Page 81 of The Cornish Princess
Was he so willing to murder the King’s only heir to hide his crimes?
For what reason did he wish Bryok dead? Was it only rivalry, else something more—something like what Málik proposed? To hide the truth of what they had done, perhaps alone, or together—greedy for what lay inside that Treasury?
Here and now, there was no one to ask, and if she dared voice these questions aloud, Málik seemed to be in no mood to converse. As the hours crept by, his mouth drew tight, and his face grew pinched.
Was it her imagination, or was the air getting harder and harder to breathe?
Gods. At one point, even Málik’s spherule of blue flame dimmed, and Gwendolyn held her breath, hoping desperately that it wasn’t depending upon the same air.
Later, as the hours lengthened, she became certain the air was growing thinner. And though Málik’s lungs seemed no worse for the wear, she could tell he was worried—for her?
Later there would be time enough for questions, she decided.
However, when they met yet another dead end, she cried out in dismay and finally cast her back against the wall, sliding to her bottom, miserable and fighting back tears. To keep from crying out again, she placed the pad of her thumb into her mouth and bit till she tasted her own blood. Without a word, Málik sat down beside her and drew her into his arms, putting out thefaeriefire with only a gust of his breath.
“Málik,” she protested.
“Shhh,” he said, twisting a finger through her curls. “Do you trust me, Princess?”
Gwendolyn nodded, but words wouldn’t come. Tears, like dust, clogged her throat.
“’Tis late,” he whispered. “Let us rest.” And he held Gwendolyn as she wept—for her uncle and his family, for her responsibility in all their deaths, for Owen, for her father, for the mess she’d made of everything, for Bryn, for the situation in which they now found themselves, and for every cross word she ever spent on Málik.
It was all too much, and she couldn’t bear it.
ChapterThirty-One
The blue flame was already burning brightly when Gwendolyn awoke. Sadly, there was no warmth for the flame to impart.
“Feel better?” Málik asked.
“I do,” she confessed, although, as familiar as she lay in his arms, she didn’t stir. Here again, he was warm, and it was cold here beneath the dark, damp earth.
Her heart hurt, her leg hurt, and her brain recoiled against thought.
He caressed her arm with two fingers, tickling her softly, and Gwendolyn could feel small prickles of power and warmth even through the sleeve of her gown, like tiny little bolts of lightning. “Your gown is rent,” he said, when he discovered a tear.
Hearing this brought another sting to Gwendolyn’s eyes. What did a simple tear matter when she was covered in the blood of loved ones and enemies? And yet, this was her mother’s dress—the only gown she’d ever cherished. If she had to learn to use needle and thread, she would mend it if it was the last thing she ever did. But it was sweet he would notice and care. Her emotions were in tumult, and she had to swallow hard around her words.
“I wonder if ’tis night or day,” she said.
“I don’t know. But you’ve slept a good long while.”
“And you?”
As near as they were, she felt him shake his head. “Did you recognize any of those men?”
“Nay,” she said, turning her face up to peer into Málik’s pale blue eyes. She averted her gaze and stared at the earthen wall, swallowing hard. At some point, the stone had disappeared, and here there was only dimpled clay. A beetle crawled out of a small hole and shook its wings at her. From somewhere along the shaft behind them came the squeaking of another bat.
“Do you think anyone survived?”
“No,” he said honestly, and the whispered word blew hot against Gwendolyn’s ear.
Once again, her throat constricted. But she understood that weeping wouldn’t help anyone right now—most especially not them. What was done was done, and the only thing that might have made a difference would have been if she’d remained in Trevena—as Málik had once suggested she should. Barring that, there was no more she could have done.
Gwendolyn was to blame.
For everything.
