looked for both of you before I set off.” Father gives me a severe look. Reproaching me for leaving without a word. For leaving at all.
The fidget in my foot gets faster. I remember Kit in the next room and what I promised to ask. Hoping to change the subject, I say, “Are we still looking for people to search for Jay? I think we were paying, right?”
But Father has turned again to the harbor. His brows draw close together. “Has anyone seen Abram today?”
“I—don’t know.” True nudges my hand. I give him a scratch. He nudges more persistently, and I realize he’s not wanting my hand—he wants my waistcoat pocket.
I feel inside, thinking I might have some dried meat left over from a recent walk.
My waistcoat is one of my finer ones—and now that I pay attention, I think from the smell under my armpits I might have been wearing this last night.
I just grabbed it without looking this morning.
I wonder, reddening, whether Kit noticed.
But then my fingers meet a strange object in my pocket, and all other concerns flee.
Slowly, I pull out a pair of glasses. Gold-rimmed. Round.
Abram’s.
I stare, my pulse tight and rapid in my throat.
A sickly, feverish heat rushes through me from my hands to my head.
I shut my eyes and see a shadow pressing something into my pocket.
A shadow that speaks words I can’t understand in a voice as familiar as my own.
I am walking away, and True runs from me to the shadow and back, whimpering.
I am getting into a boat, and True is scrambling in, barking frantically. I am leaving.
The shadow stays.
I open my eyes, breathing hard. My ears start to ring. My voice sounds very far away when I whisper, “He followed me?”
“What?” Father looks at me, and his gaze fixes on Abram’s glasses. “Why do you—”
My head swims. I want to keel over and gag, but I can’t move.
I feel a shaking horror so deep in my bones it fills my whole awareness.
Father is asking questions, but it’s all a smudge on my consciousness.
My eyes are blurring and stinging and my head pounds a rhythm of he followed me and they trapped him.
Father pushes himself to his feet and paces, both hands digging into his hair. I still cannot move. He hurries suddenly to the door and barks orders at a servant. “Check with everyone! Who saw Abram last?”
But I know, deep in the center of my quaking soul, that Abram is gone.
“I’ll get him back,” I say, my voice toneless. Another useless promise.
“I can’t—” Father clenches his jaw, still standing by the doorway. “Idris, if you only—”
He stops himself again, mouth pressed shut as if holding in his tirade through sheer force of will. I wish he would shout. I wish he would say it out loud.
This is your fault.
“Who can go with you tonight?” Father says instead. “You still can’t remember anything, can you? We need someone reliable. They don’t have to go into the realm with you, but they need to keep watch. We need to know where you are going and if Abram is there.”
“I don’t …” I swipe at my eyes, rubbing wetness away. I don’t deserve to cry over this. It’s my fault. “I don’t know who would—”
“I will.”
We both start. Kit has opened the archive door and stands framed by the darkness behind her.
She lifts her chin and repeats, “I will keep watch.”
“What?” Father takes a step toward Kit and then looks at me. “What is she …?”
I push myself up. My legs burn, and I feel another wave of weakness. I want to sink back down.
“She and her sister are seeking refuge here,” I say, trying to save Kit from having to explain. “There has been trouble in the south.”
Father blinks. He is trying to pull himself back into his formal, official expression. Exhaustion suddenly overshadows every other emotion as he says, “I don’t … Princess, we will help you in any way we can. But I don’t want you to endanger yourself.”
“I want to do this.” She steps into the room. She’s untied her bonnet and holds it tightly in her hands. “But I do have two conditions: You must not tell my family where I am, and you must pay me with a bag of silver coins.”
“There are better ways to make that money,” I say, though I’m not sure where else she could make so much so fast. “This isn’t worth it.”
Kit turns blazing eyes on me, and then on my father. “I can do this. You will not have to worry about me spreading rumors—you’ll keep my secret, and I’ll keep yours.”
I shake my head. “I don’t want to risk anyone else.”
At that, my father’s eyes harden. “You already have, Idris.” To Kit, he says, “I accept your terms.”