Page 31 of Kept

GIVEN

“He won’t stop,” I said without turning from the window where I stood rolling bandages.

Outside, Laurent walked up and down rows of wounded knights and lowpeople spread on an elegant lawn.

Well, what used to be an elegant lawn. Now, it was a scene of carnage. The mayor of Lar Budina had graciously vacated his manor house so Laurent could set up a temporary headquarters while the Council decided Nor Doru’s next move. For the past several hours, refugees from Lar Katerin had streamed into the village. All but one of the lords of the Council had escaped the city. Everyone was badly burned.

Under Captain Radu’s direction, the handful of knights who’d avoided serious injuries had cleared the snow from the grass and set up makeshift cots for the wounded. Townspeople had brought blankets and other supplies. Braziers burned brightly, warding off the cold.

Laurent seemed determined to heal every lowperson, knight, and noble. There were thousands. A priest in black robes trailed him, a gold knife from the Sanctum in his hand. Every few minutes, Laurent knelt on the frozen ground and pressed his bloodied thumb between the lips of someone who had fled the city. His face was gaunt, his shoulders stooped. As I watched, he stood and swayed on his feet. The priest steadied him. After a second, Laurent shrugged the male’s hand off and moved to the next person.

“He’s going to kill himself,” I said. Evening was falling, the Deepnight’s purple twilight giving way to true night. As far as I knew, Laurent hadn’t fed or eaten. He still wore the same clothes he’d thrown on after springing from bed this morning.

Behind me, Varick grunted.

I turned at last. Varick sat in a chair before the fire, his eyes on the flames. The mayor’s bedchamber was large and richly furnished. Varick had bathed and fed from a thrall. His wounds were healed, although he’d had to shave his beard. His golden hair waved back from his forehead, and he wore leather trousers and an embroidered jacket a merchant from town had brought to the manor house. If I didn’t know the Deepnight had opened above the city today, I might think he was a well-to-do country lord relaxing after dinner.

I couldn’t keep the anger from my voice. “You’re not going to stop him?” I knew enough about the bly’ad now to know the power words exacted a heavy toll. Speaking the language of the gods drained Laurent. Speaking them over and over could kill him.

Varick stayed silent. The fire popped.

“Varick,” I said sharply.

He looked at me, his expression hard. Almost aloof. He’d been the Varick of old since he arrived in Lar Budina, barely saying two words to me after seeing to his knights and wolfing down enough food to make the maidservants gasp. When he did speak, it was in grunts and monosyllables.

“What,” he demanded now.

I tossed the bandage I’d rolled into a basket at my feet. “You’re being an ass.”

He turned back to the fire. Grunted. Again.

“If you don’t go get Laurent, I’ll go myself.”

“No, you won’t.”

“I’m the queen.” I glanced at the corner where I’d stashed Avenor’s sword.

“And I’m twice your size.” As I sucked in an angry breath, his jaw tightened. “Leave it, Given,” he said more softly. “Not much longer now.”

Not much longer until what? Laurent dropped dead? I frowned at Varick, silently cursing my poor judgment when it came to choosing men. A table adjacent to his chair held a large vase bursting with flowers. It was a big vase. Probably sturdy enough to knock some sense into a male from the warrior class.

Frustration building, I turned back to the window. No one else could hope to approach Laurent. No one but Varick would dare. Lar Guna and some of the other lords had discussed it but ultimately decided to leave the king alone. Besides, they reasoned, he was healing the knights.

Anger nipped at me. Anyone could see Laurent was ailing. But the lords were willing to use Laurent if it meant replenishing Nor Doru’s defenses. I looked at Varick’s reflection in the window. He still watched the flames, his expression hard in profile. He commanded Laurent’s army. He had an interest in seeing his knights restored to good health. But it was difficult for me to believe he could sit idle while Laurent hurt himself this way.

No, it was impossible for me to believe. Varick loved Laurent, and Varick of Lar Keiren was fierce about those he loved. So why was he just sitting there?

“Have the servants prepare a bath,” he said suddenly. “I want it within the next five minutes.”

I stared at him in the window, my frown pulling tighter. “The servants need longer than five minutes to heat water.”

“Tell them not to bother. It’s better if it’s cold.”

I opened my mouth to ask why when movement outside drew my gaze. On the lawn, Laurent staggered on his feet and collapsed.

Varick was up and moving before Laurent hit the ground. “Get me that bath!” he barked over his shoulder. He used his general’s voice—the one that made me jump and obey without stopping to think. I shouted for servants. The manor house was large, and it had the staff to support it. A small army of servants produced a tub and quickly filled it.

Outside, Varick strode to where Laurent lay in the grass surrounded by a growing crowd. Varick shooed them away, scooped Laurent into his arms, and swung back to the manor.

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