Chapter 44 #2
“Thank you, sir.” The merchant nodded and strode into his house, already calling for his staff. The Riqueti patriarch had always been a bit more reserved; still warm and welcoming, but not as outgoing as his wife.
Quentin heard that his stoicism set him apart in his trade. Leandro Riqueti was fair in the deals he struck, but stalwart and sure.
“How long will the two of you be staying with us?” Alba asked. She was still glancing curiously—almost mischievously—between him and Delaynie.
It was easy to see where Matheo got…everything.
“Not long,” he answered. “Just until we secure a ship. Probably no more than a day or two.”
“A ship?” Alba blinked. “A ship to where?”
Quentin hesitated as two stable hands approached. One set to work tending to their tired mule, while the other unloaded their meager belongings.
Alba, bless her, noted his pause. “Let’s go inside.” She took Delaynie’s arm. “You two look like you’ve been through the jungles and fought off a few beasts.”
Quentin nearly choked, and Delaynie paled. If Alba noticed, she said nothing, leading them up the steps and through the great iron and wood doors.
The interior of the manor was bright and resplendent, just like its owners.
Tapestries from far-off lands hung from the walls, pillars of carved yellow marble gleaming in the light of the afternoon sun.
A wall of windows lined the opposite end of the main floor, opening to their cliffside courtyard and the Mirrored Sea beyond.
A gentle breeze brushed through the entry hall, stirring chiffon curtains.
Quentin walked to the back of the house, wandering aimlessly. He halted at the windows, staring out at the sea.
Toward their destination. Toward everything he despised about himself. Toward a place he couldn’t help but feel some strange, sick pull.
“Quentin, dear? Are you all right?”
He turned to Alba. “Yes, sorry.” He took a breath, then found Delaynie’s icy gaze. She was still shut down, still missing that spark, but at least she’d introduced herself.
Progress, he supposed.
“We’ll be looking to book a ship heading to the Kizar Islands.” The words spilled out. He didn’t want to dwell on them any more than he had for the past week.
Alba reeled. “The Kizar Islands?” she said, appalled. “Why in Qhohena’s name would you want to go there?”
“Oh, trust me,” he said, nearly growling, “I don’t want to go there. But where Mariah asks us to go, we go.”
Alba wrung her hands with concern. “I haven’t met your queen,” she said slowly, “and I have the utmost respect for her and her position. She has my boys now, after all. But…” She swallowed.
“But there are horrors in the Kizar Islands. We trade with them sometimes. And the crews who have seen those ports say the pirates who live there are more animal than human.”
“I know, Alba.” Quentin sighed. “Trust me, I know. We spent the past winter and into spring fighting them in Verith.”
“In Verith?”
Quentin’s brows shot up. “You didn’t hear?”
Alba shook her head, eyes wide. “No. No, we haven’t heard anything from Verith in months. Trade is still happening, but not like it used to, and no information reaches us. We were growing worried—until seeing you, just now.”
Quentin shut his eyes. What was happening to this kingdom? Mariah’s Choosing was supposed to spark a rise of much-needed change, not send the realm into chaos.
It hurt him that none of it was her fault. Mariah was fighting, doing everything she could. But entrenched power was always more enduring than deserving strength.
“You and Leandro need to be careful,” Quentin said softly. “I know Mariah appreciates your loyalty. But please, don’t take any risks.”
Alba smiled sadly. “We will be fine, Quentin,” she said. “We haven’t lasted this long in this kingdom by not being smart.” Motherly concern crept into her expression. “How are my boys? I do hope I’ll get to see them again soon.”
“They’re all right,” Quentin answered. “Sebastian is in Vatha, and Matheo is in Leuxrith with Mariah.”
She blinked in surprise. “Goddess,” she breathed. “The queen has you spread out all across the continent, doesn’t she? What are you looking for?”
Quentin sighed, turning back to the bay. “I’m not sure,” he answered honestly. “But I guess we’ll know it when we find it.”
Quentin stood in front of the door, a pair of scissors in his hand. He wasn’t quite sure what to do next.
Alba and Leandro gave him the contact of a merchant who could take them to the Kizar Islands, then he took the best damn shower of his life. The dinner that had followed had been equally as incredible, with roasted summer vegetables and soft, buttery fish.
Despite their hosts’ friendly chatter, Delaynie had remained quiet and subdued through all of it. For some reason, it bothered him more now than it ever had on the road. It was like all her bite had left, any hint of her inner fire snuffed out.
He lifted his chin, resolve settling in him, and knocked on the door.
There was a moment’s pause before he heard soft footsteps on the other side. It swung open, revealing a Delaynie dressed in a cream nightgown, auburn hair clean and unbound around her shoulders.
Gods, he tried to fight the way his breath caught in his throat. The way his heart started to beat faster beneath his ribs. The way he inhaled, desperate for a trace of her sweet scent.
He swallowed. Lifting his hand, the scissors resting on his palm, he gave her a sheepish smile.
“It’s time to take out my stitches. Care to help?”
Delaynie’s gaze dropped from his face to the scissors. Her expression remained empty, passive. So unlike her that it cooled the heat in his veins.
She nodded. “Okay.”
Her room was much like his—simple, nothing more than a bedroom and a small bathing chamber, but comfortable. The window was thrown open to allow in the coastal breeze, and a small pile of clothes was folded neatly on an armchair in the corner.
Quentin took a few steps into the room before pausing, turning back to her. “Where do you want me?”
She closed the door. A small scowl of thought twisted her brow, and it filled him with wild, momentary relief.
His little wolf was still in there somewhere.
“Sit there. On the bed.”
Quentin did as she asked, sitting on the edge of the mattress. It dipped behind him and he fought every instinct that begged him to turn. Delaynie tapped him lightly on his shoulder.
“Scissors, please.” A pause. “And…and I need you to take off your shirt.”
Heat flooded him again as he handed her the scissors, not even bothering to hide his smirk as he smoothly pulled his shirt over his head. He balled it up and discarded it on the floor. He just knew that a furious red stain filled her cheeks, that she hadn’t tripped over her words on purpose.
Why did he love being able to rattle her so easily?
You know why. He batted the thought away. Not the time; not when she was still so subdued.
Soft hands skimmed his back, down the long healing scars, and he shivered.
“They healed well,” Delaynie said softly.
“You sound surprised.” His grin stretched a little wider.
She hmphed. “I had my doubts that you could keep them sufficiently clean.”
“Oh, I’m very clean,” he said, a thrill sparking through him at the banter. “Just not my mouth.”
She snipped the first stitch, a small pinch tugging his skin. “Gods,” she muttered.
He held his grin as she worked in silence, cutting the stitches down his back and gently pulling the threads from his skin. Her movements were confident and sure, as if she’d done this hundreds of times.
Maybe she had. Those months spent with the palace healers surely seemed to have taught her a great deal.
She was nearing the last few stitches when he figured it was time to try again.
“Are you ready to talk about what happened?”
Snip. Pinch. Tug.
Silence.
“No,” she whispered. “I’m not.” Her hands left his skin, the mattress shifting as she moved away from him.
“Delaynie—” Quentin turned. She sat at the head of the mattress, knees tucked up to her chest and her head bowed. “Please talk to me. Whatever it was, we can figure it out—”
“No, Quentin.” She lifted her head, eyes flashing.
Some of the familiar spark, but not quite in the way he wanted to see it.
“We can’t. Because there is no ‘we.’ There never will be.
” Her lip lifted in a snarl. “We’re allies, bound together by our queen’s command.
I will follow her until the end. But that doesn’t mean I have to share anything with you while I do so. ”
Something numb spread through Quentin, starting in the hollow of his stomach and reaching out into his limbs. He slowly stood from the bed, facing Delaynie fully, his shirt gripped tightly in his hand.
“‘Allies,’” he repeated softly. “I thought we were friends.” He paused. “Lying only hurts yourself, little wolf.”
Delaynie turned away sharply, burying her head in her arms. Her eyes were still lifted, cool fire dancing in the blue. “You should leave,” she said softly, but with a bite.
Quentin stood there, watching her. Trying to read her, to get her to look at him, to get her to do something.
She didn’t. She stayed turned away, tucked into herself, auburn hair falling in a curtain around her shoulders.
He slid his shirt back on, trying not to let any of the things raging beneath his skin show. She was lying, she was giving up, she was self-destructing.
He didn’t know what else to do but let her.
Quentin turned and retreated to his room, wondering when the fuck everything had gone so wrong.