62
SAGE MADE HER way back to her room in a fog. She couldn’t remember half of what had happened that day. Like a horse wearing blinders, she’d focused only on what was directly in front of her. That way she never saw Quinn, never had to think about him.
She flopped down on the bed, wishing she could fall asleep right then, even in the ridiculous dress, corset and all; but there would be a meeting tonight, and she had news to contribute. Quinn would probably fetch her soon, unless he was too cowardly to come himself.
Someone knocked on the door, and Sage groaned and rolled off the bed, then slumped against it. The sky outside the window was still light, so it was too early for Quinn. Clare wouldn’t knock, so it must be Darnessa. “Come in,” she called.
As Darnessa opened the latch and stepped inside, Sage felt a rush of anger. So much of the emotional turmoil of the last few days reminded her of when Uncle William had told her she would go to the matchmaker, and all of it, past and present, had been orchestrated by this woman. She pushed herself upright and faced Darnessa.
“How long did you know?” Sage demanded. “From the beginning?”
Darnessa sighed as she closed the door. “Since Underwood. I agreed to let him use you. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way.”
Sage advanced a step, eyes narrowing. “How, exactly, was it supposed to happen?”
The matchmaker wrung her hands, looking small for once. “You were just supposed to be friends. You were supposed to trust him, help him. I hoped when this was all over, maybe you would let yourself see him as something more.”
“Some. Thing. More.” Sage’s hands curled into fists. The fragile control she’d maintained all day began to crack.
“I just wanted you to be happy. You were happy,” Darnessa insisted.
“He lied to me.”
“You lied to him, too.”
“On your orders!” Sage screamed.
Darnessa dropped her arms and drew herself up. “I did not do this for my own amusement, Sage. Nor did he.”
Furious as she was, Sage knew the first part was true—the matchmaker never abused her influence and punished those who did. As for him … It was easier to hate him than to admit she’d fallen for the idea that a prince had loved her. She wasn’t as blind to position and power as she’d thought. “He’s not who I thought he was.”
“And who am I, Sage? The high matchmaker—or Darnessa?”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“We each play several roles in life—that doesn’t make them all lies.” Darnessa moved closer, raising her hands in appeal. “I am the high matchmaker of Crescera. I make calculated decisions that affect the lives of hundreds, if not thousands. That’s who I am.” She stopped when her skirt brushed against Sage’s and reached across the gap. “I’m also just Darnessa. I’m your friend.”
Sage stepped back before Darnessa could touch her. “You are not my friend,” she spat. “You’ve been playing high matchmaker so long you’ve forgotten how not to manipulate people. Friends don’t do that.”
“You’re not an authority on friendship.” Darnessa dropped her hand. “But you’re right. I’m sorry.”
“Mend a broken plate with that apology, and I’ll accept it.” She pushed around Darnessa and stalked to the door, throwing it open only to find Clare standing outside with a guilty expression. Turning back, Sage addressed the matchmaker. “Good night.”
Darnessa nodded, her face crumpling like a used napkin. Clare moved out of the matchmaker’s way, then stepped inside and bolted the door behind her. For a handful of seconds she and Sage eyed each other from a few feet apart.
“Are you okay?” Clare whispered.
“No,” said Sage. “It was all a lie.” She burst into tears, and Clare put her arms around her and let her cry.
63
QUINN WIPED CHARLIE’S forehead with a cool cloth. “How are you feeling, kid?”
“Better now.” Charlie clutched his stomach and shifted on the cot in the room Quinn shared with Cass. “I’ll get up in a minute and finish my work.”
Quinn shook his head. “No, stay here. All this will last a couple days more. Just rest.”
“How do you know?”
The knot in Quinn’s stomach tightened. “I’ve just seen this before.”
Charlie nodded. “I’ll get the bucket, though.”
“No, I’ve got it.” Quinn stood and picked up the foul-smelling bucket covered with a soiled, wet towel. “I have to take care of some things, but you stay here and call if you need anything. And drink this tea when you feel you can. Those are orders.”
Charlie nodded, his feverish eyes closing as Quinn backed away.
Quinn carried the bucket to the privy and dumped and rinsed it out himself. Then he washed his face and hands in water that had been boiled and tossed his shirt in the steaming cauldron the soldiers had already started to wash contaminated clothes. He couldn’t afford to have anyone get sick, least of all him.
But he’d let it happen to Charlie. The logic was indisputable—the page wasn’t a fighter they would lose; they needed an early sign that the sickness would work; and Charlie was already exposed when he dumped it in the cistern. None of it eased the feeling of guilt.
Quinn slipped back into his room, placed the bucket where Charlie would be able to use it again, and changed into a fresh shirt before going to collect Sage for the meeting tonight. He arrived early, afraid she would head to the barracks unescorted.
She answered the door, dressed in breeches and ready to go, and he stepped inside before she could push past him into the corridor. A low fire in the hearth provided the only light, but his sight was already adjusted enough to see the puffy redness around her eyes. She’d been crying.
Because of him, what he’d done.
He didn’t realize someone else was in the room until there was a movement by the fireplace, but it was only Lady Clare. She stood to acknowledge him, and he wondered what she knew. Not much, he decided. Sage wouldn’t have wanted to endanger her friend, but from Clare’s hostile look, he could tell she knew enough to blame him for Sage’s tears.
“Captain Quinn,” she said, offering her hand. “I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced.”
Quinn touched his lips to her fingers. Sage watched impassively. “Lady Clare, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Clare pulled her hand back. “I was just leaving to speak with one of the maids. I imagine you’ll be gone by the time I return.” Her brown eyes were hard with a silent message: If you hurt my friend again, you will answer to me.
He bowed, and she left with a last glance at Sage. When they were alone, Quinn cleared his throat. “Say what you need to,” he said simply.
Sage looked confused. “About what I learned today?”