by C. M. Lind
Marguerite trailed after him, and she seemed to gain stability by his side.
“Soli!” he cried out, turning around in the center of the room. “You better be alright, sweetheart,” he muttered to himself.
Marguerite went straight by him. “She’s over here!”
Randolph followed, and Marguerite brought him to one of the four clusters of large ferns. Marguerite pulled a few branches back, and Randolph saw the two cream colored slippers she had been wearing that evening.
He rushed into the foliage, calling out for her the whole while.
She did not answer. She did not move.
“Gods,” said Randolph, glancing back at Marguerite with unsure eyes. He bit his lower lip.
“She was fine when I left her. I swear it!” Tears were streaming down her eyes as if she had already assumed the worst.
Randolph’s hand hesitated above hers, and he was more terrified of knowing than not knowing.
“Is she?” stuttered Marguerite.
Randolph lowered his hand onto hers, and it felt warm. He shook it, begging her to wake up under his breath, promising her the world if she would just wake up.
She didn’t.
Marguerite sobbed louder. Buckling over, she fell to the floor in grief. “No,” she said shaking her head. “No.”
“Rise and shine, sweetheart,” Randolph said, still shaking her hand.
But she did not stir to his begging, his pleading, or his shaking. She couldn’t.
“Is she?” asked Marguerite again.
Randolph’s face contorted. His mind wouldn’t let him even consider the possibility. He took a deep breath. “I don’t know.”
“Can’t you tell?”
He shrugged, holding her hand tightly. “I’m shit for this kind of thing. I just kill people; I don’t know how to help!” He remembered what the Venari had called him: Mr. Hero. He dropped his chin to his chest.
Why Vitoria would have hurt Soli, he had no idea. Nothing in the solarium made sense to him at that moment. The only thing he did know was that if she had hurt Soli, it was entirely his fault. He knew she would be coming that night. He knew who she was. He knew something was wrong earlier, but he let Ety shame him into staying by the front door.
If only he would have come earlier.
“Come on, sweetheart.” He pulled her into his arms. “The dirt is no place for you.”
Chapter 77
She awoke with a sense of weightlessness, and, as she stirred, she smelled spiced aftershave and leather. “Randolph?” Soli asked, her throat parched.
“Gods above!” cried a woman’s voice. Marguerite.
It took a few seconds before Randolph could respond. “Yeah,” he said with a trembling laugh. “I’m here, sweetheart.”
“You smell nice.”
“What?” he asked.
Soli took a deep breath. “You smell nice.”
He laughed again, but that time it was full and hearty. “No, I don’t, but it’s sweet of you to say.”
“No,” she said, nuzzling her nose into his armored chest. “You do.”
Someone grabbed her arm. Soli opened her eyes and saw Marguerite. Her face was red and puffy, but she was smiling, which was enough of an improvement for Soli that she laughed seeing her.
“Don’t you have enough sense to get out of here?” asked Soli, speaking slowly and softly, as if speaking any louder would crack her throat.
Marguerite laughed, holding Soli’s hand all the tighter. “You’ve saved me, so the least I could do was help Mr. Randolph find you.”
“Thanks,” said Soli. “But you should leave this place.”
“But,” said Marguerite, “Lord Jae is dead!”
“I know,” said Soli. “I saw. But you still can’t stay.”
“Neither can you,” said Randolph, holding her even tighter.
She tried to nod. “I know.”
“But with Lord Jae gone, I have nothing to fear,” said Marguerite.
“No,” said Soli. “You cannot trust Etienne either. You need to leave.”
“Ety?” asked Randolph. “What did he do?”
Soli looked up at him. His eyebrows were drawn together, and there was a large scab on his lower lip. “What happened?” she asked, bringing her fingertips to his lip to touch it for a second.
He lowered his face to let her, and he smiled. “Just you, sweetheart.” He sighed. “All your fault, making me worry.” Randolph stepped out of the foliage, and he began to carry her to the middle of the room.
“It is true,” said Marguerite. “You gave us both a scare.”
“I’m sorry,” said Soli. The truth was, she had been plenty scared herself, but none of it seemed to matter. Somehow she was fine. Neither Jae, Lilane, Etienne, or the woman in red had found her—but somehow Marguerite and Randolph had.
Her head was filled with all the “what ifs”—and all of them left her full of dread and disgust. Her hand went to the pouch around her neck, and she held it through her gown, silently thanking all the gods she could think of and, especially, thanking Roed. Soli thought about fate again—and what it had in store for her.
If she would have died that night, there was one thing that she regretted she had never done.
“We could go through the kitchen,” said Marguerite.
Randolph nodded. “Yeah. That lets out near the stables.”
“Where are you going to take her?”
“I know a place.” He squeezed her as if he wasn’t sure she was really there and he just wanted the reassurance. “Don’t worry about me.”
“My bags,” said Soli.
“Right,” said Randolph. He turned to Marguerite. “Go get them. They’re under her bed. Only two.”
“Yes!” said Marguerite.
“Wait,” said Soli. “There is a pouch inside. Take as much as you need to start again.”
“No,” she said. “You have already done so much for me. I could not.”
“There is so much horribleness that has happened here,” said Soli, setting her hand on Randolph’s shoulder. “Let me do this one small thing for you. It’ll let me know that you’re going to be alright.” She breathed deep. “That one thing was made better by my stay here.”
Marguerite nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” She was out the door, scurrying down the hall in seconds.
After she left, Soli brought her fingertips back to Randolph’s face. “I wanted to talk to you all evening,” she said. “I wish you would have found me sooner.”
He smiled at her. “Me too, sweetheart.” He lowered his forehead to hers, letting her trembling fingers brush against his stubble.
She didn’t hesitate. The moment he was closer, her eyes closed as she pressed her lips forward, kissing him with all the strength she could muster. Randolph returned it, his arms squeezing her tighter.
His lips were rough and chapped, but she did not care. He felt and smelled like Randolph, and the thing that she loved most about Randolph, was that he was Randolph. As she continued to kiss him, her weak fingers wrapped around his neck, returning his hold as tightly as she could. She felt safe for the first time that night, and he held her as if he was afraid he might lose her.
Her hands fell as their lips parted; her eyes opened. His had not, and he looked utterly stunned, with a wide smile of disbelief. She nestled her head against his neck, and, as her eyes closed again, she fell asleep against him.
Chapter 78
When Randolph came back to the Reinout estate the next morning, the place was filled with Justicars. After several minutes of trying to explain who he was, they finally let him in, giving him a scrutinizing eye. They told him he had to report straight to Sir Balfour. Randolph didn’t need to ask where he was—he had a pretty good idea where he would be.
When Randolph had left Skullsplitters earlier that day, word of Jae and Lilane Reinout’s death was fresh news. Their bodies had probably sat for hours until help was fetched in a house full of people all too busy with themselves
to bother looking for their host.
Balfour, Ety, and a score of other Justicars and house guards were in the Solarium—including Guy, who walked straight up to him the moment he stepped in. His face, for once in his life, was grave, and he whispered to Randolph. “I told them the truth.” He glanced around, making sure no one could hear him. “You thought there was a prowler outside last night, and you went to investigate it.”
Randolph nodded, and Guy left the solarium, heading for the common restrooms down the hall.
“There you finally are!” said Ety. One of his arms was crossed around him; the other was at his lips, where he chewed on his nails.
“Glad you could join us,” said Balfour. “Too bad you were not here far earlier.” He motioned to where Randolph had seen the bodies before, except the lumps were covered by heavy black cloth.
Vic was standing nearby, making notes in his journal and occasionally lifting the cloth up to look for some other bit of evidence he had missed before.
The blood and glass that covered the floor was still how Randolph recalled it, and the Justicars had done a fantastic job not disturbing one drop or shard.
“Did you just return?” asked Balfour, pulling a tiny, hard-backed book from his pouch at his side. He leafed a few pages into it, reading quietly to himself as he waited for Randolph’s answer.
Randolph said yes before he nodded.
“And why did you leave last night?” Balfour pulled a length of wrapped graphite from his pouch and held the exposed tip of it against the paper.
Randolph glanced at the black-clothed lumps. They smelled as corpses were wont to do, but not as badly as he had thought they would. The glass dome of the solarium sill had a person-sized hole in the glass, and fresh air blew in. He faced the hole while he lied. “I thought there was a prowler outside last night; I went to investigate it.”
“So,” spoke Balfour, scribbling in his book, “exactly what your men said.”
“Yeah,” said Randolph, still facing the fresh air.
“Then where were you this morning?” asked Balfour.
Balfour’s graphite was poised to leap upon his lies. Randolph had no doubt that he was committing them to eternity to be used later on The Cliffs. How happy it would make that twat to catch Randolph lying. “The bar,” said Randolph, turning his steps back to Balfour, staring him down. “It was a long work night.”
“Really?” asked Balfour. “Have you changed your clothes since then?”
“You tell me, Baly,” said Randolph, his face blank with bored contempt at the man’s stupid questions. “Does it look like I’ve put on some new things?” He gestured to his armor. “I wear the same damn thing every day.”
“Then what bar?” he asked, breaking eye contact with Randolph.
“This is ridiculous!” broke Etienne, flinging his hands in the air. “Randolph is as loyal a man as someone could ever hope for!”
“Everyone must be questioned,” countered Balfour, his eyes darting to Etienne as he spoke.
“I told you that he was outside looking for prowlers! I approved it myself!” snapped Etienne.
“And did you approve his leave?” Balfour was writing as fast as he could.
“Of course!” said Etienne, his brow furrowed. “I was in charge of security this year, and Randolph and I worked closely together. He told me weeks ago that he wanted to be off by sunrise!”
“You have said before that you were in charge this year,” said Balfour, flipping back a page to confirm it before he continued speaking, but Etienne silenced him with his hand.
“I have.” Ety shuddered a breath, and his eyes began to flutter. He took a deep breath as he held back tears. “And it is entirely my fault that something has happened.” He breathed again. “I have to live with that the rest of my life!”
“Please,” said Balfour, his graphite finally taking a break from the paper. “That is not what I was implying at all.”
“But you think it,” said Etienne, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket. “They all do.”
Ety turned away to dab his eyes.
Randolph stood still. His eyes were wide, and his brow pulled down hard. Why would Ety lie for him? The man he tormented daily had covered his absurd story, and he had tacked on some more.
Balfour turned back to Randolph, but his demeanor had gone from cold investigator to calm ally. He nodded to Randolph to step away with him, and Randolph’s feet moved instinctively before his brain had even caught up with him.
“Etienne says he knows who did it.” Balfour sighed as he tucked his book and graphite back into his pocket.
It had never occurred to Randolph that maybe Etienne did know about Vitoria. Had he been part of Jae’s unscrupulous plans with Delarue? Had he seen the posters and put two and two together? “Oh,” said Randolph, unable to look Balfour in the eyes. Instead, he glanced back to Etienne. “Really?”
Balfour nodded. “He said that a woman visited Jae last night, and that she was the last person to make contact with him.”
Had Vitoria been in the house the whole party? He racked his brain. He was at the front door, and he thought he had taken care to scrutinize every guest—especially the nobility that he didn’t know of or couldn’t remember.
Randolph shrugged. “I was at the door most of the night, and I didn’t see anything suspicious.”
Balfour nodded again, and he looked like a man whose spirit wanted to flee his own body. “That is because,” he said, swallowing hard, “she was already in the house.”
Randolph’s head slowly turned back to Balfour. “What do you mean?” He ran through the faces of the household staff. Was there anyone that night that seemed off? Who, perhaps, had looked different? He couldn’t recall.
“Do you know where Soli is?” asked Balfour.
Randolph crossed his arms, afraid that if he didn’t he would surely punch Baly’s nose right in. “There is no way possible that she did this.”
“I know we are both,” said Balfour, “rather fond of her.”
Randolph glared at him. He took a steadying, deep breath.
“But, if she was the last person seen with him, I need to speak with her.”
Randolph shook his head. “Impossible. Never happened.” He wanted to say because she hated him, but he was pretty sure that would hurt her case.
“I promise to treat her with civility,” said Balfour. “I need to speak with her about what they spoke about—at the least.”
“No.” Randolph shook his head again. “I mean, they never spoke last night.”
“Etienne has assured me they did.” Balfour raised a brow, and he dropped his hushed voice further into a barely audible whisper. “That when Soli ran off to speak with Jae she was acting quite strange.”
A hand slipped free from Randolph’s crossed arms, and a chastising finger pointed at Balfour as he spoke. “Soli would never visit Jae.”
Balfour’s brow dropped, and he glanced back to Etienne, who was standing near the bodies. Perhaps he was quietly sobbing. “Etienne said they had a secret affair going on, and that she frequently slipped into his quarters in the late hours.” He turned back to Randolph. “Said he could hear her late at night, creeping down the hall towards his room.”
Randolph’s nostrils flared, and his free hand curled into a fist as he tucked it back over his chest. “Never.”
Balfour narrowed his scrutinizing eyes at Randolph. “Are you sure?”
“She never liked him,” he blurted. “Like that. It was him that was chasing after her all the time.”
“He was quite handsome though,” said Balfour. “Are you absolutely sure?”
Randolph lowered his head and knitted his brow while he thought. He was sure. He replayed the times he visited her. Walked her through the plushy carpeted halls and watched over her door so she could bath. There were all the times she never knew about where he would sneak away in the night just to check on her. When he’d have a bad dream or couldn’t sleep, he would sit outside
her door and listen to her breath. He was always afraid one of those nights he would hear her crying, or worse, hear nothing at all.
All those unspoken, unacknowledged fears were always in the back of his mind, and he didn’t know how to handle them. He couldn’t even verbalize them, and, if he could, who would he tell? They would say he was overreacting, and he would look like the obsessive fool.
His head jerked back up. “Ety said he heard her sneaking out?”
Balfour nodded.
“There is no way he could have,” said Randolph. “The carpet.”
“The carpet,” repeated Balfour in an uncertain tone.
Randolph nodded. “Walk it yourself and listen. You can’t hear anyone in those halls.”
Balfour glanced at Etienne again. “So he is lying?”
“I swear on my life he is,” said Randolph, grabbing Balfour by the shoulder to get his attention. “I swear it. Trust me. I know almost every little dirty thing that happens in this house. Soli wasn’t screwing Jae, and she, sure as shit, didn’t visit him last night.”
“The surviving lord of the house points the finger to a northern, beautiful woman citing a supposed affair gone wrong. There is a double-murder, with no witnesses, that the law will demand be satisfied no matter what.” Balfour looked into Randolph’s eyes. “No lord will sleep safe until this is resolved.”
“Yeah,” said Randolph, letting go of Balfour as his own shoulders dropped. “And the only one saying something otherwise is someone like me.”
Balfour slowly nodded. “Hypothetically, your past and profession would make you a hindrance to her—not an asset.” Balfour paused. “And, given your fondness for her, you could be accused of complicity in the murder.”
As Randolph nodded, his brow drew together. He bit his lower lip. His teeth sheered the scab from the night before off, and fresh blood came out.
“But,” said Balfour. He leaned his head in, close to Randolph’s, making direct eye contact. “Jae Reinout was a man who made many enemies with his romantic exploits.” He spoke slowly. “I will have to make extensive inquiries into all possibilities, so I may not have the time to dedicate any real force of my men into searching for Soli—for at least a few days.”