CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
“One free morning! One free morning, and look at the trouble you get into!” Berdi said, dabbing at my neck.
Kaden sat beside me holding a bucket in case I retched again.
“It wasn’t as though I went out looking for bandits,” I replied.
Berdi shot a stern knowing glance at me. There were no bandits in Terravin—not on an upper remote trail, preying on a girl wearing threadbare clothing who had little money—but with Kaden sitting there, she covered for me just the same. “With the town full of strangers right now, you have to be more careful.”
The knife had scraped my neck more than cut it. Berdi said the wound was no bigger than a fleabite, but necks are bleeders. She put a stinging balm on the cut, and I flinched. “Hold still!” she scolded.
“I’m fine. Stop making such a fuss over a little—”
“Look at you! Your neck is slashed from here to there—”
“You just said it was no bigger than a fleabite.”
She pointed to my lap. “And you’re still shaking like a leaf!”
I looked down at my knees, bouncing in place. I forced them to stop. “When you’ve tossed up your whole morning meal, you’re bound to feel shaky.”
She didn’t ask why I had tossed my morning meal. She knew I wasn’t squeamish about blood, but we all carefully skirted the subject of the body. Kaden had simply told her Rafe was taking care of it. She didn’t ask what that meant. I didn’t either. We were just glad that the matter was being taken care of, though I wondered what he’d do with a body if not take it to the constable? But I could still hear the way he said it. He wasn’t taking it to the authorities.
There was no doubt the dead man was a murderous miscreant. Maybe that was all Rafe needed to know. He saw him holding the knife to my throat and saw the blood running down my neck. Why bother the constable when a convenient ravine was so much closer? Maybe that was the way of distant nameless regions. If so, I was glad.
“You’re sure there was only one bandit?” Berdi asked. “Sometimes they rove in bands.”
I knew she spoke in code, wanting to know if the person who attacked me could have a whole royal army marching down on the inn by the end of the day.
“He was a lone bandit. I’m certain. There are no others.”
She breathed out a long wordless grumble, which I took to be her version of relief.
“There,” she said, pressing a small bandage to my neck. “Done.” She stirred some powder into a cup of water and held it out to me. “Drink this. It will help settle your stomach.” I drank dutifully, hoping to appease her. “Now, off to your bed to rest,” she said. “I’ll bring some bread and broth along shortly.”
I was about to protest, but Kaden grabbed my elbow to help me up, and as I stood, I felt the effects of the violent struggle just now settling in. Every part of me ached, my shoulder, my elbow that had jabbed his ribs, my ankle and heel that had stomped down with incredible force, my neck that had twisted back farther than it could naturally go.
“Just for a little while,” I said. “I’ll be able to work in the dining room tonight.”
Berdi mumbled something under her breath, and Kaden led me out the kitchen door. As we climbed up the hillside steps, I thanked him for his timely appearance, saying I would surely be dead if he hadn’t come along, and asked how he came to be there.
“I heard a scream, grabbed my bow, and ran toward the forest. I thought it was Pauline returning from the Sacrista and she had encountered an animal. A bear or panther. I didn’t expect to see you with a knife at your throat.”
It was the last thing I expected too. “I’m thankful your aim was sure. And the body … will that—”
“It will disappear,” he said confidently.
“It’s just that I’m new here myself,” I explained, “and I don’t want to cause problems for Berdi. I’m already on the bad side of some soldiers.”
“I understand. No one will know. The man deserves no better.”
He seemed as eager as I was to have any trace of the encounter gone. He’d killed the man only to save me—no one could blame him for that—but perhaps he couldn’t afford questions from a constable right now any more than I could.
We reached the cottage door, but he still held my arm to support me. “Should I see you inside?” he asked. He was steady and even, as he always was. Except for the brief fit when Rafe’s horse bit him, nothing seemed to ruffle him, even the terror of today.
His eyes rested on me, two warm circles of brown, and yet they betrayed him, just as they had on that night in the tavern when I first met him. Though composure ruled on the outside, a strange tempest stirred inwardly. He reminded me of Bryn in so many ways, the youngest and wildest of my three brothers. Bryn was always clever enough to put on the correct royal airs in my father’s presence to deflect any suspicion of his misconduct, but my mother could always pinch his chin, look into his eyes, and the truth was revealed. I just couldn’t figure out Kaden’s truth yet.
“Thank you, but I’m steady now,” I answered. But even as I stood there, I didn’t feel so steady. I was drained. It was as if a week’s worth of energy had been dispatched in just a few quick moments of trying to survive.
“You’re sure there were no others?” he asked. “No one else that you saw?”
“I’m certain.” I couldn’t explain that I knew bounty hunters didn’t run in packs and this one especially was on a private mission. His hand slid from my arm, and I was grateful. Berdi was right. I did need to rest.
I closed the door behind me, took off my bloody shirt, and threw it in the corner. I was too tired to be worried about washing it just now. I sat on the bed, wincing at the pain in my shoulder and neck, then fluffed my pillow, tucking my knife beneath it. I would do as I promised Walther—practice—no matter how early I had to rise. No one would take me by surprise again, but for now a short rest was all I needed. My eyelids grew heavier. What had Berdi given me in that water?
I slept heavily but remembered Berdi coming into the cottage, sitting on the edge of the bed to say something to me, brushing the hair from my forehead with her hand, and quietly leaving again. I sniffed the aroma of freshly baked bread and chicken broth coming from the table next to me, but I was too tired to eat and fell back asleep until I heard a soft knock on the door.
I sat up, disoriented. The sun was peeking through the west window. I had slept the whole afternoon. Another tap. “Berdi?”
“It’s only me. I’ll just leave this out here.”
“No. Wait,” I called.
I jumped up and limped to the door, my ankle more painfully stiff now than it had been earlier. Rafe stood there with his finger hooked through the strings of the two bundles I had dropped in the forest. I took them from him and set them on the bed, and when I turned to face him again, he was holding out two delicate garlands, one pink, one lavender. “I think these are like the ones you had?”
I bit my lip and then finally whispered a small inadequate thank-you as he placed them in my hands. An awkward moment passed, both of us looking at each other, looking away, and then looking back again.
“Your neck?” he finally asked, turning his head to the side to look at my bandage. I remembered how, only hours ago, his thumb slid across my skin as he held his kerchief to the wound.
“Berdi said the cut was no bigger than a fleabite. Mostly a bad scrape.”
“But you’re limping.”
I rubbed my shoulder. “I hurt all over.”
“You fought hard.”
“I had no choice,” I said. I stared at his clothes. He had changed. No trace of a corpse’s blood or the method he used to take care of the body. I was afraid to ask but also afraid not to. “The body?”
“Don’t ask, Lia. It’s done.”
I nodded.
He started to leave, then stopped himself. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” I asked.
“I wish I—” He shook his head. “Just sorry,” he repeated and left down the path. Before I could call after him, I spotted Pauline coming toward the cottage. I ducked back inside, grabbed my bloodied shirt from the floor, and looked for a place to hide it. In our small quarters, that could only mean the wardrobe. I flung open the door and stuffed the shirt into the dark corner, pushing some other things in front of it. I’d retrieve it later to be washed. Pauline had enough worries in her life right now without me adding to them. Among the clutter in the bottom, I spotted the basket Walther had given me. I had been so consumed with the news he had brought that day, I had hastily tucked it away and forgotten it. He’d said he put a morsel in the bottom to tide me over, but surely it was spoiled by now. I imagined more of the lovely fig cheese gone to waste and braced myself for the smell as I pushed aside the napkin covering the bottom. It wasn’t fig cheese.
The door flew open, and I spun to face Pauline.
“What happened to your neck?” she demanded immediately.
“A little tumble down the stairs with some firewood in my arms. Pure clumsiness.”
She slammed the door behind her. “That’s Enzo’s job! Why were you doing it?”
I looked at her, perplexed. It was the most engaged she had been in two weeks. “The laggard wasn’t around today. Every time he comes into a bit of coin, he disappears.”
She started to go on about my bandage, but I stopped her and drew her to the bed to show her the basket. We sat and I noticed her scarf was gone. Her hair was full and honey gold around her shoulders.
“Your mourning scarf,” I said.
“It’s time to move on,” she explained. “I’ve done all I can for my Mikael. Now I have other things that require my attention. And the first thing appears to be you.”
I reached out and hugged her, pulling her tightly to me. My chest shook. I tried not to make a display, but I held her long and hard until she finally eased away, cautiously looking me over.
“Is everything all right?”
Weeks of worry poured out of me, my voice shaking. “Oh, Pauline, I missed you so much. You’re all I have. You’re my family now. And you were so pale and grieved. I feared I might never get you back. And then there were the tears and the silence. The silence—” I stopped, pressing my fingers to my lips, trying to force the quiver away. “The silence was the worst of it all. I was afraid when you told me to go away that you blamed me for Mikael.”
She pulled me toward her, holding me, and we both cried. “I’d never blame you for that,” she said. She leaned back so she could look into my eyes. “But grief has a way of its own, Lia. A way I can’t control. I know it’s not over yet, but today at the Sacrista…” She paused, blinking back tears. “Today, I felt something. A flutter inside. Here.” She took my hand and pressed it low against her stomach. “I knew it was time for me to prepare for the living.”
Her eyes glistened. Through all the pain, I saw the hope of joy in her eyes. My throat swelled. This was a journey neither of us could have imagined.
I smiled and wiped my cheeks. “There’s something I need to show you,” I said. I put the basket between us and moved aside the napkin, pulling out a fat roll of Morrighan notes—a morsel that was supposed to tide me over for some time to come. My brother would understand. “Walther brought this. It was Mikael’s. He said Mikael left a letter saying it was for you if anything should happen to him.” Pauline reached out and touched the thick roll. “So much from a first-year sentry?”
“He managed his purse well,” I said, knowing any good trait assigned to Mikael would be easily accepted by Pauline.
She sighed, and a sad smile lined her eyes. “That was Mikael. This will help.”
I reached out and held her hand. “We’ll all help, Pauline. Berdi, Gwyneth, and I, we’ll all be here for—”
“Do they know?” she asked.
I shook my head. “Not yet.”
But we both knew, either time would tell them or Pauline would. Some truths refused to be hidden.
Tell me again, Ama. About the warmth. Before.
The warmth came, child, from where I don’t know.
My father commanded, and it was there.
Was your father a god?
Was he a god? It seemed so.
He looked like a man.
But he was strong beyond reason, Knowledgeable beyond possible, Fearless beyond mortal,
Powerful as a—
Let me tell you the story, child, the story of my father.
Once upon a time, there was a man as great as the gods.…
But even the great can tremble with fear.
Even the great can fall.
—The Last Testaments of Gaudrel