Adele found her feet abruptly, her mouth falling open. "What happened?"
A swift glance assured her Malloryn was bloodied but otherwise unharmed, and she managed to suppress the sudden flurry of panic she felt.
"Byrnes?" Ingrid quivered beside her. She'd been left behind to help Herbert protect the safe house, while the others went to check on this Devoncourt lead.
"He's alive," Malloryn said curtly.
Ava hurried into the parlor, gasping as she saw the damage. "My surgery! Now!" She glanced over their shoulders. "Kincaid?"
"Safe," Kincaid growled, lumbering through the door with Byrnes's arm slung over his shoulder. Byrnes's other arm was tied in a makeshift sling around his neck. "We're all safe."
"Though it was touch and go there for a moment," Charlie corrected, as he and Lark shut the door behind them. Of them all, they appeared to be the least the worse for wear. "Malloryn managed to break the door down, so we could get Gemma and Obsidian out."
Malloryn helped Obsidian into the small room off the parlor, which Ava had claimed for her surgery.
"Blood and ashes," Ava exclaimed, as she used a set of tweezers to pry Obsidian's shirt from the slick burn down his side. "What's wrong with Byrnes?"
"Broken wrist," Byrnes replied, with a wince. "Maybe ribs."
The pretty young scientist glanced between both Obsidian and Byrnes, as if trying to work out who needed her the most.
"Treat the burns," Byrnes replied. "I'll manage."
"If I wait too long, I'll have to break that wrist again and set it," Ava warned. "You heal too fast now."
"If I may, Miss Ava?" Herbert asked, gesturing Ingrid and Charlie out of the way. "I have some experience with wartime injuries. I can set the wrist."
It was all happening so swiftly.
Adele didn't know what to do, or how to help. And from the look on several of the others' faces, neither did they.
Malloryn turned and almost walked directly through her.
"What happened?" Adele whispered.
His face shut down. Amazing, to think there'd been any hint of emotion on it before, but there must have been, for there wasn't now. "This way," he said, grabbing her arm, and leading her toward the parlor.
Clara appeared with a jug of steaming water, linens and bandages. "Do you think you can tend the duke?" she asked Adele bluntly, which was an abrupt change in the dynamics between them.
"Put it on the table there," Adele instructed, and then turned to examine her husband, momentarily at a loss as Clara vanished.
"I'm fine," Malloryn said.
Blood dripped sluggishly from a gash on his arm, and if it were still bleeding after all this time, then she'd hate to think what it had looked like earlier.
"Sit down," she said, "and let me look at it."
"I'm—"
"Only going to get in the way in the surgery," she retorted, picking at the mangled remains of his leather body armor. One of the metal buckles looked like it had almost melted into his flesh. "Does that hurt?"
Malloryn ground his teeth together and tore it free, sending dark blood flooding to the surface. Adele swore under her breath, and then hastily pressed a piece of clean linen to the bleeding. "Hold this."
He must have been tired, for he didn't bother to argue as she set about prying the other buckles loose, and then lifted the molded leather carapace of his chest-piece over his head.
Though this was entirely outside her experience, she focused on cleaning the blood and soot from his skin, her heart aching at every sign of injury.
"What happened?" she whispered.
And he told her of breaking into the warehouse and handling the guards.
"I'm glad you're all safe. At least no one died."
Malloryn seemed to take a deep breath. "Adele, there was a casualty."
The way he said it made tension slither through her. She looked up. "Who?"
"Your father was in the warehouse. He was the one who set off the explosion."
Adele staggered back a step, cold shock slamming through her.
"There's no way he could have survived it," Malloryn said quietly, capturing her fingers. "We barely did."
The world came back to her with a sucking pop of noise. "My father is dead." Strange, how coherent those words sounded.
"I'm sorry. I told him he was under arrest, and he must have decided dying was worth the risk of taking me down with him. It appears his hatred of me was stronger than his sense of self-preservation."
It didn't surprise her.
Her father had been twisted up with hate and bitterness for years.
But what did surprise her was the loss she felt.
Sir George had never been a kindly man. Or a father. He'd dismissed her, ignored her, used her, and abused her.
But his death somehow felt as though her nice, safe world was imploding. She shouldn't shed a single tear for the bastard. She shouldn't. But there was one sliding down her cheek all the same, though she didn't know if it was sadness, hatred or rage at her father that fuelled it.
Hattie.... Good God, she'd have to tell her sister.
And worse. Treachery. The sentence would destroy her family, and her sister's prospects.
"Adele?" There were rough hands on her shoulders, holding her upright. Thumbs stroking her skin. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be." She managed to press her hand to his bare chest, noting again the bloody slashes and marks that marked his skin. "You're hurt. He tried to hurt you. He deserved to die."
"I'm fine." Malloryn captured her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. "I have the power to suppress word of his involvement. Several of the council members owe me a favor. Nobody has to know he was a traitor. It doesn't have to affect your sister."
That he understood exactly what bothered her eased the burden.
"Thank you."
Relief flooded through her and she stepped forward, wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing her tearstained cheek to his chest. He tensed, but then his arms wrapped slowly around her, and it felt like she could finally catch her balance again.
"Thank you," she repeated.
For everything.