Page 57 of Between Wrath and Mercy

“Making it harder for us to find her!” I was struggling to understand how this could be a good thing.

“Yes, but Cyran is more likely to work with us, and she’d be safer outside of the capital. We’ve intercepted his spies at the Cascade before; he’s curious about my intentions. He is untested, young. Declan is over 200 years old, but Cyran, hell, he might not even be in his full divinity yet. I promise this is good, Em.” He pulled my shaking hands into his and looked down at me.

“Alright.” His eyebrows shot up, nearly to his hairline, and I would’ve laughed if I wasn’t so scared. “I believe you. You know more than I do. I’m already a gods damn mess, I can’t keep imagining the worst, it’s killing me. Ineedyou to be right. I—I need what you said to be true.” My voice broke on the last word.

The door to the study opened, and Dewalt came walking out, combing his long, wet hair. Rainier dropped my hands, and I wiped at my eyes, brushing away the tears yet to fall.

“Cyran has her.” He was blunt, and Dewalt only nodded, a grim smile on his face, before he headed outside.

Rainier went into the study, and I heard him open a window. I stood at the hearth, warming my hands, as I heard the sounds of water, presumably Rainier emptying Dewalt’s bath and refilling the tub from the fire. I glanced out the front window, and sure enough, I saw water rising from the pot, slowly moving toward the house. How amazing was it that we’d all get fresh, hot water? Lavenia came walking in as I stared at the billowing water going into the pot, replacing what he’d just taken. It was mesmerizing.

“—go next?”

I shook my head; I didn’t realize Lavenia had been talking to me. Apparently, my head shake was enough of an answer, and she went into the study, brushing past her brother as he came out and sat in one of the armchairs. It was surreal, seeing him there, his large frame filling out the old, worn seat. Nana had come back, presumably while I was staring out the window, and was tending to the food. I smelled roast chicken, and my mouth watered.

“Nana, where have you been sleeping?” It didn’t matter; I was just curious and suddenly wondered how I’d set everyone up for the night.

“I’ve been sleeping in the Crandall’s guest room. Lydia didn’t want me here by myself, and I enjoy their company. Theo reminds me of your father when he was young. The young man and I came earlier, but he went right back to help his mother after tending to the horses. They’ll be expecting me, and you seem like you have a full house.” When we first came inside, Nana explained that when Bree was sent back here, she’d requested to come along, convincing Lord Kennon I needed her more than he did. I wondered how much she’d told my neighbors about Elora, and I surprisingly hoped she’d told them everything so I wouldn’t have to. I still didn’t know what happened to the bodies of the men who attacked me, and I’d need to visit with Theo to thank him, but also to find out exactly what happened after I left.

“I’ll accompany you tonight when you go back. I do need to speak with him before we leave the day after next.”

“Good, I’ll be coming with you when you go.” The woman put her hands on her hips, the same gesture which had once sent my legs quaking as a child.

“Nana, you can’t be serious. Stay here. I’ll be back. We can both go back to Ravemont together—with Elora.” I couldn’t help but wonder what Rainier thought about my statement, but he didn’t turn his head from where he stared out the window.

“Darling, it’s been years. Let an old lady die happy. Besides, I expect you’ll be in Astana longer than you think.” Her tone was unreadable. Even she worried about how long it would take to get Elora back, it seemed. I couldn’t think about it.

“I’ll talk to Rainier about it later.” She crossed her arms and glared at me, and I shot her a look. “Theprince. I’ll talk to the prince about it.” I heaved a sigh in Rainier’s direction as I noticed his body shaking silently from the armchair.

“Come help me set up the bedrooms,” I ordered him, my voice a bit harsher than I intended. As he stood, I couldn’t help but notice how imposing he was in my tiny home. He was so much taller than me, my head only reaching the top of his shoulders, and it was all the more noticeable here, the ceilings low enough that I wouldn’t be surprised if he had to duck through doorways. I turned to the stairwell and waited to hear his footsteps before I continued up, the candlelight from the landing flickering on the walls. I was suddenly embarrassed by the paintings hanging in our stairwell, evidence of a hobby I wasn’t very good at. Elora and I had taken to painting in recent years and had filled the hallway with our work. But where I failed, she succeeded, creating beautiful landscapes from memory. I heard him stop for a moment as he studied one, my failed attempt at painting the meadow. Turning at the landing, I gently traced my fingertips over the bookcase there. Most of the books on it belonged to Elora, so she’d laid claim to it as her own, going as far as painting the wood. There were swirls of black and blue, looking like the night sky. Though the books blocked out the details on the shelves, I knew behind the ones on the bottom there was a town, alive at night. I knew about all the hidden stars that were also present across the top of the bookcase. My fingers grazed over the texture of the paint, finding every imperfection. She’d been so proud of it, and for good reason; it was beautiful.

At the top of the stairs, we turned to the left and went down the length of the hallway to my bedroom. The last time I’d been in it, I had stripped out of clothing and threw it haphazardly, but when I went inside, nothing was out of place. Nana had collected my laundry and put it in the basket it belonged before lighting the lamp on my nightstand.

“There are clean sheets in that closet next to you,” I said to Rainier, who still lingered in the hallway. “I figured I’d put Dewalt and Lavenia in here.”

Rainier stood there for a moment longer, his gaze flickering between me and the bed, a muscle working in his jaw, before he turned to the closet and opened it without a word. Not sure what that was about, I turned around and pulled the quilt off the top of the bed, setting it on the rocking chair in the corner. I didn’t have time to launder it, but at least they’d have clean sheets to sleep on, a small comfort after a few hard days. I pulled everything off the bed, and Rainier walked over to the other side to help. Faxon’s side. A pulse of anger went through me at the thought of him. I watched the man across from me fumble with the sheet, and I couldn’t help but smile.

“Do you even know how to make a bed?” I grinned at him, wanting to fill the silence. It worked as one side of his lips twitched. He glanced down at the bed before looking up at me through lowered lashes, his sideways grin kicking up, making me question my sanity.

“I’m afraid I only know how to mess them up.” Something hot tinged low in my belly, and I felt his eyes on me as I willed my skin not to flush. There was another feeling melding with that heat. I’d known he wouldn’t be celibate, and I didn’t have any claim on him whatsoever, so why did I care? Why did my chest grow tight and my heart thunder at the thought? I’d tried to ignore Lydia whenever she filled me in on the gossip of court—tales of the handsome prince who would bed women and fight battles, then turn around and charm dignitaries, smoothing over King Soren’s indiscretions. I’d always brushed it off as nothing but idle chatter, but it seemed it was true. I schooled my features into something impassive, but I realized it was too late; my facial expression had already shown my hand.

“How many?” I kept my voice calm and curious even though my heart was beating a staccato in my chest, and hot jealousy pulsed through my veins.

“How many what?” His voice was low, almost a warning, as he stared at me, the muscles on his arms moving as he flattened the sheet to the bed. I wasn’t sure if he just wanted to make me say it or not.

“How many beds?” I kept my gaze on the top sheet as he passed it to me, fingers lightly brushing mine.

“That’s hardly an appropriate conversation to have. Especially after taunting me with the one you yourself have sullied.” He sounded measured and calm, tone not indicative of the words he’d just said to me. It didn’t matter I’d never actually done anything willingly with Faxon in this bed. It didn’t matter that we'd have slept in separate rooms if we had the space. Rainier saw it as the bed I’d shared with my husband, and I didn’t know what to say. Telling him my marriage bed was a cold one didn’t seem a solution or a conversation I wanted to have. I didn’t want to tell him I hadn’t known passion since him. A part of me was resentful because of it. I’d been stuck in a loveless marriage, devoid of all touch and fire, while he’d evidently been sullying beds across the Three Kingdoms. I was frustrated that I hadn’t experienced the kind of passion he seemed to. The hot flash of jealousy simmered in my stomach, and I turned to the quilt and unfolded it before he helped me spread it over the bed.

“Lost count, have you?” I turned away from him, not wanting to see his reaction. He didn’t say a word before I grabbed one of my pillows off the rocking chair and turned back to him. “There is a trundle bed under the sofa in the study. You’ll need this.” I threw the pillow at him a bit aggressively, avoiding eye contact as I approached the closet in the hall. I planned to get fresh sheets for me to put on Elora’s bed before I paused, realizing I didn’t want to change her sheets at all. Forgetting about what had angered me only moments before, I crossed to the front of the house to Elora’s room and leaned my head against the door, my hand on the doorknob.

Rainier abandoned and forgotten, I walked into her room, closing the door behind me. Her curtains were parted, so a thin shaft of moonlight fell across the bed. She had left it fairly tidy. The long-abandoned dollhouse against the far wall had books stacked in its rooms, the furniture and dolls pushed to the back, while the small dresser on the wall still held an assortment of knick-knacks. A small jewelry box sat open, and my hand hovered over her necklace I wore before I decided to leave it on. Her nightstand drawer was open, and I spotted the cover of her journal as I slid it closed. I sank down on her bed, inhaling her scent. Citrus and sun and a touch of sweat. It smelled like life, like summer. I laid down, drawing my knees up and staying there for a long time.

I noticed one of her long, white hairs embedded in her sheet, and as I pulled it out, it was as if the thread was attached to my heart, and pulling it released something in me I’d been trying to hold back. I’d been distracted by creatures trying to kill me or kill the soldiers, by Faxon’s betrayal, by searching in Mira. By that frustrating man I’d left in the hallway. I’d been keeping myself busy specifically to avoid this, but something as simple as a strand of her hair in her quiet room sent me careening over the edge of grief. I closed my eyes and let myself sink into it, turning my head into her pillow and crying. I cried for the things I never told her; I cried for the life she could’ve had if we stayed at Ravemont, for the life she could have had if she weren’t like Lucia. I cried for what she was going through. She’d been scared enough to bite someone’s ear off, and everything I had done the past few days didn’t feel like enough.

I didn’t know how long I’d been laying there crying when the creak of the door drew my attention, and Rainier peeked his head in. I rolled over to face the wall, not wanting him to see me that way.

“How long have you been out there?” I wiped away the tears and tucked my hands under my chin.

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