Page 108 of Untempered
Had Ylva planned to kill us all along?
I’d assumed they’d clearly see she was free, evenarmed,and riding willingly alongside us. I didn’t think that was such an unfair assumption. Still, she’d had no way of organizing it in advance. More than likely, she was as much a victim of circumstance as we were.
I hid my boots, belt, and knives, though I hadn’t seen the servants in days. I burned the skirt that wasn’t mine. Avoiding questions was easier than answering them, and I had no words to spare for casual conversation. Those questions weren’t a threat now, but would be soon.
When Isolde got back, she was going to be exhausted. I scrubbed dirt out from under my nails, ignoring the pain of the movements, and started compiling a list of what I needed to have ready for her to make her recovery easier. I paused, the world doing a sharp half-turn around me.
My nails weren’t black. Slightly blue, of course. It was cold, and I’d drawn the bath at a snail’s pace. Blue was normal. The One knew my body wouldn’t be acting properly after the short-changed sleep and copious stress of the last few days.
Distracted, I tried to recall where my mental list had gotten to, and couldn’t. Instead, I focused on getting my hair clean and tangle-free before Isolde returned. No matter how sick she was, if she saw something that needed doing, she’d do it. I didn’t want that for her. So I rinsed, lathered, and combed.
Storm was gone. She’d been my girl for almost a decade now. She was myfriend.
Breathing deeply, I refocused on what I had to get done. I was mostly dressed when I saw the pile of cushions and blankets on my bed and started tidying them. Isolde might not be comfortable with taking my bed unless I made up a good reason. It did have better warmth, with the main fireplace being in the room itself, but I doubted that alone would convince her. I gathered up an armload of covers and carried them downstairs, making a nest for myself on the divan before the fire. Chay had refilled the fuel supply, so I took some upstairs, then more. She’d need to keep it burning high. I started to light it myself, then realized I hadn’t finished getting dressed.
By the time I heard a commotion in the bailey, I’d finalized more tiny tasks than I’d started, but they all fell out of my head as I moved over to the big window.
Chay’s horse was obvious from this angle, but it wasn’t him in the saddle. My heart lurched to see how Isolde slumped low, barely staying in her seat. She didn’t climb down herself.
I ran to the fire and threw on more logs. I should’ve gone to get herbs or posies. See if there was another mage about.
Rushing downstairs would only slow them down. Instead, I ran back up and continued throwing my ribbons in their box, then spotted the nub of a candle and tossed it into the fireplace. If I went down, she’d feel obligated to greet me. We’d have to pause to talk. She needed warmth. I needed to stay up here until she got up here, andthenI’d see her. I’d done most of the waiting. It wouldn’t be much longer. I might have time to get her soup, though, and mayhap soup would help her? She wouldn’t have eaten, although Chay might’ve taken the rest of the bread he’d left me with himself.
I blew out a hard breath and scrubbed my hands over my face.Stop it. Just stop it.
“I’m stopping,” I told myself, firmly. “We’re okay. It’s going to be okay, eventually.” It was too hot, so I went back downstairs and spotted a quill that needed to be returned to its stand, and a chair that was off-center.
When the door finally opened, Isolde stepped through. The relief was so overwhelming that I was frozen to the spot, watching her drag herself forward. Chay and Thomas stopped what felt like a respectful distance back.
I thought about moving forward to help. And I thought about the energy that refusal would take from her. I followed a half-step behind instead, taking in the tiny rips in her skirt, the fine twigs and leaves caught in her hair, the mud caked on her boots and lining the bottom of her skirts. There wasn’t a drop of blood on her. She was bent almost double and labored up the stairs without pausing, as if fearing that she may not be able to start again if she stopped.
“Take my bed,” I told her when we reached the top. “I’ve moved my things down. You’ll be warmer.”
It was proof of how ill she truly was that she did exactly that, collapsing at the foot of it like an exhausted hound.
I drew blankets over her. “Leave me,” she said, though the words were sturdy as wet parchment. “Sick.”
“I know you’re sick.” I added another blanket and put a pillow near her head, but didn’t want to disturb her.
Her cloak was damp around her pale face. The veins beneath her skin looked like cracks in fine ceramics. I put yet more fuel on the fire.
“Go,” she said, or I thought she said.
I went.
Downstairs, Thomas and Chay broke off their quiet conversation. Thomas bowed to me. “I think I can get Kaelson to step in and support the Captain,” he said without ado. “If it’s your wish, my lady.”
I remembered little from last night, bar the Captain’s disinterest in helping and the crushing waves of fury. “How would he feel aboutbeingCaptain?” I asked.
Thomas clasped his hands before him. “My lady, I understand your disappointment, but the Acting Steward appointed the Captain.”
“Actually, the Master Steward appointed the Captain,” I disagreed. “The Acting Steward can’t appoint a Son-struck thing.”
“Neither can you,” Chay said, then shifted, making his belt jangle and setting my teeth on edge.
In my mind’s eye, I could see myself striding down the halls, the swirl of the skirts around my feet, the drag of my cloak in my wake. I could feel the weight of the knife in my hand. I could see the Captain’s eyes wide with shock. I’d sidestep the spray of blood from his throat. Kick his body over, too, because he could at least fall on cue. He didnothing elseright.
“Check with Kaelson,” I told Thomas.
