by C. M. Lind
She wouldn’t even help him dig another grave.
He was leaving.
He kicked the pile of dust onto the aborted monster and turned back to the house. Her wails had grown louder, but he didn’t care. She was going to listen to him.
One way or the other.
Saemund’s eyes shot open. He was coughing, as if something was caught in his throat. He leaned over the bed, his neck straining, his eyes watering.
He hacked, but nothing came up.
He was in the temple, in the priest’s room. He swore he smelled sweat and earth, but all that was around him was cold, stone walls and dust.
He lowered his hand from his mouth. Nothing was upon it. There had been nothing caught in his throat.
He took a long breath, steadying himself. Adrenaline was coursing through him, and his arms shook.
It was another dream. It was the same place as before, and he was the same man. His throat felt dry, and there was a tickle in it when he inhaled. It felt real, and he recalled the dream as if he had actually been there.
The temple was a curse to him. Slowly, he eyed the walls around him. His true skin shuddered, and he felt as if he was being watched.
But no one could have been watching him.
He was utterly alone.
He took another deep breath. The adrenaline in his body passed, and he was left with nothing more than an empty, used-up, hollow feeling—an unease that he was not use to.
Saemund hated dreaming. It was happening to him far too often, ever since he stole the priest’s skin. Ever since he started living in the temple of Anker.
Ever since he started following the woman.
It was her fault.
She was keeping him at the temple. She was plaguing him with visions—hallucinations formed from nothing and without purpose. It was all pure nonsense.
Dotard and Worm were right. He needed to finish his job. He couldn’t spend more time in the temple. Already, he feared he was beginning to lose his mind.
His thoughts of late were odd.
His dreams were horrifyingly real.
He pulled himself from his bed. He was done playing philosopher—watching her from curiosity.
He was going to do what he needed to do.
Chapter 41
Randolph only had nine more days until the Jubilee to prepare, and, much to his horror, at least half of the guardsmen at the estate were extremely ill.
Due to Ety’s meddling, Randolph already was dealing with subpar guardsmen—handsome, young lads without scars or training—but his already underwhelming force had been essentially halved.
He was suddenly very grateful that Soli had invited Balfour. At least having a highly regarded Justicar with no fewer than five “good boy” medals to his name should help make all the lordlings feel safe, he supposed. As much as he hated the idea of watching Balfour flutter around Soli all night (no doubt saying things in his intolerably pleasant voice like “look at how tall I am” and “did you notice how shiny this armor is?”) he had to admit that her cavalier invitation was going to help take some of the pressure off of him that night. If he could only come up with a way to get the annoying ponce to hover about Jae instead of Soli, he’d be completely happy.
He couldn’t help but smile like a complete fool when he thought of her. She was brazen and intrepid, but she was also smooth and charming—and she had been a quick study in the ring with him during the mornings.
In the three days since the strange lunch with Jae, Soli had a new fire in her, and she was disturbingly close to being a master of countering an Avelinian soldier.
It had taken Randolph much longer to get even half as good as she was.
She was the only thing keeping him together lately. Once the guards got ill, it spread through the whole estate. One of the cooks, whom Randolph knew was secretly rutting with a guard in the morning, was the catalyst. Unfortunately, the said cook refused to believe she was ill, and her sticky, filthy hands prepared a breakfast and lunch before she was forcibly retired.
After that, the rest of the house started to fall. Even Irene was ill—and from what Randolph had heard, it was a violently explosive bout she found herself in. He couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought.
Randolph didn’t worry about getting ill himself. It had been a decade since he had anything worse than a sniffle, and that meant that Randolph found himself picking up the slack of his men and Irene. He didn’t know that Jae preferred white lilies in his centerpieces or that he preferred no fewer than three cellists at his parties—but Randolph did the best he could.
His only solace in those hectic days was Soli. She kept up at their morning fights, and he found it was his favorite part of the day—but it also became the favorite part of the day for the others in the household.
Their sessions were not without an audience of maids, launderers, off-duty guardsmen, footmen—anyone who could sneak away for a few minutes here or there.
Randolph hoped Soli would mind them, but she said she didn’t. Luckily for Randolph, he found the extra pressure helped him out. There was no way he could wind up in the sand again if his own men were watching. He knew Soli was a terror with her axes, but to everyone just arriving at their match, she was just a lady minstrel with a wooden toy—no doubt a very beautiful, perfect, angelic lady but not someone that Guard Captain Micah Randolph should ever lose to.
Beyond their matches, he, sadly, didn’t see much more of her. He knew he needed to keep an eye on her, but his duties pulled him away.
He wanted to see her more, no doubt, but it didn’t happen. They barely spoke beyond their sparring bouts, and, even if he could word what he wanted to say in the right way, he wouldn’t then. There was their audience—and he could never say any of those things he wanted to say in front of them.
Soon, the Jubilee would be over, he kept telling himself. Then he wouldn’t need to preside over such things as schedules, deliveries, guest lists—everything he could barely keep his eyes open when thinking about. Then he’d be able to see her again, properly, he thought.
He was going to buy her flowers, he thought. What woman did not like a good rose or something? He had a few days to think about it, and it seemed the proper thing to do. Plus, he figured, if he bought her flowers then the gesture alone should fill in the blanks of what he wanted to say to her.
But, then again, he knew she wanted to go home after the Jubilee—but surely she didn’t mean right away; he’d at least have a few days, he supposed, to figure out what say to her.
Chapter 42
It had been days since Vitoria had seen Ulrich, and whatever he was going to tell her about Conyers was constantly on her mind. She figured the priest couldn’t stay away for long—but it had been four days.
His absence felt odd. The man could seem to barely keep away from her before, and, after what he had told her last time, she figured he would return to finish their conversation.
Was he being honest about what happened with Balfour? He must have been, she surmised, because there were no Justicars battering down Aimee’s door. If Ulrich wanted to, he easily could have her thrown back into The White Cliffs.
She wanted to find him, to ask him about Conyers, but she could not find the time. Aimee was keeping her particularly busy. Under Mikis’ suggestion, Vitoria was currently memorizing formal etiquette, basic Avelinian nobility, and the news of the day that would concern such lordlings—going back three years. Vitoria was fine with memorizing the information, but the fact that it came from Mikis’ direction made her cringe.
When she wasn’t memorizing she was training. Physically, of course, for the attack itself, but she also was learning to present the grace of a lady—a high-classed harlot for the social elite.
That day, a woman named Odette paid them a visit, staying for the whole day, critiquing Vitoria’s posture, eyes, movements—even the way she breathed was deemed inappropriate. Vitoria would have been frustrated at the whole event, but Odette was perfectly
patient and actually verged on kind.
Vitoria also couldn’t find it in herself to be too cruel to a woman with fake, heavy, silvered feet. She figured if the footless Odette could move with grace and seduction then surely she could.
“Good!” Odette clapped her hands together.
Vitoria raised her brow to the woman. “Really?”
“That is how a lady rises from a chair, and, for the first time today, I saw a lady and not drunken ditch-digger!”
“I’ve never dug a ditch in my life.”
Odette smiled, walking over to Vitoria. Her heavy feet thudded against the wood floor. “And now you look it.”
The stairs squeaked, and Aimee, bearing a tray of several small sandwiches and sliced apples, was making her way down. “Anyone hungry?”
Odette turned to Aimee—all smiles. “I would, but I must be going. I have an appointment that I cannot miss.”
Vitoria’s mouth watered at the scent of the warm, juicy beef lodged in the sandwiches. “I could eat.” She glanced at the tray. The juices had soaked through the bread, creating a little puddle in their saucers.
Odette went to leave, raising her heavy foot, but she reeled around to Vitoria, her finger raised in sudden realization. “One last thing.” She grabbed Vitoria by the hand. “It’s simple, but I thought you should know.”
Vitoria pulled her hand away at first. It was an instinctual reaction, but she relented her hand to the woman.
“Avelinian men—or at least men of any substance—want to feel like they are the ones hunting you. You cannot be too aggressive. They want to feel like the one in control—to be the strong men they know deep down they are not.” She chuckled. “We let them live this fantasy. We smile and laugh, but when it comes time to let them know they have caught us, we do this.”
Odette traced the very tip of her middle finger down Vitoria’s palm, lightly touching her with her long, red-painted nail too. She slowly dragged it down Vitoria’s wrist, right over her radial artery, into the crook of her elbow, where she spiraled her nail three times.
Vitoria shivered as warmth filled her. She suddenly felt her pulse deep within her as she let out a little gasp.
“See? Nothing too brash. The lightest of touches, especially where we are seldom touched, is all it really takes sometimes.” She winked at Vitoria. “Plus, it doesn’t hurt to look this good.”
Vitoria pulled her hand away, crossing her arms. Her face felt uncomfortably hot, as if she was freshly and badly sunburned. Odette was objectively erotic, Vitoria knew that, but she never really fancied women, and the reaction that Odette stirred in her, particularly in her lower areas, made her feel an utter disgust with herself—and that disgust made her envision James’ naked body again, complete with a shattered face.
“Don’t worry, love.” She chuckled, patting Vitoria on the shoulder. “You’ll look just as good as me by then. It is mostly makeup, after all. I’ll paint you up myself.” She smiled.
Her genuine smile made Vitoria feel worse, and a deep knotted ball of disgust formed in her stomach. “Do not worry about me. From what I’ve heard, Jae Reinout is a fool, and killing him shall be the simplest part of the night.”
Odette smiled at Vitoria before she turned to Aimee. “Have a good night, and, please, be sure to call on me if you need anything else!”
Aimee smirked. “Of course, I’m sure you’re charging us by the hour, so you’d love for us to think of something.”
Odette’s smile dropped. “Not at all, madam.” She put her hands up. “I swear to all the gods that have ever lived or ever shall. You, or anyone else, will never see a bill for this.”
Aimee gave a sharp laugh. “I thought you worked for Mikis?”
“I work with Mikis. Not for. If he gives you any trouble over this, please let me know so I may beat him, severely.” She clomped her foot on the ground.
Vitoria felt a little less terrible with herself over the heat in her body over the touch of Odette. She couldn’t be so terrible if she would wallop Mikis.
It’s all an act. You can’t trust anyone. She’s a whore. She tells people what they want to hear.
Vitoria swallowed. Leaning against the wall, she crossed one ankle over the other.
“I have visited this Jae Reinout. Only once, but once was enough for me.” Her nose crinkled as she took a long breath. “I merely wish for your work to go smoothly.”
Aimee stepped away from the stairs, leaving room for Odette. “Then we shall write you if we need anything else, and, please, feel free to write us if you think of anything.”
Odette gave Aimee a polite smile. “Have a lovely evening, you two, and best of luck.”
Much to Vitoria’s surprise, Odette was up the stairs in moments. She moved so spry for a woman with metal for feet.
“How did it go, darling?”
Vitoria cleared her throat. “It went well. I feel much better prepared for the role.” She took a deep breath.
Aimee tilted her head, pausing before she responded. “What is it?”
“Nothing.”
She played you like the fool you are. Look at you. You’re being ridiculous. One touch and you melt like an idiot. Good thing James didn’t touch you.
Aimee raised a brow and sighed. “Something is off. What is it?”
Vitoria shrugged her shoulders, her arms still crossed tightly in front of her. “Have you heard from Ulrich?”
Aimee’s brow dropped. “No, I haven’t.”
Vitoria nodded. “Haven’t seen him?”
“I thought I did the other day, on the street, but I turned, and it wasn’t him.”
Vitoria nodded again.
“Why, darling? You look flushed. Is something the matter between you two?”
Vitoria shook her head. The voice inside her was trying to pipe in, trying to tell her about what could have been with James that night. Taunting her incessantly.
“I just need a bath and a nap. That is all.”
“Good to hear it.” Aimee turned to leave, but turned back around. “If I might ask, do you need to speak to him?”
“No,” Vitoria lied. “I guess I’m just getting used to him.”
“Good. Remember, we don’t fully trust men.”
Vitoria narrowed her eyes. She remembered what Ulrich had said about Balfour. If that was the truth, why couldn’t she trust him a little?
Because we don’t trust anyone.
“Have you told him anything about what is going on here?”
Vitoria exhaled loudly. “Only a little.”
Aimee sighed in disappointment. “Darling, you can’t do that.”
Vitoria pushed off the wall. “Why not?” She snapped, flinging her hands to the side.
“Because, I do not know if we can trust him with all that. I’ve long thought that he might be speaking to Conyers about you—still that is—and I heard a rumor the two met a little bit ago.”
Vitoria swept her arm out, as if to silence Aimee. “I know they have!” She pointed to her heart. “He told me!”
Aimee put her hands up. “I didn’t mean to anger you. I merely worry, darling.”
“He came here to tell me about that and some Justicar asshole talking to him! He has been honest!” Her voice was slightly shaking.
“What do you mean?” asked Aimee. “What Justicar?”
“Some Justicar came to him, asking about me! Threatening him!”
Aimee brought her hand to her chin. “That must be why he has been so odd as of late.”
Vitoria looked as if she was going to profess more, but her tirade was silenced. “What do you mean?”
“Odd? I mean he’s been,” she paused for a second, “different.”
Vitoria nodded once. “Yeah.”
“Maybe he’s broken it off with Conyers, maybe not. Either way, we cannot be distracted by him.” Aimee put a hand on Vitoria’s shoulder.
Vitoria nodded again, but the idea of Ulrich being Conyers’ spy made her feel heavy, as if she had
metallic feet like Odette.
“You’re so close, darling. Don’t lose sight of what’s important.”
Chapter 43
“I almost had you that time,” said Soli through loud breaths. She was soaked under her armor with sweat. The match was intense, and she was baking under the relentless sun of midsummer. “Only by my good grace are you not ass first in the sand.”
“Almost?” laughed Randolph. He put his faux sword on the table by the ring and grabbed the mug of water he kept there. “Hardly, sweetheart.”
“That’s not what your men think.” She jerked her head to their audience.
The guardsmen were loudly debating with the maids. The maids declared Randolph the winner, and the guards were adamant that Soli’s victory was flawless. Friendly matches such as theirs were always hard to determine.
He took a long swig of water. A generous stream spilled down his chin, splattering against his armor below. “Them?” He raised a brow as he offered the cup to Soli.
She declined with a shake of her head.
“Don’t mind them, sweetheart.” He set the mug back on the table with a shrug. “They’re just in need of more laps around the manor. A. Lot. More.”
She laughed.
“What?” he asked, feigning incredulity.
“They might be under your command, but they are allowed to have their own opinions—especially when it’s about something so obvious as my martial superiority.”
He raised an eyebrow at her.
She grinned and broke into laughter.
“You cheeky—” He wagged a finger at her. “You almost had me there!”
“So you admit it then?”
“What? No! I meant about the joke!” He threw his hand into the air.
The guards and maids had stopped fighting so suddenly that Soli feared they had merely vanished. All the sound she heard was a strong, slow clap. She turned to look at them. Their faces were solemn. The maids were already walking back to the estate with the urgency of someone who had forgotten about the oven. A couple of the guards followed them.