TWENTY-THREE
commiserate
When I closed my eyes, I still saw her body. On a riverbank, where ice and snow still clung to the earth, even as a cold spring rain fell around us. Her eyes were open, unblinking as the drops of water fell into them. She was fifteen, but with her full cheeks and tangles in her curly hair, she looked younger.
Her face stared upward, but her body had been turned at an unnatural angle—her neck had been snapped. The pajamas—pink shorts and a long-sleeve top with hearts and flowers—had been torn, and her knees were scraped.
Emma Costar had put up a fight, and despite Konstantin’s proclamations that he was sorry and he was making things right, this young girl had been killed and left on a cold riverbank.
Ridley had come back to the hotel later in the afternoon and found me unconscious on the bed, where Konstantin had left me. I told him that Konstantin had implied that she was dead, and Ridley had redoubled his efforts to track her. He’d gotten a sweater from her bedroom—using his persuasion to get a detective to hand it off to him. Using something recently worn by her, he’d finally been able to get a stronger sense of her.
She hadn’t been dead long, and that was the only reason he’d been able to get a read on her at all. We’d finally found her along the riverbank, and I’d wanted to carry her away or cover her up, but Ridley had made me leave her just as we’d found her. He called and left an anonymous tip to the police, and soon her host family would be able to bury her.
Her real parents would get nothing. As soon as we got back to Doldastam, we went to make the notification. They seemed to know as soon as they saw us, Emma’s mother collapsing into sobs as her husband struggled to hold her up. We told them everything we knew, and promised that we would bring Konstantin Black and Bent Stum to justice. I wasn’t sure if they believed us, or even if they cared.
They hadn’t raised her, but they still loved her. They still dreamed of the day when she would come home and their family would be united again. But now that day would never come, and they were left mourning something they had never had.
“This has been one long, shitty week,” Ridley said, speaking for the first time since we’d left the Costars’ house.
Our boots crunched heavily on the cobblestone road. The temperature had dropped sharply, leaving the town frigid and the streets empty and quiet. It was just as well. Neither Ridley nor I were in the mood to run into anyone.
“The last few days have been some of the longest of my life,” I agreed wearily.
“I don’t know about you, but I could really use a drink.” Ridley stopped, and I realized that we’d reached his house. I’d been so lost in my thoughts that I hadn’t noticed where we were.
He didn’t actually live that far from the Costars, but his cottage was much smaller than the royals’ mansions that populated his neighborhood. It was a very short and squat little place made of stone, with a thatched roof. Small round windows in the front gave it the appearance of a face, with the windows for eyes and the door for a mouth.
“I’d rather not drink tonight,” I told him.
“Come in anyway.” His hair cascaded across his forehead, and dark circles had formed under his eyes. He still hadn’t shaved, but that somehow made his face more appealing. Though he looked just as exhausted as I felt, there was a sincerity and yearning in his eyes that I didn’t have the strength to deny.
Ridley saw my resistance fading, and he smiled before turning around and opening the door. His cottage was built half in the ground, almost like a rabbit burrow, and that’s why it had such a squat look. Only a few feet of it actually sat above the ground, and I had to go down several steps when I went in.
Inside, it was cozy, with a living room attached to a nice little kitchen, and the door was open to his bedroom in the back. As soon as we came in, Ridley kicked off his shoes and peeled off his scarf, then went over to throw a few logs in the fireplace to get the place warmed up.
“Sure I can’t interest you in a drink?” Ridley asked when he went into the kitchen.
“I’ll pass.” I took off my jacket and sat back on his couch before sliding off my own boots.
I’d been inside his cottage a couple times before, but usually only for very brief visits to ask him a question about work. This was my first real social call, and I took the opportunity to really take his place in.
The coffee table was handmade from a tree trunk, made into an uneven rectangle with bark still on the edges. The bookshelf on the far wall was overflowing with books, and next to it he had a very cluttered desk. On the mantel, there was a picture of a grade-school-aged Ridley posing with his father, who was all decked out in his H?gdragen uniform.
“Have you ever had to make a notification before?” Ridley came back into the living room, carrying a large glass mug filled to the brim with dark red wine.
“This was my first,” I said. “It’s the only time I ever came back without a changeling.”
He bent down in front of the fireplace, poking a few logs to help get it going. “I’ve done it once before. It’s never any fun.”
“This time must be worse.”
“Why do you say that?” Ridley sat on the arm of the couch at the far end from me and sipped his wine.
“This time it’s kind of our fault.”
“It’s not our fault,” he said, but he stared down at his mug, swirling the liquid around. “We left as soon as we got our assignment, but she was dead by the time we even got to Calgary. There was nothing we could’ve done.”
“No, there’s nothing more you could’ve done,” I corrected myself. “But I should’ve taken care of Konstantin when I saw him in Chicago.”
I said that, but I wasn’t sure if I meant it anymore. Even after we’d found Emma dead, I felt more conflicted than ever. I didn’t know what Konstantin’s role had been in her death, and although I was certain he carried some culpability, I also thought things were far more complicated than either Ridley or I had realized.
“What happened with him, exactly?” Ridley asked carefully, giving me a sidelong glance. “Back in the hotel.”
I pulled my legs up underneath me, leaning away from him. “I already told you.”
“No, you didn’t. Not really.” He slid down off the arm of the couch so he could face me. “You told me that he’d been in the room, you’d fought, and that he must’ve knocked you out. That was about it.”
“That’s about all there is to tell.”
“But what I don’t understand is, why was he there?” Ridley paused. “Was he waiting for you?”
“I don’t know.” I ran my hand through my hair.
“Did he hurt you?” he asked with an edge to his voice.
“We fought, and he knocked me out, so yes.” I gave him a look. “But other than that, I’m okay, and I got in a few good punches.”
“Why didn’t he kill you?” Ridley asked. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad he didn’t. But … he’s tried to kill your dad, he killed Emma. He obviously doesn’t care if he gets blood on his hands, so why did he leave you alive?”
I lowered my eyes. “I think he does care if he gets blood on his hands. And I think Bent killed Emma, not Konstantin.”
“Are you…” Ridley’s expression hardened, and he narrowed his eyes. “Do you have feelings for him?”
I groaned, but my cheeks flushed. “Don’t be gross, Ridley.”
“There’s clearly something going on between the two of you—”
“Why?” I snapped. “Why is there ‘clearly something’?”
“Because he should’ve killed you, and he didn’t. And you should’ve killed him, and you didn’t. So something’s going on, and I want to know what it is.”
“It’s not like that.” I shook my head.
“Bryn.” He set his mug down on the table and moved closer to me. “I’m just trying to understand.” He put his hand on my thigh, and I chewed my lip.
“Konstantin Black is a bad man who has done bad things, who will do bad things again,” I told him, willing myself to meet his gaze as I spoke. “I know that. But there’s something more going on, something much bigger at play.”
“I know that you think he’s working for someone else, and you’re probably right,” Ridley said. “But that doesn’t mean he deserves your sympathy.”
“I’m not sympathetic.” I sighed. “At least I don’t want to be. But I’m not ready to completely distrust him. Not yet.”
“He’s done terrible things. He’s not to be trusted,” Ridley implored me to understand, his eyes dark with concern.
“I know. I will take care of Konstantin. I promise.” I put my hand on his, trying to convey that I meant it. “But please, for now, can you not tell anyone that I saw him in Calgary?”
“You want me to lie to the King and Queen?” Ridley asked with exaggerated shock.