Chapter 29 #3
“Papa…so many died,” I whispered around the stone in my throat. “We only saved a handful.”
“But you did everything you could to bring them home,” he said gently.
“Lord Wroth told me all. Be proud of what you could do, dear girl, and try not to dwell on what was out of your hands. There is more work yet for someone like you, and little time to wallow in tragedies beyond our power. You gave them peace in the end.”
I laughed a little, sniffling, glad that our quiet reunion was hidden behind the furious crowds. “I missed you, Papa.”
“We all missed you, and we’re going home now,” my father said, stressing the last syllable ever so slightly. “The staff has already packed your belongings, and those survivors who wish to return are being brought back to convalesce. The carriages are waiting.”
And I found I was powerless to protest. Home, for now.
A brief rest before I moved on to parts unknown.
Mathis handed me a flask, and I raised it to them.
“To going home.” I took a healthy swallow, savoring the smooth burn of good Vale apple brandy, and in the next moment, with the spices dancing on my tongue, I was transported to the memory of strong arms around me, warm and safe as a fiend curled around me.
The next sip tasted like unshed tears.
Papa held my hand, smiling at me, something ineffably sad in his expression, and I wondered if he sensed even a fraction of the gut-wrenching turmoil inside me.
I gave the flask to Mathis and turned to kiss Marrion’s cheek. “Give everyone my farewells,” I said, squeezing her hand and trying to smile. “And…good luck. You truly are the best of the best, you know. If Líadan ever feels ready to come into the world, then…you know where to find me.”
Marrion’s smile was far more genuine than mine, and she wiped a stray tear off my cheek. “Don’t worry,” she said, quite seriously. “You’ll see her again.”
“What about me?”
Rasmus stood before me, escorted by two vampire knights.
He looked more like his usual self now, clean and fed, but his eyes were still haunted, and heavy with the weight of guilt.
Shackles encircled his wrists, more of a formality than anything else; his entire demeanor gave off the air that he felt he deserved this, if not more.
“If I ever find myself in Argent, I’ll look in on you.” But I didn’t promise more than that. If I couldn’t see the one person I wanted, then I wanted to see none of them, no reminders whatsoever of this time.
Rasmus stepped closer, taking my hands. He searched my eyes. “You did well, Jes,” he said quietly. “Never let them bring you down.”
He released me, allowing the knights to hurry him away. Clearly Wroth felt no need to waste time in carrying out his sentences; Alvar was shackled head to toe as he was led away to the prison transport by Nikos, whose face was lean and hungry.
I looked away before my eyes could drift to the large shape behind them.
“Home?” I asked, and Mathis held out an arm, which I took. Ever the gentleman, so long as he provided another swig of brandy.
We strode to the grand doors, which the minor fels were already disappearing through in clumps, pushed out of the way by the greater lais and deprived of the opportunity to gawk at the prisoners. More than one cast me a sidelong look; I found I didn’t care in the slightest.
I didn’t care about much of anything at all.
“If you ever liked me, even a little bit, you’ll hand over that flask again,” I muttered to Mathis, drifting under the archway and past the massive owl on the castle doors.
He snorted, but slipped it into my grasp when no one was watching. Not that I cared if they were. Let them think me a lush, since they’d always been determined to think the worst of me anyway. I’d be gone before they knew it.
The steps lay before us, the road thick with carriages, but one was familiar, painted deep green and emblazoned with the fel Arron crest of a lion rampant in gilt. Two of the knights offered to lift Father’s wheelchair, taking him down the steps.
“I see you fixed the carriage,” I said, and my father turned to smile at me.
“But of course. It seemed a necessity after having to send my daughter Below in my stead. The least I could do was see you home in it.”
I watched as he was helped into the carriage, his wheelchair folded and packed.
“Shall we?” Mathis asked, his eyes filled with concern that he couldn’t hide in time.
I licked my lips, looking at the carriage. My things were already in there, the stolen Artifice wrapped in clothes and packed into my trunk. Talos waited alongside the team of horses, still in Destrier form. And there was Arion, hitched alongside him.
My workshop awaited.
My dark, depressing workshop.
Despite myself, I turned on the top of the stairs and looked back through the doors, through the ballroom, through the mass of infuriated noblemen, past the gleam of light on strawberry-blonde curls, all the way to the throne.
Blue eyes, as pale as ice, as incandescent as fire, gazed right back at me.
I exhaled, stomach twisting, the sun warm on my skin. “Let’s.”
Then I turned and walked away.