Chapter 70 Zarek
Zarek
QUITE ILL
It’s almost dark by the time someone finally approaches the little carriage. I freeze, certain they’re going to inspect the inside, because how much of an idiot would you have to be to not double-check something like that?
But instead, the carriage just rocks and shifts as someone harnesses a horse to the front, then retreats.
I hold my body as motionless as possible, breathing as quietly as I can while I listen to my heart hammer out a list of all the stupid things I’ve done in my life.
The horse outside snorts, and the carriage rocks slightly every time it shifts.
A dim flicker of torchlight falls across the far seat from the open door; I make sure it’s not touching any part of my body.
“She’ll need to travel in the carriage,” a man announces from the darkness. “She’s not in the best of health.”
I know that voice. I close my eyes and hold my breath until a face rises in my memory.
Fuck. It’s him, the spy for Vsenrog. The one who walked out of the dungeons last night. The man who had his pants down in my bedroom, with my godsdamned wife. Blayne. Why does he keep showing up?
“Take her straight to my estate,” the spy continues. “And tell the women to clean her up before I arrive. Understood?”
Someone mutters in agreement.
And then I hear something else, something that makes me feel like I’m being ripped apart. Sobbing. Soft and quiet, like she’s trying to hide it.
My hand drops to the rusty blade in my belt. When that door opens, I could jump out. I could plant my knife right between the eyes of the man I should have killed when I had the chance.
The door swings open. But it’s not the spy who fills the doorway.
It’s my wife.
I hold perfectly still, waiting for the moment when her eyes meet mine, when she’ll either recognize me or scream. The rest of the world is suddenly very quiet.
But instead of looking into the carriage, Lilias moans and slumps forward, her arms around her abdomen. She looks sick, like she’s in pain. My gods, if she’s been stabbed—
Lilias stumbles into the seat, her elegant dress trailing behind her.
Her legs brush against mine; she lets her head drop to rest against the wall of the carriage.
The fabric of her dress is already wrinkled and dusty, and the hem is covered with bits of grass.
She moans again. The door flaps open behind her.
And the world holds perfectly still. Twilight fills the meadow outside the carriage.
I can see Blayne, the Vsenrog spy who once pretended to be Lilias’s tutor in Marion.
He’s wearing an elegant outfit, black and dark blue, and his hair is perfect.
When he smiles at the man who I assume will be driving the carriage, his teeth gleam in the light.
All he has to do is turn and look into the carriage.
There’s nowhere for me to hide. He’ll see me, and this bastard will know exactly who I am.
I hold my breath.
Blayne reaches forward. My own death flashes before my eyes. Nothing elegant or grand, no public execution. Malrik will probably just have me stabbed behind one of the tents, then dragged into the woods for the wolves. If I’m lucky, I’ll die before they find me.
Blayne slams the door shut, plunging the carriage’s interior into murky darkness. Lilias moans again. I reach for her without thinking, stopping myself just before I touch her. She might still scream; I can’t risk it.
“Listen,” Blayne says, his voice strangely muffled now that the carriage door is closed. “This woman is quite ill. No doubt she’ll be raving the whole trip. Don’t listen to a word she says. And do not, under any circumstances, let her out. Do you understand?”
The man murmurs in agreement, and Blayne starts to say something about payment. Lilias bends over, her arms around her waist, whimpering. A strange, bitter scent fills the air around her, and fear curls inside my chest like poison smoke. If she’s hurt—
The carriage sways as the driver climbs on, then lurches forward. I close my eyes and count. One thousand. Two thousand. Three.
By the time I hit ten thousand, I assume we’ve gone far enough from the assembly of tents that no one will be paying attention to the ragged little carriage.
“Lilias,” I whisper. “Princess. I’m here.”
Her eyes open, shining in the gloom. She pulls in a ragged breath, then begins to shiver. I brush her arm, gently, and then her cheek. Her eyes close again.
“Z-Zarek?” she asks.
I nod, although she can’t see me.
“I must be dreaming,” she whispers.
A faint smile dances across her lips, but then she groans and bends forward, clutching her waist.
I think again about a stab wound, something nasty that could bleed for days. I don’t smell blood, but—
Wait. I close my eyes and inhale. There it is, thin and faint but unmistakable. The iron tang of blood rising in the air between us.
“Gods,” I mutter. “Princess, what happened?”
I run my hand down her arm, and then, utterly abandoning any sense of propriety, I sink my fingers into the silk of her dress, examining the curve of her waist, following the bend of her arms, feeling for the sticky rush of blood against cloth.
“B-Blayne,” she whispers. “Made me drink—”
She moans again, louder this time, as her whole body tenses with pain. I wrap my arms around her and hold her while she whimpers.
“The tea,” she finally pants. “He thought I was—pregnant.”
She convulses again, panting in my arms. The scent of blood is thicker now.
“Shit,” I spit.
The potion that brings on a woman’s cycle is dangerous, godsdamn it. Women die from that shit. I close my eyes as Lilias groans in my arms. The carriage rocks beneath us, carrying us toward Vsenrog.
Petrys told me where we could go, the two of us. He said he was taking a risk sharing the location with me, but hells, hasn’t everything the two of us have done since we were dragged out of our home been a risk?
And where else could we go? I imagine sneaking Lilias into the Golden Rose brothel, the only place I can think of that might be able to treat what Blayne just did to her.
But the Golden Rose lies in the shadow of King Malrik’s palace. And there’s no way my visit there would go unnoticed. There are just too many people in Vsenrog who are desperate to gain the king’s good graces.
No, traveling to Vsenrog is too risky. I have to trust Petrys, to follow his instructions, crazy as they sounded.
I just have to keep Lilias alive until we get there.
I pull my wife onto my lap, as best as I can manage, at least, and hold her while her body rips itself apart from the inside.