“Not well,” I reply, watching her as she comes to the couch. The last of the servants leave, and I step aside for her to take a look. Heather makes an uneasy sound, inspecting Cara. I distract myself from my growing unease and ask, “How is your son? Tam, is it?”
“Aye,” she says and crouches down in front of Cara, touching her face and checking her head. Cara doesn’t stir. “He’s go’ a few broken boons an’ nasty cuts, but he’ll be fine…Looks worse than tis.”
“And…Cara?”
Heather glances over at me and grimaces. “I wish tha’ were tha same…she looks aboot as bad as tis.” She gestures away and says, “I need ta get her fever up. It’s much too low.”
“Let me help,” I offer. Heather looks uncertain, but I think we both know that Cara wouldn’t care, and I’m beginning to think that she’s of the same mind as I am—we no longer know who we can trust. Heather strips Cara down to her underdress, and I carry her to the tub as Heather begins her work, quickly becoming an expert in tending the Inferno woman.
It is well into the night and very nearly the next morning when Heather finally leaves. Cara woke when she was placed into the bath, but she remained mostly incoherent. She was awake enough to not drown and to eat. Heather put me to the task of getting Cara to eat, always putting some hot soup or roasted meat in front of her. She would complain occasionally, but bite by bite, she ate most of what Heather ordered for her—a staggering amount of food, to be sure, and about what I would eat in a week if I wasn’t too hungry. Cara went through an entire roast, several hot rolls with spread, hot vegetables, and several mugs of hot stew.
She now fights off sleep as though it is the plague, wrapped up in several wool and cotton gowns and curled up on my sofa with a mug of hot ale. She stares down at it with this weary, lost expression, her brows pinched together and her lips set into a frown. We have yet to speak on the night, mostly just working on getting her temperature back up. Half of her face is wrapped in bandages to protect the fresh ice-burns. Heather put a salve on it, but it will take a while to heal.
“Cara…” Her eyes snap up to me, as if startled. Her chest suddenly heaves from fear. I hesitate, waiting for her to realize where she is and who I am. Her breathing calms. “…you should sleep. You are exhausted.”
She scoffs and looks back down at the ale. “Sleep…you expect me to sleep, Gabriel?” Her voice is very nearly slurred with weariness. “How can I sleep? I do not mind people out to kill me so much as long as I can fight…but I am completely useless. A year ago, I could have killed them all without a single scratch. Tonight…tonight that bastard was able to get me to the ground.” She glares up at me as if it is somehow my fault. Although…I suppose it is.
I sigh and rub my face. “Cara…you are an enemy to them…you cannot expect—”
“No,” she snarls, standing up and hurling the mug of ale at me. Her motions are so sluggish, however, that even without dodging out of the way, that mug would have come nowhere near me. It shatters, and I look back to the panting creature. She looks quite ill. “I do not expect anything. I never should have left the castle.” I open my mouth, but she begins screaming at me, “I have not forgotten! I have not forgotten who I am! Who you are! I will never forget what you have done to my people! My family! Your people took my husband! My brother!” She moves towards me, but she stumbles in her walk. I lurch towards her to help her, but she slaps my hands away. “I don’t expect anything from you! I hate you!”
It’s hard to take her seriously when she’s so clearly injured and exhausted. It’s sort of like humoring a child who cries simply because they are tired and feel like crying. I suppose I should get angry. Her words are biting and callous, and I have more than my fair share of grievances against her specifically and against her people. But somehow, the thought of bringing it up seems…taxing. “Cara…”
“No!” she screams, and this time, she nearly falls. I grab her arm to hold her up and put my other hand under her elbow. She breathes hard, leaning against me and clearly fighting off exhaustion and vertigo. “I hate you…” she bemoans, sobs beginning to well up in her chest. “I hate you, Gabriel…I hate you…I want to go home…I hate this place…you’ve…you’ve taken everything from me…I have nothing…nothing left…”
Her words go straight through me, and for a moment, I cannot speak. She’s stopped screaming and hitting me, at least, so I put my arms around her to steady her. “Cara…I cannot send you home…believe me or not but…I would, were it possible. But I cannot. I cannot appear weak in front of my own people. Tonight has proven that. My own people disobeyed me and attacked not only my charge but the royal guard as well…I—”
“The White Fang…” she murmurs.
“What?”
Sighing, she looks up at me and looks into my eyes intently. “The man said…they were called the White Fang…he…he talked about purging the country…”
White Fang. So, the insurrection has a name. But I’ve never heard of them before. I tuck the information away and ask, “Do you remember anything else?”
She frowns at me and looks back down towards my chest, thinking past the haze of her mind. “I…they seemed just drunk and stupid at first…but they were organized…the first attack drew Ckai’ten away…then there was a second assault closer towards the castle…they expected me to run back, not home.”
“They expected you to run back to the palace?” I ask. She nods. Very few people would know Cara well enough to know that she would not try to escape. Not out of lack of desire, but from her physical condition. Very few people were given knowledge of how serious her health has fallen. The rest of my kind are not familiar enough to know, even by looking at her, how sick she is. Organized. Intimate knowledge of the higher workings of the palace. She’s right. These were not just some angry drunks.
“Gabriel…?”
“Hm?” I glance down at her.
“Kill me…” Her gaze is still focused straight ahead of her on my chest. “Please…just finish it…I’m ready to die…”
I draw her nearer, and I can feel the heat blazing from her now. Still not what it was when I first set her upon my horse in the wastelands, but better than it was a few hours ago. “Cara…you are much too proud to die…” I kiss the top of her head, hesitating after the fact, uncertain of why I did such a thing to begin with. Certainly, I want Cara. Any man would have to be blind or quite the fool not to. But… perhaps that is not all it is…not anymore. “I will…try…to make you a new home here…I cannot restore what was taken…but perhaps I can give you something… worthy of you living a little while longer…”
She lays her warm cheek on my silk shirt, and I can feel the heat of her go right through it. “Why would you ever bother…” she mutters dryly.
Why, indeed? Honestly, I answer, “I do not know…” We go silent, she and I, for a little while, until I realize that she has begun snoring softly. She has managed to fall asleep standing up and leaning against me.
I just sigh and smile, listening to her soft breathing for a long time before I move, situating my arms underneath her and lifting her up. I tuck her against my chest and carry her through the door on the right, my room.
I open a door to the right of the entrance, feeling my chest tighten. I have not been in this room in such a long time. I open it carefully, looking on as moonlight spills into the room. Catherine’s room is exactly as she had left it. There is a large, four-poster bed against the far wall with thin, cream colored drapes pulled closed. She would often lay in her bed at night and read a book or work on her embroidery. It is not common in Crystalice for a man to share his bed with his wife. They would share bodies, but those who can afford it sleep in separate rooms, even if they are connected.
Catherine wanted a balcony, and so I had one built for her just past the two glass doors beside the bed, curtains drawn shut. There are shelves of various things, trinkets that I bought her, paintings that her little sister, Meridith, made for her. She had a vanity
in front of a large, crystal mirror, a table with a tea set and lace cloth. Another door leads to her solar, filled with books of all kinds, soft chairs and cushions where she would entertain her ladies-in-waiting. And yet, I can see nothing. I know where everything is, but white sheets had been pulled over everything—the shelves, the table, the vanity, everything but the bed.
Cara turns in my arms, sighing gently, tucking her face against my chest. She is asleep now, and I smile just a bit at her, bringing my thoughts back to the present. Holding her against me with one arm, her feet barely but automatically holding against the floor, I use my hand to push back the curtains of the neatly made bed. I pull back the soft silk covers and lay the red-head gently down, her hair spilling out over the pillow. She murmurs something quietly, but if it had been actual words, I could not understand them. I draw up the covers over her before leaving her room to find sleep of my own.
Chapter Twenty Six
Scarlet
It’s late morning by the time I wake the next day. I do not remember crying, but I know that I must have, because my nose is stuffed and my head feels swollen. My face burns like hellfire. I sigh and shift in the soft bed, silken sheets rustling against my skin. I clench my eyes tighter, thinking about the last things I can recall, sorting dream from reality.
With a sigh, I push myself up, threatening murder in my mind if there is one scratch on me. When I sit up, I am certain that I look like a cat brushed wrong-side up. I push my tangled mess of hair out of my face, feeling groggy at best when I become aware of another presence in the room.
The room is still, quiet, sunlight pouring in from the windows, the drapes having been pulled open. An older woman and Dena are sitting at the table on the far side of the room, a pot of tea between them. They talk quietly to themselves, and Dena is the first to notice that I am awake. She quiets, looking over at me, then to her older companion.
I have not a clue as to where I am nor where I am supposed to be. I’ve never been in this room before as far as I can tell. It’s far too feminine for my tastes, all soft pinks and creams, but it is a lavish room, filled with well-crafted things and the softest, silk sheets. I look over at the two women who stopped talking and I ask, “Where am I?”
“You do not remember?” the elder asks, her voice gentle, calm.
I shake my head. Dena and the other woman share a look before Dena turns her attention to me. “This is one of the apartments in the prince’s suite. Catherine’s room. Well, it was her room.”
I sigh, tired, irritable. I shiver, drawing the blankets up around me. “Who are you?” I mutter irritably, looking over to the older woman. She is lovely, a fair woman with pale, blond hair drawn back into a severe braid which is coiled and pinned to her head. Her skin is alabaster white, and she has such violet eyes. Surely one of Gabriel’s sisters. She is also slightly pregnant, her belly bump pushing a bit against the table.
“Princess Petara Lunia Jan’tel,” she introduces cordially, “Gabriel’s sister.” I incline my head gruffly. “And you are the Lady Scarlet whom I have heard so much about.”
I ignore her. “Why am I here?” I grumble, looking back to them.
Petara shrugs. “I came to speak with you this morning, but when you were not in your room, I asked the guard, and he said that he had last seen you with Gabriel, and so I asked him. Gabriel just said that you were in the princess’ apartment and left.”
“Have you…bedded him?” Dena asks warily.
“Excuse me?” I snarl, and a cat-like yowl grumbles in my chest. After a moment of fighting back red fur rippling over my skin, I snarl, “No.”
Petara nods, smiling contently as if she already knew. She takes a sip from her porcelain cup, and then looks over at me. “Our mother has requested a visit with you, Lady Scarlet.” I quirk a brow, but she just shakes her head. “It is a good thing. Our mother, the queen, is well respected and loved among the people.”
Dena gets up and walks over to me on the bed when I try to get up. She smiles at me, hesitant. “I…I understand why you are so angry with my Teir, Scarlet…but you are the one who slew our brother…we may not have been as close, but we loved him very much…I hope that you will not hold Claque’s service to his country against him…or me.”
I look up at this young girl, barely a woman, not quite a child, her eyes so big and hopeful. I look away. I sigh, trying very, very hard to say something genuine and meaningful… and appropriate. My eyes move to Petara. “I am an Inferno. This place…it will never be home. I will never slay my own brothers and sisters, but I will protect the people who have sheltered me here. Within the Inferno…family…family is not blood. It is not decided based on who your parents are or who they are related to. Family is formed through bonds and choices…that is all to say…I look after my own.”
The older sister just smiles sadly. She cannot understand. No one can, not here. “Come, Lady Scarlet…our mother wishes to speak with you.” And so, I get up and unwrap the bandages from my face, cleaning off the remaining poultice. The burn is not so swollen now but it is bright red and will surely blister over the next few days. I look at the injury for a moment, and neither princess seems to want to comment on it. Instead, I turn my head and focus my attention onto my attire. I’ve no idea what exactly is appropriate to wear when meeting with an enemy monarch when you are their prisoner, but Dena picks out my dress for me.
The common room in the king’s suite is impressive at worst. It’s filled with all sorts of armors and ancient scrolls, lined with paintings of times past and people long dead. I pause to wander, my eyes wide like a child’s. Petara and Dena share smiles at me and call my name quietly, leading me to a room to my left. Unlike Gabriel’s suite, the queen’s bedroom and solar are not connected to her husband’s. They are all individual rooms accessed by the common room.
When we enter the queen’s solar, she is sitting quietly in a chair by the window, a cup of tea in her lap and a lost look on her face. Gabriel is beside her, talking quietly to her, but he stops when we enter, looking up at us. He meets my gaze, and I look back at him evenly, studying him—curious and wary. The queen then turns her head to look at us, and she smiles gently. I wonder if she thinks I haven’t noticed the two armed guards standing by the open door. There is also a guard behind the queen’s chair, so still that he seems almost like a statue.
The queen is a lovely woman, even in her older years. Her hair is a pure white, braided loosely and pulled over one shoulder. She is a bit more full than her daughters, but her figure is still charming: her face pale, her eyes a beautiful violet, her lips a soft peach. “Good morrow, my daughters. Come…sit with me.” Petara and Dena both bow their heads, then sit down in what I assume are their normal seats in their mother’s solar.
I look around the room curiously. It is filled with books and paintings, a small sculpture here or there. There are cushioned seats around a table with a pot of tea and small tray of fruits and cheeses. I look back to the queen and find her eyes watching mine, a soft smile on her lips.
Gabriel bows at the waist and kisses his mother’s brow. “Good day, mother,” he says softly, then stands and turns to the door, walking towards me. He stops just before me, eyes holding mine the entire time. When I do not move for a moment, he quirks his brow at me.
“What trouble are you up to, Gabriel?” I ask softly.
But he gives a secretive smile and shakes his head. “With you, Cara, there is always trouble.”
I laugh quietly, and he bows his head to me, then moves past me and out the door. I suddenly meet gazes with the women in the room. Petara doesn’t look at me, sipping quietly on a new cup of tea. Dena sits back in her seat, trying very hard not to smile. The queen does not look displeased, necessarily, but she does not smile, either. Instead, she watches me with a gaze that can only really be described as haunting and pensive, looking somewhere between a phantom and an angel as she sits there.
“Come,” she says softly as I stand in front of the closed door
s, guards at my back. It says something about the room that three women and three armed guards can all rest or stand with plenty of room without feeling cramped. “Come here, child.”
I hesitate, but eventually move forward, standing before the queen. I wonder if I am supposed to curtsy or sit. Standing while she sits just feels strange. But again, the woman does not seem offended, and I cannot take my eyes from hers to glance to her daughters for some sort of hint. “What is your name, girl?”
I pause. “Lady Scarlet Anita Sön’yana mei Ka’Rose na Le’sar Inferno.”
She nods her head and smiles. “You are the daughter of the War Lord?”
I hesitate again, glancing to the guard behind her, then reluctantly give a single nod. “His last remaining child.”
“I see,” she says. She then gestures to a chair beside her and continues, “Please, Lady Scarlet, sit. You are welcome to any drink or snack.”
I am not in the mood to eat, and the tea I drink is probably much hotter than what they sip now. But I sit down, laying my hands in my lap, watching the woman before me. I marvel at her, caught somewhere between admiration and curiosity.
“Tell me,” she says, smiling gently. “Who are you?”
I furrow my brow a bit and reply, “I gave you my name, madam.”
She shakes her head. “That is what you are called. I asked who you are. What were the circumstances of your birth…your life? What do you feel and think?”
I give a small smile then and answer, “I hope that you do not expect a one-word answer.”
She matches my look and replies, “I should hope not.”
In my training, part of the reason for the torture is so that if we are ever captured, we will not speak any of our homeland secrets. And so for a while, I do not answer, not exactly sure what she wants from me. Gabriel…he said that his mother was interested in…culture. I will have to be careful but…if she actually does want to know just about my own personal affairs…I suppose it is not worth a fight to not tell her. I do not know what she could really use in that against me. And so I tell her as much as I can. I tell her about being raised solely by my father who had always loved the war more than his Dai’lyn and children. Sage had been bitter at times, but I had always understood my father, and later had shared in his obsession. I tell her about my Dai’lyn and his death, how my brother lost his family, and how I lost him. I tell her of my life as a Knight Protector and about my duel with Gabriel. I shrug. “And that has left me here.”
A Heart of Ice Page 16