Page 118 of Shadows and Roses

Whatever Octavius saw in his eyes turned his dour expression thoughtful. He dropped his hand and stepped back. "Finally," he grumbled. "Follow me."

"...What?"

"Not here."

Dazed and lightheaded, he trailed after the Master-at-arms like a lost puppy. The warrior barged into the Queen's Wing, hardly acknowledging the guards. He pointed at the fountain in the courtyard.

"Sit down."

Castien sat on the edge of the stone. "Why—"

The warrior sat beside him. "Shut up and breathe. Just breathe."

They’d done this often at the cabin. Meditation helped at first, then frustrated him until he grew angry whenever Octavius told him to breathe.

Now, warm air rushed into his lungs. The crisp scent of the burbling fountain and a faint wisp of roses swirled around his head. Some tiny, hard, frozen ball deep inside his chest… melted. He went still, mind and body.

"What’s wrong with me?" he whispered.

A drop of liquid fell on his lap. He stared at it. A tear? He hadn’t cried since…

Chains. Metallic rattling, an incessant drip of water, footsteps—boots, his cell door clanking, creaking open—

"Nothing." Octavius placed a hand on his shoulder, bringing him back to the bright late-spring day.

He was outside. There were no chains. Another tear fell.

"You’re still healing, and you’re human. We make mistakes," the healer rumbled.

Too many mistakes?

"I don’t know what to do."

Octavius found a relatively clean rag he’d been using on the leathers in the practice circles and offered it to Castien. "Everyone’s different. I knew you weren’t ready but I didn’t know how else to help you. You had to find your own way. You had to be willing to ask for help."

His throat tightened. His hands were shaking. He clenched them.

Unaware of how much time had passed, Castien twisted the moistened ragand croaked, "Please help me."

"I will."

Castien swallowed. "Does Anais…" He could hardly say the words. "I haven’t slept with any of the nobles. Since returning, I mean. Does she know—"

Octavius snorted. "She’s too busy to care who you sleep with, boy." Catching the courtesan’s dejected look, he scowled. "That’s not what I meant. Sheisbusy, but— Don’t listen to an old, grumpy fool. She cares about you."

Her delighted laughter and door closing echoed in his mind. Care, not love. Castien nodded. "Thank you, Octavius."

"I’m glad you found your way back to us. We were worried about you."

Castien’s lips twisted. "I think Jerome wants me dead."

"No, that would be Vern. Jerome just wanted you out of the Escorts."

He grimaced, then frowned. "Vern?"

Octavius raised an eyebrow and shook his head. "Don’t worry about it now, but he’s our Master of Assassins. And, well… Just go see them; they’ll forgive you."

Castien paled and nodded slowly, falling silent. The fountain’s soft, consistent splashing along with the occasional songbird and gentle breeze gradually soothed his raw nerves.

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