Page 41 of Winter Queen
He shrugs. “I do have my moments.”
“Well, five stars for bedside manner,” I tease and he smiles.
Crispin adjusts his position until he’s lying next to me on the bed, hugging me close. I think the hug is more for him than for me, but I’m okay with that. I know how bad he must have been feeling. He’s a healer, he’s the most talented healer in the Realm, and still he wasn’t able to help me. For someone who’s always wanting to help others, this must have been frustrating and terrifying at the same time.
“So, tell me about that other Crispin,” I demand, wrapping an arm around the healer. I’m trapped beneath my blanket, otherwise I’d use my legs to draw him closer too.
“He’s another creation of the Morrigan,” Arc blurts out. “She made a second Crispin. Maybe more. Like clones.” He shudders in disgust. “I thought she’d have more imagination than creating the same Guardian again.”
“I’m prettier,” Crispin grumbles next to me and I run my fingers over his smooth golden hair.
“You are,” I whisper. “You’re the prettiest Crispin out there.”
He chuckles slightly, but there’s a lot of darkness in his eyes as he looks straight at me.
“Didn’t you mean Guardian?”
“What?”
“Prettiest Guardian,” he clarifies. “Not just the prettiest Crispin. For all I know, there’s only two of us.”
“Let’s hope so,” Storm mutters darkly. “There could be dozens of new Crispins.”
“Could we stop calling them my name?” Crispin protests, and while he laughs while saying it, it’s clear that it hurts.
“Let’s call them clones,” I suggest. “They may look like you from the outside, but not at all on the inside. In there, you’re unique.” I place a hand on his chest, feeling his steady heartbeat.
“What happened to the clone who attacked me?”
“He’s in the dungeons,” Storm says. “We wanted to wait with interrogating him until you’re awake again. He had some poison with him, just like the others, but we took it off him before he could take it.”
“Good, let’s go.”
“Are you sure you’re feeling up to it,” Crispin asks, the healer in him coming to the surface. “We should do some tests…”
“I don’t need tests,” I interrupt him. “I want to talk to that fake Crispin who tricked me and cut my skin.”
“Is the knife’s magic completely destroyed?” Frost asks and I focus on my magic to make sure. She’s back in her cave, sleeping peacefully, her belly round like she’s just had a large meal. If she’s calm like that, it means there are no more threats inside my body.
“All clear,” I tell the guys. “Let’s interrogate this bastard. I have a few things to say to him.”
I jump out of bed, noticing that I’m in a white gown.
“Seriously? I look like you were close to putting me in a coffin.”
“We cremate our dead,” Arc protests but Frost interrupts him.
“Has anybody ever told you that you can be scary when you look this determined?”
“No? But that’s good. I want to make that clone feel fear.”
After a quick stop by my own rooms to get dressed in something less pathetic, I lead the men down into the dungeons. The last time I was here, I came to see the dragon prisoner. I wonder where he and Ada are right now. I still feel a little betrayed by the Guardian’s disappearance. She’s a strong warrior, we could use her in the battles to come. Maybe she’ll be back, but I don’t count on it. Something’s going on with her and the dragons, but there’s no time for us to find out.
“He’s in the cell furthest to the right,” Storm tells me. He’s been trying to take the lead ever since we descended into the lower levels of the Palace, but I’m not letting him. It’s my right to speak to the man who tried to kill me. If he is a man, not a monster.
I immediately feel bad for thinking that. Once, Crispin would have been like him. Killing for the Morrigan without second thought. Did he feel the same pleasure about it that his clone exuded? I shudder when I remember hearing the clone’s voice, his warm breath on my ear. He’d been creepy. I can’t believe I didn’t notice immediately that it wasn’t my Crispin – but then, why would I have expected a doppelganger? I didn’t think that was possible.
We reach the last cell and its inhabitant. He’s lying on the ground, his legs drawn to his chest. There’s dried blood darkening his blond hair and bruises forming on his flawless skin.
