Chapter 28 #3
The doctor nodded slowly, adjusting his glasses.
“You continue to amaze me, Lady Leaf. If that is truly what you wish, then timing is our greatest impediment. While I remain in this house, I fear they could force me to retract any certificate. Although”—a rueful smile crossed his face—“I suppose as a non-Brilliant, I can leave at any time. I think your mother will have to find herself a new physician in future, my lady. I have been thinking for a while I ought to move on from Harwick, and now it would seem that time has come. There is nothing… wise… keeping me there.”
They shared a long look, fraught with understanding, before Dr. Fanshaw nodded. “All right. I’ll do it. As a doctor I took an oath to save lives, which means that ending this contract before it can claim another is not so far outside my remit. Besides, how could I forgive myself for refusing?”
Nic gripped the man’s hands, his heart soaring. “Thank you, Doctor, you have no idea how much this means to me. I will do everything in my power to ensure you suffer no ills from it.”
“Then I think, my lord, we have a plan. Allow me to find some ink and paper.”
“Allow me, sir,” Ambrose said, hurrying off to Nic’s writing desk while the doctor settled at the sitting room table. As the things were gathered, Nic couldn’t keep from grinning. Leaf, however, looked troubled.
“Nic.” She touched his arm, her voice low. “Are you sure about this? I mean really sure. I know we’ve just argued very successfully, but think… you would be giving up everything.”
Of course she was right. He would be giving up his name, his family, his inheritance—almost everything he had ever known.
Yet he would be gaining freedom. Gaining the chance to make his own choices.
The chance to once more see Dashiell’s face lying on his pillow, to forever have the Dashiell who had sat on the floor of the archives working in the lantern light, and the Dashiell who had stood there willing to give up the world for him.
“No. Not everything.”
Leaf squeezed his arm. “He really means that much.”
“He means the world to me, but… I know being sasined isn’t so complete a break with your family, but would you change your mind about freedom if it was?”
“No. You’re right. I wouldn’t.”
At the sitting room table, Ambrose had gathered everything the doctor needed—a crisp sheet of paper, ink, and a mended quill—and as though they all stood at a death vigil, no one spoke while Dr. Fanshaw very carefully wrote out a full death certificate.
At the top the document’s name and date, and it could have been for anyone until his pen wrote Nicholas Francis Monterris, Earl Monterris.
Nic stared at it, chest tightening as the doctor went on writing.
Born fourth of April, 1791. Died thirteenth of November, 1816.
Died. It was exactly what the man would have written had a few seconds not made the difference that night, and for a moment Nic felt like he was standing beside himself.
Cause of death— The doctor hesitated, before writing Strangulation, and a chill fell over Nic that he could not shake no matter how much he needed this death.
From there, the doctor left lines for a vowsmith, wrote in his name, position, address, and, at the bottom, the hasty scrawl of his signature.
“Well,” Leaf said as the doctor picked up the sheet to wave it gently, waiting for the ink to dry. “It seems our lock-in could soon be over. Are you… planning to speak to Master sa Vare tonight?”
The question of what was to happen next sped Nic’s thoughts upon possibilities. To pull this off before the duke found out, to save his mother, he would have to move fast. It wouldn’t be safe for her to leave until dawn, but the more time Silla had to prepare, the better.
“Yes,” Nic said. “But I think morning is the earliest he can smith it. Ambrose?”
“My lord?” The young valet all but stood to attention, his eagerness warming Nic’s heart.
“I’m going to need your help. Dashiell—Master sa Vare, he…” Nic sighed. “He will refuse to see me if I ask; he’s too wonderfully stubborn. Can you speak to his valet? Tell him I need to see his master alone and see if he will let me in. Explain as best you can. Tell him…”
Nic trailed off, unsure what to say. Tell him that he could make his master smile again? That he would be doing what Dashiell really wanted beneath that stubborn exterior? They were things Nic hoped were still true, but the vowsmith’s last chilly stare had looked right through him.
“It’s all right, my lord,” Ambrose said. “I… think Martin will understand.”
The knowing note in his valet’s voice heated Nic’s cheeks. “Oh. Good. Thank you, Ambrose. If you go now, I will get ready to see Mama. I need to see her first.”
The doctor rose from the table, folding the signed certificate. “Is there anything else I can do for you, Lord Monterris?”
“Apart from not call me Lord Monterris ever again?” A smile flickered on Nic’s lips, the words yet too good to be true. “No, thank you, Doctor. You have given me everything. Please take care of yourself.”
“That I can do.” Dr. Fanshaw held out the folded paper. “One death. May you spend it well.”
Nic took it, all but holding his breath. The power contained upon the page was enormous—a true freedom, and one that would not force Dashiell to give up everything. Yet it was nothing until Dashiell smithed it. Nothing until Dashiell agreed. Until there was once more a them to fight for.