Page 81 of Untempered
She knew Audrey could take her in single combat. But mayhap she thought it had been luck and had seen her opportunity to attempt to drive me away.
But I couldn’t put all my hopes on that.
The future stretched out before me, bleak and brief. Everything I needed to do crowded my head, and my heart sat heavily in my chest.
When Audrey appeared, her skirts were bundled in her hands, and her cheeks were pale. “We need to get you inside.”
I shook my head. I could hold the line for her. “Say you’re sealing yourself in the tower again,” I said, and she looked at me, stricken. “If you’d had it, she would’ve told us,” I explained. “You need to go before you do. I can buy you time.”
But she shook her head, her mouth a thin line. “No.” And there was a note of finality in her tone, like the cracking of a whip, that reminded me of another time, and another order.
Hope stirred deep inside of me. “Well,” I said. “What’s your plan?”
CHAPTERTHIRTY-ONE
THOMAS
“There is a place for everything.” ~ Barloc’s Wisdom, compiled by F. Bergsoniir
The torches weren’t all lit as I walked back to my rooms. Most were, but a few had burned out and waited, yet to be replaced.
I didn’t stop and feel for warmth on the stubs, but I considered it.
Further evidence of how hard the plague was hitting us wasn’t necessary. I could see it out the windows on the castle wall where there ought to have been groups of three patrolling each segment. The group I could see were covering two segments, though.
If I saw nothing except that, I’d still know we were in trouble.
I hadn’t seen Isolde since she’d been declared sick by the Worg in the dungeons almost a week ago. And that was as unsettling as the thin patrols.
In the mess, Riyad hailed me. He didn’t stand from his spot, his face long and tired. Knowing what he was like, I grabbed some extra bread for him before I went to sit. “They found the source, did you hear?”
I spooned up some thin soup, fighting against my disbelief. “Did they just?” I asked, trying not to sound too doubtful.
“It was a fisherman’s family who died first,” he said, taking the bread I’d given him and ripping it open. “So they’re burning all the fish. And I hear there’s to be a new infirmary, set up at the tourney ground. I’d hate to be the bastard out there.”
I forced more food into my body. Seven days ago, Steward Daniel had left. Four days ago, Acting Captain Smythesson had been found drunk beneath his desk. Two days ago, he’d become Captain properly at the passing of his predecessor. He hadn’t been seen sober since that hurried ceremony, from what I heard. One day ago, Mortemon had gone entirely missing, presumed dead. Today, Acting Steward Romwell had greeted the lady from beneath his thickest winter coat, veins visibly dark beneath his eyes.
“How’s it going, being with the lady?” he asked me, grinning, his gap-toothed smile not entirely kind.
I missed my Rose, suddenly. I wanted to bury my face in her hair and fall asleep. I’d wake to that damned cat without complaint and fetch the babe for her for feeding at any hour he demanded.
“Can’t complain,” I said instead. “Still on the Outer East Wall?”
“Nah.” He snorted. “Everywhere nowadays, and not in the fun way.”
I was going to run the field hospital at the tourney grounds tomorrow. I’d agreed to it. Helped the lady set it up. She didn’t know what it took to run an army camp. I was no expert, but I was the closest she had. Everyone else who had the know-how and was still fit was desperately needed to hold the city together. If it worked, the unrest would ease, and I’d be supported more. If it didn’t work…well, then it wouldn’t matter.
The lady had asked with tears in her eyes after another trip back from the almost deserted mess hall. She knew the risks I was running. She’d done what she could to reduce them.
I’d sworn I’d never put myself in the position where I’d be in charge of people, but that had been under the Duke. Riyad was yapping away, and I just stared at the bits of cabbage bobbing around in the thin liquid.
The little lady, she wasn’t the Duke. Not even close. But he’d be back one day. He’d be taking the reins from her hands.
“…like fish,” Riyad said, and grinned. “But there’ll be plenty of knappchs to be taken.”
Riyad wouldn’t know knappchs if an apple came and pissed in his cup. “It’s not going to be over soon,” I told him, the words razors in my throat. The wind screamed around us, but the lamp didn’t flicker.
He pulled back, affronted. “But the fish?—”
