Chapter 33
Durvla
It takes all my restraint not to burst out laughing when Carys unknowingly slaps Kilkenny’s face. I’m sure she intended to give him a gentle pat, but the assault is so satisfying that I want to thank the intoxicated woman.
“Thank you for the help,” Kilkenny says as he closes the door to Carys’s room.
I smile and shrug. It wasn’t a big deal. “May I ask … What did Carys mean when she called you the knight who prefers Major?”
Kilkenny’s jaw works, then at last, he says, “I was a soldier in the Royal Brigade, and I worked hard for that title. I chose not to drop it in favor of Sir when I became a knight.”
I draw in a breath to ask about the arrow, but Kilkenny shakes his head.
“No more questions. Dawn is in a few hours and tomorrow is a big day. Get some rest.”
“Yes, Major Killjoy,” I mumble, the words slipping out as I turn to walk away.
I freeze, my pulse picking up. I force myself to face Kilkenny, ready to apologize.
A half smile tugs at one corner of his lips. “Did you just call me ‘Major Killjoy’?”
Should I lie? “Yes …” So much for that.
Kilkenny’s tongue trails over his lower lip, clearly trying to staunch the temptation to laugh. I catch myself staring as his tongue retreats and his lips form words … Words that don’t register in my head. Maybe I shouldn’t have had even that one goblet of wine.
His hand rests on my shoulder, and I fall back into my senses. “Sorry, what?”
“Go to sleep,” says Kilkenny. “I might be a killjoy, but if you don’t get some rest, the title will transfer to you come morning.”
I nod and press my lips together before retreating to my room as quickly as possible.
“I won’t ask again,” says a voice that grates against my senses, throwing my heart into a chaotic rhythm.
I’m in a dark room with a single torch against the wall.
There is no warmth, and below my bare feet is raw stone.
Before me are two figures. It takes a while for the image to clear, but I soon recognize Kilkenny.
He’s bound to a chair, a figure towering over him, their broad back partially blocking my view of Kilkenny’s face.
But it’s Kilkenny in the chair, no doubt.
That scratchy voice reaches my ears again. “How long have you—”
But the rest of his words are garbled as Kilkenny’s focus snaps to mine from across the room. His face is bloody and bruised, his lip split and swollen. When he speaks, his voice comes out as a strangled whisper, hoarse and heavy. “Garrick.” It’s almost a growl.
The figure in front of him raises a hand, and something glints in the torchlight before the whole scene begins to tilt at unnatural angles, forcing me to close my eyes against the nauseating dizziness—
I awake with a scream as searing pain travels from behind my left ear down to my collarbone.
The pain is so intense that bright light dances before my face for a moment. I clutch my neck as ragged breaths force their way through my clenched teeth.
The room materializes around me again as the pain slowly melts away.
I release my neck and stare at my hands, expecting blood.
Disoriented, I scramble out of bed, tripping over my feet and landing heavily on the ground, my hands taking the brunt of the fall.
When everything is steadier, I launch myself to my feet, lighting a candle and bringing it to the mirror to stare at my reflection.
I search my neck desperately for signs of injury, but the pain is gone, and there is no wound. Sunlagh, spare me. These dreams … My nightgown is drenched again, and as I search for a new one, I mull over the dream.
Kilkenny.
I can’t make sense of what was happening. He was bound and someone was torturing him for reasons I don’t know. And the pain … The image of the scar on Kilkenny’s neck comes to my memory. It must be a coincidence. Must be. It’s just my mind trying to make sense of something I know nothing about.
Dressed in a fresh nightgown, I crawl back into bed and wait patiently for sleep to find me again.
My shoulder is jostled gently and, after a month in this place, it doesn’t startle me as much as it annoys me. I force my eyes open. Ellynne’s way-too-cheery grin and red hair is painfully bright in the sunlight that filters in through the windows.
My head is throbbing. I didn’t have much wine last night—I’m sure Carys had enough for all of us.
The headache starts at the base of my skull and radiates to my ears, leaving them with that uncomfortable, full sensation that I haven’t experienced in a while.
The headache has been building for days, but of course, on the day of the Feast it decides to up the ante.
I send up a prayer to Ehlach for the pain not to worsen—for the possibility of an episode to stay away. I just need to get through the day. Then I can go home. I can do this.
“Our darling daydreamer,” says Ellynne, using the same term that Carys has used before.
I groan and rub my head.
“Don’t be so forlorn. Tonight, you get to attend the Feast as a guest, off duty. You can dance with whomever you want, flirt with whomever you want.” Her eyelids lower, a smirk playing on her lips as she says, “Bed whoever you want.”
Much to my surprise, I don’t even blush. Clearly, I’ve become desensitized. Ellynne’s head snaps toward the door and I follow her gaze. She turns back to me with a question on her face and I mimic her expression. “Shall I let your knight in shining armor in?”
My head tilts as I try to make sense of her words. Knight in shining— Oh! “I—”
“Enter!” Ellynne yells.
I have all but one second to yank the covers over my body as the door opens. The amusement on Ellynne’s face is undeniable, and I glare at her as she walks away, her shoulders shaking with laughter. She says something to Kilkenny that I can’t make out before she steps out of the room.
Kilkenny turns to me, and I instantly blanch as I remember the vivid nightmare.
He keeps his distance for a moment, also pale, even as the door shuts behind him.
He steps just a little closer to sign. “I’m on my way to the infirmary.
Princess Carys needs”—he fingerspells the next word—“a wormwood tincture. I thought you’d like to come along? ”
I want so much to tell him about the nightmare. The scar on his neck is barely visible from where I am, but it’s clear in my mind. The sheet is clutched in my fists, pressed up against my chin by now to conceal the thin material of my nightgown. “Why do you want me to come along?” I ask.
“I know what pain looks like. And you’ve been rubbing your head for days.”
This gives me pause. “You’re … very intuitive …”
“It’s my job,” he says with a shrug. For a moment, he stares at me as if he wants to say something more. “Our head healer is the best in Mainland,” he motions after a while.
His sign for “head” healer is literal, incorrect. I bite back a smile, and he lifts a brow.
“What?” he asks.
Keeping the sheet clutched to my chest with one hand, I sign with the other. “Not head healer. Expert healer.”
He repeats the motion.
“Unless she only heals heads …”
Unamused, he continues what he’d been saying before. “Our expert healer can have a look at you and perhaps give you something to help with the pain. I’ll step outside before you choke yourself with the sheet.”
Is that a smirk on his lips? My shoulders relax a little.
“Make haste, please,” he motions. He turns before I can respond.
I heave a sigh. What a demanding pain in the rear.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed and press my feet against the floor, making sure that I can bear weight before standing.
My vision swims and I release a slow breath, closing my eyes and counting to ten, willing my body to cooperate with me.
Taig, Finn, Osheen, Orla and Granny … I’ll be with them all again soon.
If I can just make it through today. Opening my eyes, I put one foot in front of the other, slow at first, until moving becomes natural again.
I pull on the forest green linen dress that I’d worn to Barr na Cahar, cinching the bodice laces tight and tying them in a neat bow.
Then, standing before the mirror, I braid my hair, tying a bow on the end that rests above my shoulder blades. I’ll miss these clothes.
When I step out of the room, Kilkenny’s gaze sweeps over my figure, and heat floods my face. Tiny crinkles form at the corners of his eyes and the ghost of a smile plays around his lips. He doesn’t turn away.
“What?” I ask at last.
“You wore that dress when we went to Barr na Cahar.”
“Yes …”
“The ladies around here don’t tend to re-wear things. At least not for quite some time.”
Oh, to be wealthy. “Well …” I brush my hands over the skirt. “I like this dress.” I pick a stray thread off my sleeve as we stand in awkward wordlessness. “So, are we going?”
“Right,” he says. “Yes. Come on.”
I take one step and suddenly the floor is flying up toward my face.
A solid force wraps around my middle, holding firmly until I stop flailing my arms for balance.
I’m pressed against Kilkenny’s rigid body, his arm still around my abdomen, and heat blooms everywhere in my body.
My breath hitches as I try to dissect the embarrassment from … whatever else has my heart racing.
I clear my throat. “You can let go now.”
His hand drops away, and I turn to face him, lifting my gaze to his.
“Still a newborn foal,” he says, grinning in such a cocky way that I wish we were in a self-defense session. Just so I’d have a valid excuse to hit him.
When I’m finally steady again, we set off for the infirmary. “Why are you fetching the tincture. That doesn’t seem quite in your list of duties.”
“Ellynne went to make sure that the heaviest sleeper in the palace woke up—”
I glare at him.