Chapter Twelve Idris
Chapter Twelve
Idris
My thoughts
are
frag
ments.
Space
forms between
each
moment.
I am
s t r e t c h e d
and
dis
tant.
Gone.
The blur and burn of color fog in my mind.
There is a familiar face. Light on glasses. A dog’s nose pressed to my hand. Words called. Cannot leave. And then a woman speaking: Tomorrow, tomorrow.
Cold cracks in lungs. Heat sizzles on skin. Mouth tastes of wine and salt.
An unsteady surface, rolling beneath. Firm again. Uphill. Steep. Air that cannot find room. A chest too small.
Then sudden softness. A bed. A warm, shaggy body lying on burning feet.
Peat smoke, comforting and familiar. A shadow by the fire.
Quiet.
Clink clink scratch, clink clink thud.
I keep my eyes closed, reaching for the last threads of sleep. Trying to tangle my mind in them, to fall back into rest. But my body—though pulsing with pain—becomes wide-awake. Something scrapes on the wall. Clink clink scratch, clink clink thud. It won’t stop.
I open my eyes reluctantly. Morning cracks through thick clouds.
I’m in my room, in my bed. True lies on my feet, his brown eyes watching me, though his head isn’t lifted.
His tail thumps on the covers, but that’s not the sound I heard.
I press my palms against my aching head.
I want to strangle whatever is making that noise.
I want to bury my face in my pillow. But as soon as I turn over to try to sleep, I hear it again.
Clink clink scratch, clink clink thud.
Groaning, I flop onto my back. Movement catches my attention. Kit, leaning over the fire and stirring it.
“Are you making that noise?” I ask, my mind clouded by irritation and exhaustion.
She stops. “Oh, I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
“No, not that. The clinking.” I cover my face. Momentarily, the darkness of my arm makes the ache in my head subside.
But then here it is again: Clink, clink. Clink, clink, clink, clink-clink-clink …
“Make that infernal noise stop,” I mutter. It seems to echo in my brain, plucking at my eyes.
A pause. “There … isn’t any noise, Idris.”
I shift my arm and shoot her a glare. She lifts her hands, apologetic. Her hair is still tied up, with wisps falling around her face. Spots of darkness shadow her eyes. I realize she’s been up all night—and, just like that, my mind clears.
She’s still here.
I sit up quickly, ashamed of my temper and desperate for her news.
“What happened last night?” I ask, my face heating with embarrassment or eagerness or both. “What did you find out? Is Abram—”
“Abram’s all right,” she says quickly. “Or … as well as he can be. He’s still trapped, but he’s not been harmed.”
“And Jay?”
“He—I don’t know.”
I push myself out of bed. True grunts in annoyance. In only my nightshirt, the morning air is cold despite the fire. Right. Nightshirt. My face flames, and I grab the blanket from True to wrap round me.
“Would you like to … get dressed first?” Kit asks, eyes averted. “I thought I might slip out and perhaps speak to you and your father in town?”
I check my impatience. There is nothing proper about our circumstances, and I’ve already risked Kit’s—or, Catharine’s—reputation enough by asking for her help. The least I can do is make sure we talk somewhere safer for her.
“Right, of course.” My legs tremble, and I sit again. “Do you need help getting out?”
“I think I know the way.” She picks her pelisse from her chair and pulls it on. “Where should I find you?”
“The Guildhall,” I offer. “Same as last time.”
She nods and slips through the door. I rise as soon as she’s gone.
But this time, when I stand, I notice that there’s something different about the floor.
I look down. My feet are bound in cloth.
Cuts or blisters sting against the bandage when I shift my weight.
I feel a swell of gratitude, and something else that seems to blend embarrassment and warmth. Kit must have done that.
I take my clothes and dress quickly. True huffs a sigh when I open my door but comes reluctantly after me.
“You can stay if you want,” I tell him. He looks up at the sound of my voice and wags his tail halfheartedly. I run my thumb up the space between his eyes, so that he closes them in a doggy smile. Softly, I say, “Thanks.”
Father is pacing the breakfast room. When I enter alone, what little color remains in his face drains away.
“She came back,” I say quickly. “She’s fine. Abram is still trapped, but she said he’s well.”
Father exhales. “Where is she?”
“I told her we’d talk at the Guildhall. We thought it might be more—proper.”
Father is walking past me to the front door before I finish my sentence. “Take some food and come.”
I snatch a napkin and load it with ham, toast, and sausage.
I “accidentally” drop one of the slices of ham onto the floor, and True gobbles it up.
Holding the rest, I hurry after Father. My feet pinch and sting.
It takes me a few minutes to catch up, and by the time I do, my feet have dulled to about the same ache as the rest of me. I can walk without a limp, at least.
Father maintains his icy silence on our walk to town. I use the opportunity to eat. I’m famished, but even when I’m done I don’t feel stronger. My hands have a slight shake to them, I think. I wipe them clean and stick them in my pockets before I can be sure.
We are let into the Guildhall and informed someone is waiting for us in the audience room. I ask for tea and hot rolls to be sent up. If Kit beat us here, she probably did not stop to eat.
But when we enter, Kit isn’t the person waiting.
A young man stands and turns to us.
“Jay?” I gasp.
Jay comes to me and takes my arm. “Good lord, Id—”
Father catches my other shoulder just as my knees go weak.
The morning tips toward black, and I move my legs in an attempt to walk wherever they’re taking me.
My pulse pounds against my skull, and a woolly, thick humming clouds my ears.
I breathe deeply, forcing my lungs to expand, and slowly my vision returns.
A rush of heat and cold sweeps through me, and I can’t tell if I’m shivering or sweating.
Clink-clink-clink-clink.
Jay closes my hands round a cup. I drink. It’s tea. The wool in my ears loosens, and I catch the words spoken between my friend and my father.
“… so much worse?” Jay is saying.
Father gives a short nod. “It seems to progress faster every night.”
“I’m fine,” I rasp. I clear my throat. “I just—Jay! What are you doing here? How?”
Jay pulls another chair close and sits, his brown eyes still concerned.
There’s a bandage around his head, and he looks tired.
“If I knew it’d be such a shock, I would have told the servants to prepare you.
I got home last night—I wanted to be here when you came today.
” He glances at my father, and I’m not sure if he’s addressing this to me or him. “I didn’t want to disturb the house.”
Father pours out two more cups of tea. “Where have you been these past two days?”
“Mainland.” Jay takes his cup and holds it between his hands.
I blink. “What?”
“I followed you, Idris.” Jay exhales. “You got out of bed on the strike of midnight, dressed, and took off for the harbor. You’ve been taking your yole.
I boarded with you, and we set off due west. After about half an hour, you turned north.
I saw an island I’ve never seen before, either in person or on a map.
The cliffs were sheer—even taller than Verron’s—and you went straight for them. I tried to take the tiller and …”
A memory struggles to surface. Hands grappling with mine. Someone shouting. All my strength gathered in a shove.
“I pushed you over?” I whisper, horrified.
Jay nods. “Seems that way.”
Father rubs his face.
“Weren’t we near the whirlpools?” I ask, trying to trace his directions in my mind. “How … how in the world are you not drowned?”
“I don’t know that part of it.” Jay points to the bandage on his head. “You didn’t just push me over. You pushed me into a rock.”
“Joseph have mercy,” I breathe. “I’m sorry.”
Jay smiles. “No harm has come of it in the end. I blacked out. My recollection isn’t the sharpest from there.
When I woke, I was on the shore. Thought I saw a whole colony of seals in the water—more than I’ve seen that close before—but I’m not sure.
They could have been rocks… . I was near Port Stramp and managed to get into town. I’ve been there.”
“And the weather kept you unable to send word?” Father guesses.
Jay nods. “Until yesterday afternoon, not even Tom Westness would have ventured into the open water.” Jay frowns. “Stramp was buzzing with some strange news, Idris. Mr. Westness had got rather wrapped up in it …”
Someone knocks on the door. A servant glances in and makes a bow. “Excuse me, Your Royal Highnesses, but there is a woman who says she was directed to speak with you?”
Father glances at me quickly. I nod for the servant to let Kit in. “Jay can be trusted to keep a secret,” I say to my father.
“More secrets?” Jay gives me a smile. “How many are you collecting?”
But then Kit steps in—Kit in Catharine’s body—and Jay starts to his feet. “Princess!”
Kit blinks in surprise. “Mr. Berd!”
Jay makes a hasty bow. “Are you well? I heard a disturbing report—”
“I’m fine.” Kit turns to me uncertainly.
“Jay can be trusted,” I say again. “Have a seat, Princess.”
Father helps Kit to the last empty chair. She sits, smoothing her wrinkled dress over her legs. I offer her a hot roll and a cup of tea. Suppressing a yawn, she accepts them. But she doesn’t make a move to eat or drink.
“I’m glad to see you well,” Jay says to Kit. “The mainland is in an uproar about what happened. Your father has been desperate to ascertain you were not harmed.”
“Harmed?” she repeats. Her fingers absently crush one side of her roll. “Harmed by whom?”
Jay’s eyebrows lower in confusion. “Your stepsister, of course.”
“What?” Kit and I say together.
Jay blinks at me. “You haven’t had the news? I suppose the foul weather set in right as the notice arrived in Stramp.”