Chapter Twelve Idris #2
Father perches on the edge of his chair. “What did you hear?”
“The king sent out word that his daughter”—Jay nods to Kit—”had been kidnapped by her jealous sister and stolen away.
There were concerns that some harm was intended.
I spoke with Mr. Westness. He had recognized Princess Catharine’s description in the king’s edict.
He told me he’d brought both girls across.
He saw how ill you were, Princess.” Jay turns to her again.
“How, on the ride over, you never spoke a word and deferred to your sister.”
Kit stares at him. “My sister didn’t do anything to me. We left together.”
A pause. “You did?”
“Why would you think …?” The color that had faded out of Kit’s cheeks returns in force now. Her hands grip the plate. “What would give you any reason to think that my sister would ever hurt me?”
“A-at the ball,” Jay says uncertainly. “Your stepsister seemed jealous of the attention you received. She wouldn’t speak a word to me. And your father told me that while he expected you would soon leave the castle, he had no reason to believe your stepsister had any prospects.”
I stare at my friend. I had no idea he harbored this idea of Kit. On the journey home, Jay had talked about the ball with Abram and me. But I was so distracted by my own problems, I didn’t pay any attention. Did he mention these suspicions then? Could I have corrected him?
“I’m afraid you have wholly the wrong way of it!” Kit says sharply. “No one was kidnapped. Harm befell my sister and me at the hands—” Her voice slices into silence as she winces.
I lean forward, wanting to help, but she throws a hand up to hold me off. Father studies her closely.
In a moment, she continues cautiously. “We … could not stay … for our own safety. But we left willingly together.”
“I’m sorry,” Jay says. His ears have gone red. “I wish—I shouldn’t have made any assumptions.”
“No, you shouldn’t have,” she agrees icily.
“At least no harm came from it,” I put in, trying to ease the tension.
Jay doesn’t speak, but the dread in his expression makes my chest tighten.
“That’s not the end of the story,” my father observes, his voice low and quiet. “Is it?”
Jay shifts in his seat. “Mr. Westness wasn’t confident enough about his passengers to get involved with a king, so he hadn’t said anything to anyone but me.
And I … I wasn’t sure … But when I got home and saw how my family had worried for me, I felt …
I thought I ought to relieve any parent of such suffering, even if it was only a slim chance Mr. Westness had actually escorted the princesses. ”
Kit is frozen, staring at my friend in horror.
“I wrote to the king last night.” Jay clears his throat. “I’m afraid the letter will have reached the mainland this morning.”
I touch Kit’s arm—an instinctive gesture of comfort—and she all but explodes under my hand. She jumps to her feet and springs away. A visible tremble shakes her as she drops the plate onto a side table.
“I—” She swallows. “I’m so sorry—please excuse me.”
And she is out the door.
Jay looks stricken. Father half stands, but I dart after Kit. She’s stopped in the hall, turned toward the stairs one moment and then facing another way the next like a trapped animal. This time, I check my impulse to put a hand on her shoulder.
“That room there should be empty,” I say, pointing to one of the judgment rooms.
She flinches away from me, as if she hadn’t realized I was there. “I don’t—that is—”
Something about her flitting unease makes me think of the way fish will twist and panic as a net tightens.
It seems suddenly foolish to suggest she go into another, smaller room.
A smaller trap. I move past her and grab a door at the far end of the hall.
My feet sting with renewed force after the time spent sitting, but I try not to limp.
“Here.” I open the door and step aside, so she can see a stone staircase to the small garden. “Maybe some fresh air?”
Kit nods and rushes past me. “Just a moment, please.”
I think about staying with her. She’s so distressed, it seems wrong to leave her alone.
But I remember what it has been like to have Father and Abram breathing down my neck the past week, their worry and concern adding another burden on top of everything else.
If I cannot relieve Kit of her pain, then I won’t add to the weight of it by making her attend to my feelings as well.
I close the door softly, letting her have her privacy.
I stay by the door, though. Just in case she wants someone. Or in case someone else tries to go outside.
After a few minutes of quiet, I shift to lean on the wall, trying to get some of the weight off my feet.
In my head, I do my own counting. If Jay sent the letter yesterday evening, it will have gone with the morning sail to the mainland.
It will be in the hands of King Byrne in another two days.
And I imagine King Byrne will set out the moment he gets it, meaning he will arrive here in four days or less.
I’m still not sure exactly of the nature of his relationship with Kit.
But I think I have the measure of Kit’s character.
She followed me into the Hidden Lands last night.
If she talked to Abram, she must have entered.
And if someone could go in and out of the Hidden Lands and be sat calmly by the fire in the morning but react with so much fear at word of her stepfather—then I trust that she has good reason.
My eyes ache. I close them, trying to sink into the moment of respite. The relief of the darkness behind my eyelids makes my shoulders relax and …
Clink, clink, thud.
My head nods, and I jerk upright. The floor seems to slide under me—then I’m steady again. I rub my hair, looking around for whatever is causing that confounded noise. But there’s no one in sight.
After a quarter hour or so, Kit opens the door.
She looks composed, but still more anxious than she has been the entire time I’ve known her.
Though she is in Catharine’s body, and it’s Catharine’s face that betrays her fear, there’s something in the knit of her eyebrows and the way her gaze slides away from mine that reminds me of the night of the ball, when I bound her wrist.
“I’m so sorry,” she says, “but I feel I must go and tell my sister about this. I know I haven’t fully let you know everything about last night, though, and …”
“I’ll sail you back to Mrs. Westness’s,” I offer. “You can tell me on the way.”
“What about your father?”
“I can handle him later.” I shrug. “Let’s go.”
“Are you sure you’re well enough?” she says, keeping pace when I begin to walk. “Shouldn’t you be resting?”
I shrug again. “I’ll give that a try this afternoon. I’m fine to sail.”
True trots alongside us as we head outside.
I take Kit down to my yole and give it a push down the grass noust and into the shallow water.
I offer my hand to help her in. She hesitates, then puts her hand in mine as she steps onto the boat.
I remember the calluses on her hand—her real hand—at the ball.
Catharine’s hand is soft and smooth. I wonder if Kit misses the calluses—the work built up around her skin to protect her.
Kit settles in the bow, and True hops between us. I take in the lines, settle at the tiller, and use an oar to push us into deeper water.
“We took this route, I’m guessing?” I ask her.
She nods, tugging her pelisse closer around her. I raise the sail and guide us onto the open water. The boat gives a rock when we pass out of the harbor. Kit tightens her hands in her lap, her face drawn in concentration.
“Do you want to talk about last night?” I can’t tell whether her unease has to do with whatever happened.
“I—yes.” Her voice comes out clipped and strained.
I wait, worried I’ve offended her somehow. She holds herself completely still, rigidly fixing her gaze on the horizon. Her jaw is locked tight.
“Are you …?” I begin.
But before I can finish, she dives for the edge of the boat and heaves over the side. I’m so surprised, it takes me a moment to move into action. I shift my weight to keep the boat from listing too far and turn us quickly toward shore. She keeps her head over the side, even when she isn’t heaving.
We get to the shore barely a mile out of the town. I beach the boat and haul it safely ashore. Kit has started to straighten up, and I offer a hand to help her over the side. Her face is pale, and she avoids looking at me.
“All right?” I ask, worried. I guide her to a rock. “Just sit here for a moment.”
She sinks down and takes shallow breaths. I let True snuggle against her while I go back to the boat to secure the sails. When I return, she seems less pale but more ashamed.
“I’m … sorry,” she mutters, pressing the backs of her fingers to her cheeks. “I didn’t get sick last night, and I thought maybe … I’m afraid I get horribly seasick now that I’m—”
“Don’t worry about it,” I assure her. I sit on the sand beside her. “I’ve done far, far worse than that.”
She glances at me doubtfully.