“Why did you come back?” she asked again, as if Kell might answer in his sleep.
But he didn’t. Didn’t mumble. Didn’t toss or turn. He just lay there, so pale and so still that now and then Lila would hold a piece of glass to his lips to make sure he hadn’t died. His bare chest rose and fell, and she noticed that, present injuries aside, he had so few scars. A faint line at his shoulder. A much fresher one across his palm. A ghosted mark in the crook of his elbow.
Lila had too many scars to count, but she could count Kell’s. And she did. Several times.
The tavern below had quieted, and Lila got to her feet and burned a few more herbs. She turned her silver watch and waited for Kell to wake. Sleep dragged at her bones, but every time she thought of rest, she imagined Holland stepping through her wall, the way Kell had. Pain echoed through her arm where he’d gripped her, a small jagged burn the only relic, and her fingers went to the Flintlock at her hip.
If she had another shot, she wouldn’t miss.
EIGHT
AN ARRANGEMENT
I
Kell woke up in Lila’s bed for the second time that night.
Though at least this time, he discovered, there were no ropes. His hands rested at his sides, bound by nothing but the rough blanket that had been cast over him. It took him a moment to remember that it was Lila’s room, Lila’s bed, to piece together the memory of Holland and the alley and the blood, and afterward, Lila’s grip and her voice, as steady as the rain. The rain had stopped falling now, and low morning light was creeping into the sky, and for a moment all Kell wanted was to be home. Not in the shoddy room in the Ruby Fields, but at the palace. He closed his eyes and could almost hear Rhy pounding on his door, telling him to get dressed because the carriages were waiting, and so were the people.
“Get ready or be left behind,” Rhy would say, bursting into the room.
“Then leave me,” Kell would groan.
“Not a chance,” Rhy would answer, wearing his best prince’s grin. “Not today.”
A cart clattered past outside, and Kell blinked, Rhy fading back into nothing.
Were they worried about him yet, the royal family? Did they have any idea what was happening? How could they? Even Kell did not know. He knew only that he had the stone, and that he needed to be rid of it.
He tried to sit up, but his body cried out, and he had to bite his tongue to keep from voicing it. His skin, his muscle, his very bones … everything ached in a steady, horrible way, as if he were nothing but a bruise. Even the beat of his heart in his chest and the pulse of his blood through his veins felt sore, strained. He felt like death. It was as close as he had ever come, and closer than he ever wished to be. When the pain—or at least the novelty of it—lessened, he forced himself upright, bracing a hand against the headboard.
He fought to focus his vision, and when he managed, he found himself looking squarely into Lila’s eyes. She was sitting in that same chair at the foot of the bed, her pistol in her lap.
“Why did you do it?” she asked, the question primed on her tongue, as if she’d been waiting.
Kell squinted. “Do what?”
“Come back,” she said, the words low. “Why did you come back?” Two words hung in the air, unsaid but understood. For me.
Kell fought to drag his thoughts together, but even they were as stiff and sore as the rest of him. “I don’t know.”
Lila seemed unimpressed by the answer, but she only sighed and returned her weapon to the holster at her waist. “How are you feeling?”
Like hell, thought Kell. But then he looked down at himself and realized that, despite his aching body, the wound at his arm, where the nail had driven through, as well as the one across his stomach from the cutthroat’s stolen sword, were nearly healed. “How long was I asleep?”
“A few hours,” said Lila.
Kell ran a hand gingerly over his ribs. That didn’t make sense. Cuts this deep took days to mend, not hours. Not unless he had a—
“I used this,” said Lila, tossing a circular tin his way. Kell plucked it out of the air, wincing a little as he did. The container was unmarked, but he recognized it at once. The small metal tin contained a healing salve. Not just any healing salve, but one of his own, the royal emblem of the chalice and rising sun embossed on its lid. He’d misplaced it weeks ago.
“Where did you get this?” he asked.
“In a pocket in your coat,” said Lila, stretching. “By the way, did you know that your coat is more than one coat? I’m pretty sure I went through five or six to find that.”
Kell stared at her, slack-jawed.
“What?” she asked.
“How did you know what it was for?”
Lila shrugged. “I didn’t.”
“What if it had been poison?” he snapped.
“There’s really no winning with you,” she snapped back. “It smelled fine. It seemed fine.” Kell groaned. “And obviously I tested it on myself first.”