Page 30 of Between Wrath and Mercy

Starting out with stretching, Dewalt was still uncharacteristically quiet.

“What is it?” I sighed, one arm across my chest, stretching as far as I could reach.

“Nothing, Emmeline.” If he wanted to be quiet and weird with me, fine. Everything had happened so fast, and it only made sense he might struggle with it. I knew I was struggling.

After stretching, he made me do squats followed by a jump into the air. Over and over again. When I was finally done with the repetitions he desired, I was sweating. I wiped my brow with the back of my hand and reached for the canteen I’d brought down from the room. It was Rainier’s, but since I didn’t have one, he let me borrow it, handing it over to me without a sound before Dewalt and I left the room. After taking a few swigs from it, I was still panting.

“You wanted to start with swords, and here you are, huffing over squat-jumps.” His normal joking tone was missing, and his demeanor was aggressive with arms crossed over his body and a glare pointed in my direction.

“Well, I haven’t been getting into many sword fights in Brambleton. Apologies.” I could tell Dewalt was on the verge of something, and I didn’t want to be on the receiving end, so I attempted to remain lighthearted.

“No, you’ve just been hiding in Brambleton like a coward.” I froze, the canteen halfway to my mouth, before I lowered it again.

“I was protecting Elora, I had to.” He struck a nerve. I did feel like a coward almost every day. Scared to live, scared to do anything. Cold fear dominated my decisions and every interaction I ever had.

“And we’re seeing firsthand what it got you.” I physically jolted backwards at his words. I didn’t think I’d ever seen Dewalt this angry at all, let alone with me. Even after I’d come back, he’d been easygoing and playful, never indicating he might feel so strongly about this situation. It didn’t feel good.

“I’ve never known you to be cruel.” I was willing to let the three of them say things to me I knew I probably deserved—within reason—but he crossed a line. He dragged a hand down his face, clearly frustrated.

“You’re right, I shouldn’t have said that, but . . .” He trailed off, like he had thought better of what he wanted to say. With his mouth a thin straight line and his brows furrowed, he seemed older. His anger transformed him into one of the Bloody Prince’s most trusted advisers and captains. I was surprised I hadn’t seen him as such until now, when his anger was directed toward me. I tried to hide my expression, the hurt probably clearly visible on my face, and he let out a long sigh. “I just need to say some things to you and then move past it. I don’t like this—” He gestured in the air between us. “And I want to go back to annoying the shit out of each other, but I have to get some things off my chest.”

I didn’t say anything, just watched him and waited. He was standing, arms still crossed, tapping a foot irritably. Finally, I nodded, submitting to his demand to speak. I hoped it would be quick because I wanted to move past it as well. I wanted to move past everything. I wanted to stop having nightmares, I wanted to find my daughter, I wanted to figure out my place in this new world.

“You weren’t the only one who lost Lucia.”

My eyebrows shot up. “I’m her twin.”

“Shut up and let me talk.” I nodded, feeling properly reprimanded. I had agreed to let him speak, and I was interrupting. “Losing Lucia was the worst thing that’s ever fucking happened to me. But then we lost you too.Helost you too. And you’ve just been in Brambleton, having babies, and doing what? Nothing?”

“Baby. Singular. And I’ve been protecting her, Dewalt.”

“Protecting her from who, us? Where is she now, Emma?”

“I’m not going to deal—” I spun away from him, ready to head back to the inn, when he grabbed my wrist. Lightly enough it didn’t hurt, but hard enough I’d have to pull free from him. I knew better than anyone how terribly I’d failed at protecting my daughter, and his reminder rubbed raw what little control of my emotions I had left.

“You destroyed him that day, at the burial. Do you even know who healed him, Emma? After you stabbed him?” His eyes were hateful daggers, regarding me in disgust. He acted as if I’d caught Rainier unawares, stabbing him out of hate. I didn’t know who healed him after though. I’d left, rushing back to Ravemont from the family crypt. I didn’t remember much from that day. I remembered talking to Rainier at the cliffside near the crypts, and he’d blocked my exit when I wanted to leave. To run. The memory forced itself upon me clearly, as if the autumn wind whipping around us was only the beginning of a summer storm from long ago.

He grabbed me, pulling me toward the cliffs. It began to rain, a cool summer drizzle driving the temperature down. I remembered feeling the slick stone underneath my shoes, willing myself to slip, to fall, to hurt. To feel. I remembered the black dress I wore that day—Lucia would have hated it. It was itchy, and too many layers of the thick linen in the summer heat were making me sweat. Running from Rainier added to it. He’d cornered me before the burial too, talking to me about who was responsible. I’d escaped him after insisting it was us who deserved to pay for her death.

“Don’t marry him, Em.”

“What do you expect from me, Rain? I have no choice.”

“I can talk to my father to stop it.”

“Why? Lucia is dead because of us, and you’ve made your feelings clear enough. What else do I have? Faxon will take care of Rav—”

“And what will you do, Em? You want to be mistress of Ravemont, popping out heirs for Faxon? Planning little parties and deciding what color flowers the garden will be each spring?” His tone had turned hateful, and I was grateful for it. Anger was easier for me to handle than anything else.

“You know that’s not what I want.”

“Then why are you doing it?”

“Give me a reason not to!”

“Because it isn’t what you want!”

“Then what do I want, Rainier? Who do I want?”

---