Chapter 23
twenty-three
Isahn rides a boat.
“So, I’ll believe I was imprisoned in Nowosmont the past few weeks. I’ve got that part. How are we getting out there?” Isahn checked as he shoved his final tunic into his small pack.
“You know this,” George murmured from her seat on the edge of his bed.
“I know, but walk me through it again. Please?” He winked.
“You, Wynnie, and Dunstan take the dawn ferry out. You’ll be Wynnie’s aide, miraged as a Salskanan. Burke and Adda will be on the next boat—Burke’s escorting Adda on a supply run.”
Isahn nodded. He knew this, but hearing George walk through it, riding the relaxation of her voice, that’s what he needed to settle his nerves.
“Hildy and I go out last, on the late-morning run under the guise of a shopping trip. We’ll meet at Villa Senone, and Adda will brew the sleepy tea. Then we’ll mold your mind.” She blinked rapidly, as though fighting tears.
“Got it.”
“Are you ready?” she asked, rising from the bed. Though the early dawn light brightened the window behind George, the lamp on the table beside her lit her aglow, shining through her diaphanous gown and lighting the frizz in her hair ablaze.
His soft smile tightened at the realization this perfect memory would be gone in just a few short hours.
“Isahn, we have to go,” Georgie whispered, stepping toward him.
With his pack slung over one shoulder, he wrapped her in a tight hug that slowly slackened as he drew back enough to press his forehead to hers. “See you on the other side?”
His travel across the lake was only goodbye for a few hours, but neither of them was so ignorant as to ignore the obvious risks.
King Gasparo could call on Georgie for any reason, delaying her travel.
Isahn could be caught and questioned before even leaving the docks and not allowed to pass through.
His mirage could fail, rousing suspicions.
George could lose her damned token and be unable to cross the lake.
“See you in a few hours.” She smiled sadly, tilting her face up, in dire need of kisses.
Isahn was happy to oblige, craving the distraction and needing her in return. He started with a soft, slow kiss that spoke of his love for her. Then he allowed things to devolve a bit, peppering more along her jaw, down the slope of her delectable neck, and over top of her substantial bosom.
“Isahn!” she squealed, batting at him less than half-heartedly. “Wynnie and Dunstan are right outside the door.”
“This door?” he teased, pulling her firmly against him as he backed into the panel, rattling the wood.
“Ew, seriously?” Wynnie’s voice pierced through.
“I told y—”
Isahn cut George off with a deep kiss, the real one he wanted to give her.
“I hate that I have to leave,” he murmured when they pulled apart.
He was sorry he had to go, sorry he had to pretend to be Wynnie’s aide to cross the lake, sorry he had to race Peros to Selwas, and sorry that he had no idea what would come next.
No matter what, he’d stick it out long enough to help George become Queen of Domos.
Fates, he’d stick it out forever... if she’d have him.
His heart skipped a beat, and he forgot to breathe as that realization hit like a sucker punch to the solar plexus. It wasn’t the right time to bring it up; it would be far too distracting. But he damn well would, when he returned.
A trip to Selwas suddenly wasn’t sounding so horrific.
He could pick up his mother’s ring and speak with his sister, all while fulfilling his mission.
It would take some cajoling, sure, but Solaelia would accept the earldom, he was sure of it.
Then he could return to Domos and propose to his fucking queen—his perfect, delightful, strong, brave, beautiful George.
“Are you all right?”
He blinked. “Of course, why?”
“You’re looking at me so strangely.”
“I was just thinking about how much I love you.” He pecked her on the forehead and wrapped her in a tight embrace as he tried to plan for his plan. “Georgie, I can’t forget you. I can’t.”
“You won’t. It’s temporary.”
His heart raced. She didn’t understand. He couldn’t forget her.
If he did, he’d forget his personal mission.
Reaching for reasons, he blurted another truth, a plea, “What about the feelings? Where will they go? I don’t want to lose them.
I don’t want them plaguing me, untethered—a love I can’t place. Please, Georgie. I can’t do it.”
Her dark eyes glossed over as he peered into them, and he saw the moment she changed her mind, the inner corners of her eyes flexing then relaxing.
“All right,” she whispered, pressing another kiss to his lips.
“You can remember loving someone in Nowosmont—a woman you want to get back to. You just can’t know it’s me. ”
“I’ll be in love with a ghost.”
“Temporarily,” she said firmly. “The moment you’re back, we’ll fix it.”
“We have to go,” Wynnie called through the door. “If we miss the first run to Nowosmont, the whole plan goes out the window.”
George swallowed loudly and nodded softly. They shared one final kiss, then left the room.
“What should we have for prandium?” Wynnie asked, wriggling her fingers in Isahn’s shaggy hair.
“Honestly, I wouldn’t mind fish. Oysters, maybe, if you have them? I’m getting sick of meat,” Dunstan answered from the opposite side, where he had his long arm slung around Isahn’s back to rest on Wynnie’s shoulder.
Isahn was certainly secure between the two of them.
Though they discussed the mundane, the trio gave off a decidedly suggestive air with their body language.
Isahn, miraged by Wynnie to appear as an aide, couldn’t join their titillating conversation.
He couldn’t speak at all without a sound mage present to disguise his accent.
So, he let Wynnie and Dunstan hash out the details of prandium while he observed the few early morning passengers aboard the actuaria.
A boy with his mother, or maybe she was a caregiver, stood opposite their small group.
They stared out at the lake, the child pointing animatedly at Hepikoru as it grew distant.
At the bow, a weathered middle-aged man, likely a legionary who’d aged far swifter than the years he’d lived, looked around through tired eyes before turning to face the waves.
Those were all the passengers on the first ferry of the day, and Isahn couldn’t say he was particularly surprised. The sun was barely up.
“Let’s turn toward the water now, my lovelies.” Wynnie raised her voice on the endearment as she trailed a finger down Isahn’s chest and around to grip his bum. “Sorry,” she whispered.
With her hand on his arse and Dunstan’s on his upper back, Isahn was spun to face the lake.
He’d have turned voluntarily, but understood they needed to put on a show.
Wynnie’s warm palm, discreetly housing the cold token, came to rest upon his forearm.
He was relieved she was done fondling his rear.
“Try to look more nervous, like you’re about to lose all of your memories, and be less perturbed by Wynnie.” Dunstan’s voice was a hush, nearly swallowed by the rushing of water against the hull of the boat.
That shouldn’t be difficult, he wanted to say.
Instead, he watched the older fellow push off the railing and saunter toward their trio as they entered the misty realm of the veil.
The strange fog billowed around them, encompassing the small actuaria.
Soon they’d be through, with Hepikoru gone and a bloody mountain standing in its place.
It wasn’t difficult to look “more nervous,” he’d be having his memory wiped, voluntarily.
Temporarily, Isahn tacked on to soften the blow.
He stared into the fog, searching for the fathomless water below.
Dunstan’s large palm and his token slapped down on Isahn’s right arm before Wynnie lifted her hand away. The action would hopefully appear innocuous to any onlooker, ideally conveying that there was no coin on his person, he was merely an aide about to lose all knowledge of Hepikoru.
The middle-aged likely-legionary continued past them, heading for the stern.
The veil pushed its strange, oppressive silence out over the ship, and Isahn could hear the footsteps of the mother and son as they wandered around the perimeter of the deck, hugging the railing.
The boat was almost to the other side. The fog would soon lift, he’d feel a tug on his gut, and the sounds of nature would return, like when he went in.
Wynnie and Dunstan did another token swap: Dunstan shifted over a step, breaking contact with him to lean his forearms against the railing while Wynnie gave Isahn’s arm a faint squeeze.
The coin pressed into his skin beneath her palm as the world began to lighten slightly and sunlight crept through the magical haze.
“Almost th—”
Dunstan was cut off by the woman in the mother-son duo bumping him on the backside as she walked past.
“Sorry,” she muttered gruffly.
At his mother’s back, the child was thrown off kilter and reached out for support, grabbing hold of Isahn’s tunic. He yanked with far more force than a child should possess, and Isahn was pulled from the railing, flailing free of Wynnie’s grip.
The boy rolled out of the way as they both tumbled toward the deck, and Isahn crashed onto the planks, grateful, for a fraction of a second, that he had avoided crushing a child.
His tailbone hit wood, sending a jolt of pain up his spine.
Concern reached for him, but never found purchase.
His head thunked back against the planks, and the most curious sensation of seeing everything and nothing, all at the same time, washed over him.