Page 96 of Untempered
There was a combative set to the woman’s shoulders. “This will do,” I replied, wanting to get out of there. “Thanking you, Bernadette.” I leaned in close to take it. “Cough if you’re in danger,” I murmured.
She smiled, but there was determination in the line of her mouth, not joy. “You stay well, lady Audrey. Come back down once you’re done with her. We’ll have some pie, then.”
I noted that and nodded, doubting the invitation had anything to do with pie. But she didn’t cough. “I’m hoping to speak to the Captain. Do you think it’s particularly good pie?”
She considered it. “Tomorrow it’ll be cobbler. If you’re happy to wait, we’ll always have something for you.”
I walked out, wishing Isolde was with me to confirm she reallyhadbeen trying to give me some sort of message. Could she just be trying to feed me pie? It wouldn’t be the first time, but there was something off in the way she’d spoken, and in her body language.
Finding the Captain, or an alternative, was definitely becoming urgent.
In the corridor outside of Ylva’s room, I stepped over some refuse and then stopped, looking down in horror at the body lying in the lee of the door. She’d died with one leg outstretched, her hands tangled deep in her shawl.
“They’ll get her in the evening run,” Chay said, urging me on.
“The evening run?” I repeated, struggling with the concept. “They…gather bodies? Multiple times a day?”
“They’re supposed to.” He drew out the keys. “They’re shorthanded, though.”
I was still trying to fit that knowledge into my understanding of the world when Chay opened the door to Ylva’s room. He was pulled forward violently with a crash and jangle of equipment. Instinct, or muscle memory, or some part of my brain that worked without my knowledge took over, and I dropped my weight in time to go down in a tangle of limbs with Ylva, rather than let her throw me behind her as she escaped.
She swore and writhed. My heart roared. I ignored her blow to my ribs and tossed her onto her back. Fabric tore, giving way like butter beneath me as I held her down. From the corner of my eye, I saw Chay climbing to his feet, unhurried, as he watched us. She kept fighting, and I adjusted my grip.
She’d scratched my neck, somehow, and my thigh ached where she’d tried to take out my knees.
“Fuck,” she said, thrashing furiously. “Fuck you,bitch!”
My belly twisted, but my hands didn’t soften.
I wanted Isolde.
She collapsed beneath me, but her eyes went to the window. Tears sheened in them.
There was no question that she wasn’t defeated, just delayed. I knew that feeling well. And still I didn’t soften my hands on her.
The way I’d pinned one of her arms exposed the pale scars where I’d shattered her forearm. My father must’ve paid for a mage to heal her. It was the only explanation. And above them were other scars—deep, ugly, purple marks. I hadn’t seen them that night. They looked about as healed as the marks her bones had left from driving through her flesh, back in the autumn.
As she panted beneath me, my mind went to the guards in the kitchen, in the corridors, beside covered carts, and standing in front of silent buildings.
Everywhere except at their posts.
“You need to get out of here,” I said quietly. “You won’t be safe for much longer.”
She looked at me with such disgust I suspected she considered spitting on me a waste of energy.
The ground threatened to swallow me whole, but I didn’t loosen my hands.
She’d never been safe. Not here. And she never would be. Even my limited protection was running up hard against its limitations. My head ached.
I needed to deal with the Captain.
The woman who basically kept the whole keep running was being bailed up in her own kitchen.
I didn’t have time for this.
“I’m going to let you up,” I told her. “I want to make a plan with you. If you don’t want that, I’m going to pretend you just bested us, and hope your road was paved by the Son.”
“Keep your Son,” she said through her teeth. “I’ve got Khazari’s kin in the wind.”
