Chapter Eighty-Four. A New Lodging.
Eighty-Four
A New Lodging.
This is no dungeon.
Though I am tired, aching, and still covered with cobwebs, though all I can think about is seeing Merc with my own eyes, though I am stinging with how I’ve let the whole continent of Anathos down, I cannot avoid noticing the grandeur and the luxury I’m being directed through.
The ceiling that arches over me is leafed in gold, the carpet under my feet is royal blue, and the walls of this hall are covered in a flowered silk that is as lovely as any meadow I have stood in.
In fact, I recall these flowers. From the fields after the Kingdom’s gate—
“This way, missus.”
Once again, I’m guided by the guard who’s so kind.
Our paths keep crossing somehow, and now he’s in front of me, narrating the turns; no more pointing over my shoulder.
I suppose I could look at the fact that we keep meeting as some kind of fate.
I don’t. I think it’s an indication that the warrior queen doesn’t have much of an army at her disposal anymore—and the further I mull that over, the greater my sense of futility becomes.
Stuck in my head, I float along this fancy corridor, and not in a good way—and the muffled sounds of music and laughter in the distance don’t help with the disorientation.
I gather that word has spread throughout the Kingdom about the sacred ruby’s return, and I want to tell them to stop.
The future is not bright, the reprieve of strife is only temporary, and it’s all going to get so much worse for everybody.
As I pass by another window that looks out onto a courtyard, there are torches dotting and dashing in the darkness as those holding them spin and gyrate in glee, like fireflies in the summer.
I worry this will call the demons to the castle, and see blood spilled all along the colonnade of white marble—
I almost walk into a floor vase full of flowers. As I jump back, I blurt, “How lovely.”
Because … well, they are.
My guard glances back. “The Queen plants them. In memory of her mother.”
“I am sorry for her loss.” Continuing on, I think of the torture racks. “And … what of her father?”
“That I do not know, missus. But those fields of flowers are tended even when our crops fail.”
“How…” Sad. On so many levels. “She must have loved her mother very much.”
A familiar longing pierces my heart—
“Here, missus.” The guard stops in front of a door. “Your husband awaits. Food has been delivered. You will see a bellpull should either of you require aught.”
“Thank you.”
My gratitude for him is real, yet I’m already forgetting his existence as I reach for the golden knob myself and open the door—
“Merc!”
Though I am a mess and covered with webs and limping, I launch myself across the golden room, over to the grand, golden bed on which Merc lies.
“Sorrel—”
He tries to sit up and collapses back against the satin pillows with a groan, but he is alive and I am alive, and really does anything else matter—
Does he pull me forward? Do I bend down? All I know is that our lips meet and his are warm against my own, warm and vital. Just as he is.
When we part for breath, he frowns, his black and white eyes traveling around my face and hair. “What happened to you, why are you covered in—”
He stops and tries to sit up again. After he’s finished cursing from the pain, he barks, “You did not go back there to the ruins. Dearest fates, are you mad, woman?”
With a tired smile, I trace his face with my fingertips. “All that matters is that we are here, together.”
“Why. What did you do there—”
“It matters not.”
As he does some more cursing, I’m relieved he has the strength to glower and get worked up.
He’s dressed in black silk, the high-collared shirt up to the base of his throat, his legs covered in loose pants of the same flowing fabric.
His hair is damp and smells of cedar and spice, and his braids are gone.
All in all, he looks better than he ever has, and also worse: He’s clearly as worn out as I feel.
“Are you well enough to travel?” I ask grimly as I back off and remove the webby cloak.
“I don’t mind being comfortable at the moment.”
“But can you.”
Merc’s brow rises, in that familiar way, and it feels as though it’s been years since I have seen him. As my eyes prick with tears, I am so very, very tired.
“Yes.” He goes to put his hands behind his head and grimaces. “Now tell me what’s happened. What have you done to land us here? And mind you, I am not bothered by the improvements in our accommodations.”
Haltingly at first, and then with increasing composure, I explain everything to him.
Well, almost everything. I leave out what I did in that cell to the Queen’s officer as well as the issue with the crown and the Queen and the demons.
As far as Merc knows, it was only about bartering our freedom with that ruby.
I just don’t have the energy to explain the rest, especially as I feel like this whole journey was a waste of time, nothing but mortal risks and failure.
“So we have to leave tomorrow morning,” I conclude.
“Or we shall be shot.”
Getting up from the bed, I nod grimly as I pace around, touching the heavy satin draping, the golden lamps that have blown-glass shades, the oil paintings of landscapes around the city.
It’s hard to know exactly when I make the decision, but I suppose, like so many of the choices I’ve come to along the way, what may appear to be quick is actually the result of much brooding under the surface of my conscious thoughts.
I turn to the bed and stare at him. “I must go to Prosperitus. Will you … come with me.”
There is no hesitation: “I will.”
“Why,” I whisper, even as I am relieved.
Merc tilts his head, the lamplight gleaming in his black hair. “Why what?”
I answer him with a question I’ve wanted to know the answer to for a while: “When you left the Outpost, were you really coming here?”
“It’s where I ended up, is it not.” He smiles a little as he indicates himself atop the bed. Then he rolls those black and white eyes of his. “Are we fishing again, then? Fine. I thought perhaps you might need some help along the way. Note that I said ‘need’ not ‘want.’”
“But why are you doing this for me,” I say as I shake my head in wonder.
“I told you before.” He grows serious. “After you helped birth that bairn, and then took care of the maid at the lodging house … I have decided that the world is very much better with you in it, Sorrel. I’m not much of a man for callings, and there are many things I have done that were I of a better soul I would undo, yet protecting you seems like the appropriate endeavor.
At least at this point in time. So yes, I will go with you unto Prosperitus. ”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” His eyes travel down me. “And while we’re going on about confessions, I’ll tell you frankly that the next time I see a spider, I’m going to crush him into oblivion with my boot.”
We both laugh, and then his eyelids lower—and I know that he’s no longer thinking about travel or fishing or eight-legged bugs … and I have a renewed sense of energy. Except when I go to take a step forward, I see a web on my slipper and curse in disgust.
Merc chuckles softly. “Just so we’re clear, I’d take you any way you come, woman. But the water closet you’ll be looking for is right back there. I took advantage of it myself in the hopes you’d come and find me in this big bed—and look, it worked. That basin is magic.”
“Can we take it with us then,” I mutter.
“Only if we put Snooze in it to make better time.”
I’m smiling as I go over and kiss him. “I won’t be long.”
His face grows grim. “Don’t rush. I do believe you have earned it.”
I press another lingering kiss to his mouth, then I cross the beautiful carpet. As I pass by a dresser made from exotic wood, and check out the lineup of porcelain figures and silver brushes on its top, the luxury is such that never have I even imagined such things.
Mare likely lived like this at one point, I think as I disappear behind an ornate door.
After I shut myself in, I remember the coins I left behind in the ruins, and wish I could have retrieved them. Getting out with someone else’s priceless ruby was the plan, but as this quest seems to always demand, I have to leave a piece of me behind.
Refocusing, I look around at the facilities.
They’re even more sophisticated than what we had back at the lodging house at the Outpost, and as I set the tub’s water to running, I’m astonished to find I can titrate the hot with the cold.
While the level rises, I remove my clothes, and when I step in and sink into the warm pool—
I start to weep.
It’s impossible to define the precise emotions, the complex mix of gratitude and pain too much for me to understand—or control.
Covering my face with my hands, I try to muffle the sounds as flashbacks from the goddess’s sculpture twist my head and memories of the officer in the cell freeze my bones—
“Sorrel.”
At my name, I drop my palms. Merc is kneeling by the tub, his beautiful black and white eyes searching my own.
“It’s all right now,” he says softly. “Whatever you see in your mind, that’s the past. You’ve lived through it. You must let it go.”
He brings a soft cloth into the warm water, and then he wipes my face gently. “Remember what I told you. Always forward … never back.”
“Sometimes I can’t help it.” I wipe my eyes and wonder if they’ll ever stop with the leaking. “The images come and I’m back where I was—and it’s never good.”
“You will train your thoughts away from all that just as you’d learn any other skill. With practice.”
I reach out and take his hand. “Will you tell me something you run from?”
Merc strokes my face, and lingers with his thumb brushing my lips. Then he looks away with a defeat that is wholly inconsistent with all that I know of him.
“I don’t run from what ails me,” he says in a low voice. “Wherever I go … there I am.”