Chapter Eleven Kit
Chapter Eleven
Kit
I pull on my pelisse and pause to check the contents of my reticule.
A ball of yarn, in case I need to track my way in or out of a place.
A flask of water and a few hazelnuts, the only food I was able to forage today.
An iron ring, in case any of the Folk get a little too close.
A cutting from a rowan tree. A small Bible, loaned from Mrs. Westness and weathered with use.
Religious texts aren’t a deterrent in most tales, but Mrs. Westness insisted, just in case it turned out some devilish creature lives in the Hidden Lands.
In case I need a more practical weapon, I slide a short dagger into my boot.
Catharine leans over my shoulder. Her hand is bound with the local physician’s best bandage. The remainder of my pile of silver sits near the hearth, plenty for another visit and even some left for repairs to Mrs. Westness’s roof—our gift for her hospitality.
“Is there anything else I need?” I ask Catharine.
She’s the one who gathered this assortment of items, all meant to keep me safe.
King Hugh told me I’m only to keep watch outside of the realm, but if I want answers, I’ll have to get closer.
Catharine is the storyteller, the collector of these tidbits.
I never thought her reading would become a matter of life and death.
As I glance at her furrowed brow, I feel another swell of gratitude.
She is doing whatever she can to keep me safe, even if she doesn’t agree with my decision.
“That’s all I can think of.” Catharine bites her lip and leans back. “Are you sure you want to do this? At worst, it will be dangerous. At best, you’ll be risking your reputation.”
“Well, most people will think I’m risking yours,” I try to joke, gesturing to my face.
Catharine wrinkles her nose. “I don’t mind that.”
“I know.” I take her hands, though I don’t squeeze.
“And I am sure Speir was one of the Hidden Folk. I might be able to find him there and make him undo our curse. And even if I can’t …
” My head fills with Idris’s drawn face, Abram’s shy kindness, and Jay’s ready smile.
“Well, there are a lot of young men who seem in need of rescue.”
Catharine nods, serious. “Don’t try to do too much on the first trip. The most important thing is to be sure you know how the rules work, so you can stay safe. Once we know how to play the game, we can free the boys.”
I nod and give her a quick hug. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
Catharine wraps her arms round me. “I’ll have breakfast ready.”
It’s already dark when I arrive at the manor house, although the evening has only just begun.
I follow Idris’s instructions and go round to the back of the building, the servants’ entrance.
He seemed embarrassed when he suggested it, but I’m grateful for any way to avoid being seen.
Catharine’s face might not be widely recognized here, but King Byrne would know her description if it got back to him somehow.
A maidservant—Ruth—shows me to a private parlor and leaves me with some soup and bread.
The bread here is strangely flat, with a grainy texture that fills me faster than the loaves I’m used to.
I eat and move closer to the fire. The night is black and cold, and it will be hours until we’re even halfway through.
For all I acted assured in front of Catharine, my stomach is now in a tight knot.
There are a thousand ways the evening could go wrong, but it isn’t the journey to the Hidden Lands that fills me with anxiety.
It’s the time I’ll need to spend alone with Prince Idris.
We decided that I will stay in his room, to keep word about me being there as limited as possible, rather than for me to sit in the hallway all night, where any servants might see me.
Still, we will be alone. For hours.
He’ll be a gentleman. I’m sure he will. He’s never made me doubt that. But I am not used to it.
A part of me feels something more bubbly and excited than nerves. If I could only lean into the feeling, let my heart acknowledge it fully, it might be … anticipation? Perhaps tonight could be whole hours as perfect as our clearing at the ball.
But a shadow lurks in the corner of my mind, and my lungs tighten.
Trying to shake off my unease, I take out one of my nuts and crack it. The pieces still taste chalky and unappealing in my new mouth, but the action of cracking and eating makes me feel more settled. The shadow fades back to a place where I don’t have to feel its cold touch.
The door opens, and I turn, tensing. I expect to find Idris there, to tell me he’s going to bed and to invite me to my watching place.
But instead of the prince, it is Ruth. She has returned carrying a candle. She looks uncertain. “Miss? I believe the prince wanted to greet you himself, but he seems to have fallen asleep. I can show you where you’re meant to stay, though.”
I nod, rising. Ruth takes me down the hall and opens an ordinary-looking door.
My throat is tight, and my breath is shallow.
I’ve never had a reason to feel unsafe with Prince Idris, and some part of me knows I need not be afraid of him.
But even this healthy, unharmed body can’t seem to understand that.
I am a rabbit, poised to run at the first hint of danger.
“Thank you,” I murmur. I make myself step into the room.
True lifts his ears and hops off the bed, wagging his tail. I avoid looking at Prince Idris asleep under the blankets. But all my attention focuses on him. My hands shake. My heart and my head tell me there is no reason to be afraid, but an ancient and feral part of me screams run.
I grab the door and turn the handle, wrenching it back open—all instinct, all need to escape. But a noise behind me cuts through the panic.
A noise like an exasperated horse.
I turn slowly. The noise again—a heavy sigh with a flapping, raspberry ending. Idris is snoring. A comical, horsey snore.
I snicker, and just like that, I’m in control again. I look at the door, still open, and my hand on the latch. This isn’t like before. I am choosing to be here, choosing to stay in this room. Choosing to stay with Idris, the same way I have since I first saw him.
Quietly, I pull the door shut. I tug one of the chairs closer to the fireplace and stir the peat.
When I sit, True leans against my legs. It feels good to bury my hands in his fur and listen to the thump thump of his tail on the floor.
My heartrate slows to a normal pattern, and I take deep, deliberate breaths. The room smells of sea and books.
The wind gusts outside, whistling past the window, and now and again rain or ice hits the panes.
I stay near the fire, absorbing its warmth.
Idris sleeps, and as I listen to his occasional horsey snore, the hours take on a golden glow.
A peaceful clearing in an icy forest. I find myself hoping, foolishly, that maybe Idris won’t get up tonight.
Maybe he’ll just sleep, and I’ll sit here, and morning will come with nothing more than that.
Time creeps by slowly and then all at once. I’ve been staring at the fire for hours when, somewhere in the house, a clock chimes. I count the bells. Ten … eleven … twelve.
There’s a creak behind me, and I jump, standing. Idris pushes himself out of the bed. Even now, as he grabs clothes from his wardrobe, he’s strangely quiet. He never looks at me.
He’s only dressed in his nightshirt; without noticing me, he grabs the collar and starts to pull it over his head.
Quickly I turn my back, staring at the fire with burning cheeks.
I listen as he fumbles around. It’s a matter of minutes before I hear him open his door and snap to True.
The dog trots after his master. Idris has grabbed a different outfit than he wore yesterday, and he’s left Abram’s glasses on his bedside table. I grab them before I follow him out.
Idris moves fast, and even with my new height and long strides I have to half run to keep up.
The house is eerily still, as if we’re moving through a painting.
Idris pushes open the front door and steps into the wind, indifferent.
I catch the door before it can close and dive after him.
The cold stings my skin, my nose, my lungs.
Even my pelisse doesn’t keep it out. I notice for the first time that Idris hasn’t put on a greatcoat.
Bizarrely, he’s only dressed for a dance.
He doesn’t seem to notice the gale. He doesn’t even pause before he’s off to the road, taking the route toward the city with an urgent stride. I keep after him.
“Idris?” I call, once I’m close again. But he doesn’t respond, and when I try to get a look at his face, I can’t make out his expression in the dark. His eyes gleam, though. Open.
True nudges my hand as if to remind me I am not alone out here.
Idris cuts straight through the town and to the dock. He starts untying a small yole. My stomach churns, and I feel like a fool. Of course this would involve water.
If I get sick like before, I’ll be useless on the other side of wherever we’re going. And the sea looks much rougher tonight than it was when we sailed to Skyare. The harbor water is disturbed by small waves, but the churning sea beyond the breakwater roars in my ears.
True jumps in the boat, and Idris himself is preparing to get in. It’s too late to back out now.
Gulping a breath, I push in front of him and clamber to the bow of the boat.
I sink down at the same time Idris jumps aboard and takes in the mooring lines.
He pushes off from the dock with an oar and starts raising the sail.
I grip the gunwales on either side of the boat, waiting for the rocking to start and my nausea to follow.