Ruins of bone, p.56
Ruins of Bone, page 56
“It was kind of them to help search.” I closed my eyes against the swirl of pain in my temples.
“Indeed.” Aunt Caris pressed the glass containing the sedative powders to my lips. “Now you must get to bed.”
I pulled away. “I don’t need those.” I couldn’t afford to be so vulnerable, not now.
“Pish.” Aunt Melisina shook her head. “They’ll ease the pain and let you rest.”
“She’s right, dear, you need them,” Aunt Caris said. “You heard Dr. Fulton. Take these, then we’ll help you up to your bedchamber. As to what happened—we will speak of it in the morning.”
I could argue no longer, so I swallowed the bitter powder.
“Ainslie and I intend to sleep with you tonight, so that if you want for anything, you’ll have care,” Ada said softly. “You shouldn’t be alone.”
“I—thank you.”
With their support, I made it up the stairs and into my bedchamber. They cut my other sleeve, then slid down my soiled gown. To contemplate moving my shoulder enough to don proper nightwear felt unbearable, so I collapsed into bed wearing only my shift.
As we huddled together, Ainslie bent her head close to mine. “We know you didn’t take a fall. And that something’s wrong.”
“You may not want us to pry, but you can’t stop us from caring,” Ada said. “Won’t you let us help?”
The sedative powder muddled my thoughts, and shadows deepened around me. “Tomorrow.”
And then the void claimed me.
Chapter 50
Blinding sunlight streamed through the windows and spilled over my face. I blinked against its brilliance, and Jade nuzzled my chin, her body stretched alongside mine. Ada and Ainslie no longer occupied the bed, but when I shifted, I found Aunt Caris seated in a rocking chair alongside it.
She stood and pressed her hand to my forehead as though she could measure my pain by doing so. “How do you feel, my dear?”
I murmured something noncommittal. If anything, the pain had grown worse, stabbing its way from my shoulder across my chest and down my side. Though I’d withdrawn the stone, the workings slowly wrought damage within. How could I rid myself of them? The only one who could answer that question was Riven, and to contact him by proper, non-Other means would require writing a note and entrusting it to a servant to deliver, a process that could take hours—if he even remained at the lodgings he’d taken in Withern. I could send Jade, but if Lord West came upon her—it was unthinkable.
“Dr. Fulton left a tincture for the pain, to be taken as needed.” Aunt Caris stood. “Would you like some?”
“No, thank you.” Bad enough that I’d been forced to take the sedative last night and had slept past noon, I couldn’t afford to lose any more time nor have my senses muddled further—no matter how great my discomfort. “When did he come?”
“Before we even broke the fast. He was a great deal concerned, but he didn’t want us to wake you.” She crossed to the beside. “Lord Riven called as well.”
I shot upright, and the room spun about me as the pain clawed deeper. “When?”
“Last night, quite late—after you’d retired. I cannot think what possessed him to come at that hour. Perhaps the ball had just ended, and he meant to make sure you’d arrived safely home.” The furrow between her brows deepened. “Naturally, I couldn’t allow him entrance, given your condition, so I told him you were feeling poorly and could receive no visitors.”
I sank back against the headboard. Despite all that had transpired between us, had he still intended to take me to Kilmere last night? If so, the presence of my sisters might have stopped him from entering my bedchamber and induced him to call more openly. I could only imagine that their company and the subsequent denial of admittance would be taken as a sign that I now spurned his help.
If so, he’d have no reason to return. Seeking calm, I stroked Jade’s fur. “If he calls again, I must see him, no matter the hour.”
Aunt Caris studied me. “I did not know your feelings were so engaged.”
Warmth crept up my face. “It’s not that—it’s only that we had a falling out before I left Holle Castle, and I would mend it, if I can.”
“I’m sorry that you’ve had trouble, my dear, but pleased that you mean to make amends.” Aunt Caris adjusted my pillows and pulled the quilts higher about me. “Yet if you want a future with him—or any other gentleman—you cannot continue doing things like gallivanting about ruins in the middle of the night. You’ve surely received penalty enough for your misdeeds, but what were you thinking?”
“It was a situation that spiraled beyond my control, but don’t worry, I have no intention of returning to Kilmere alone.” Though I might have to, if Riven refused to offer aid. Because even if I confessed the truth about Kilmere to my sisters—a stomach-churning notion in the light of day—I couldn’t drag them into a situation they were not equipped to face. Mr. Burke would be willing to go, but in this matter, he could provide no assistance, unless it was to perceive a solution I could not.
“Very well, only think on what I’ve said.” Her hand stole to her locket. “Certain deeds cannot be undone—and a reputation, once lost, cannot be restored. But we will say no more of it. Allow me to fetch the medicine, in case you’ve need of it.”
“No, I must get up.”
“My dear, I cannot think it wise.”
“And I cannot fathom lingering in bed all day because I’ve injured my shoulder.” I forced a smile to my lips. “I don’t want to become a layabout.”
She chuckled. “I doubt we’re in danger of that happening.”
“Still, I mean to be about my day.” If I was to try to rid myself of the remnant workings, it wouldn’t be withindoors. “Will you help me dress?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Of course, but if you refuse, I must try myself, the best that I am able.”
She sighed. “I thought as much.”
Between the two of us, we conducted a wrestling match with a fresh shift and stays and a clean gown. Perspiration broke out along my skin, and every movement sent shards of pain deeper into my chest, but finally, it was done. Aunt Caris had even sponged off the remnants of blood and grime from the night before, so I looked presentable.
Fresh crimson now stained the bandage where it was visible above the cap sleeve, and Aunt Caris eyed it with pressed lips. “I shall send for Dr. Fulton to examine you again this afternoon. Perhaps he can persuade you to take proper care of yourself.”
My head spinning, I collapsed into the abandoned chair. “I think I’ll just rest here a moment. The sun is very pleasant.”
“As you should.” She gave a satisfied nod. “Only ring for Mrs. Warren if you need anything, and she’ll fetch me.”
When she left, Jade curled up on my lap. As soon as I could summon the strength, I’d collect my writing supplies to craft a message to Riven. I don’t suppose you have any experience casting off fae-workings?
I wish I did.
Before I could inquire further, a sudden pricking sensation of Other surged into the room. We both jolted upright. It could not be Lord West, not if Riven’s wards held . . .
Rather, it was Riven himself, with the power of passing coiled tightly about him. A storm-crackle of power charged the air between us, and his expression betrayed nothing. No feeling. No concern. Nothing to offer a glimmer of hope that matters might be mended.
But he was here. Whatever his reasons, he’d returned, even without a request. Some of the tightness inside unwound. “I didn’t think you’d come.”
“So I understand, given I had to find out about Damir from Burke.” His tone suggested he’d not welcomed the revelation.
“Lord West killed Asrina.” My eyes burned, and I blinked back tears. Fae did not favor sentiment, and I needed to mend matters, not strain them further. “She tried, but he . . . snared her first. I was going to send a message to you—”
“Then I take it you wish to work together long enough to rid yourself of him? That you prefer the killer who shares a common cause to the one who does not?” He wielded his words like a blade, and I was too weary to deflect.
“Yes—no, that is, not like this.”
“Like what?”
This wasn’t how I’d envisioned the conversation. How could I open my soul when he was wholly Other in this moment, all brightness and power, with the merest hint of sharp-edged anger, buried deep? I pulled Jade closer. “I’d like to resolve our last conversation.”
“We have business to finish conducting, no more.” Whatever small hint of emotion I’d detected vanished. “Count our conversation a boon to us both. You received a reminder it’s unwise to trust fae.”
“And how is that of benefit to you?”
“Because I received one too—that mortals are prone to distraction and sentimentality. That they allow it to drive their decisions.” He lounged against the mantel, his eyes glinting bright. “Nothing matters except the task at hand. You’d do well to remember that.”
“I don’t agree.”
“No? We have one common goal. Stop Damir.” His sharp gaze rested on my shoulder, lingering where the blood seeped through the linens. “And he’s just made his move, so I suggest you stop wasting time.”
I leaned forward, and my breath caught as talons sliced deep into my chest. Something flickered in his eyes, and that slight suggestion something more might stir beneath the surface gave me courage to speak. “I don’t want to work together on these terms, using one another to our own ends—”
His lips firmed. “Then there’s nothing more to say.”
“Riven, please—will you just listen?”
“As you wish.” His voice came lower now.
“Last night, Lord West meant to force my cooperation. He left me impaled and imprisoned in stone, and I had time to reflect on a great deal.” It was more difficult than I’d imagined to speak to the fae Riven, the one determined to heed only the dictates of Other. Beyond the glass, gold runners encroached upon my awareness, their song militant, and I pressed them back. “After all I witnessed at Kilmere and in my dreams, after what Lord West said, what you said—it reminded me of the risks of trusting fae. And with so much at stake, I was afraid. I did not see my way clear.”
He was perceptive enough that he likely knew most of this, but if I did not confess it, it would make all that followed ring hollow.
He folded his arms. “Then you were wise. I warned you from the beginning, if you recall.”
“You did. Your words warned me, but your actions told me something else.” However discomfiting I found the exchange, I’d come this far—I’d confess the rest. “Though I may not trust fae in a general sense, I do trust you. And I want you to understand that before we move on.”
No longer did he lounge against the mantel; he pressed upright, a flare of gold about him. “You shouldn’t.”
“You can’t stop me.” I lifted my chin. “I can be quite stubborn, if the situation requires.”
“Stubborn—and foolish to take such a risk, after what I told you.”
“About that—I believe there’s more to the story, and if you want to discuss it, I’ll listen,” I said quietly. “But one who sheds his own blood to spare another pain does not go about committing murder without cause. Of that much, I’m sure.”
“Jessa . . .” He became very still, and I could read nothing in his face, but when he spoke again, his voice was slightly ragged. “You say you don’t want the arrangement we had before. What then?”
“I know fae have no high opinion of mortals, but I’d prefer to think of this as a . . . friendship?”
Such a long silence followed that I feared I’d provided an insult. Finally, he crossed the room, stopping only a step from my chair. “If that is what you want, then perhaps you’ll allow me to help with the residual workings in your wound? You cannot begin to heal until they’re removed.”
I nodded.
And he bent low, the scent of forest and sun swirling about us. With an impossibly gentle touch, he eased my sleeve down my arm and pulled back the bandage.
The wound looked worse this morning, thick spirals of black writhing away from the center and disappearing beneath my clothes. My stomach lurched, but I forced myself to watch as the tiniest threads of light traveled from Riven into the wound.
They drove out the dark filaments, which coiled in the air. Then Riven’s workings forced them into his hand. Imprisoned there, the shadow-strands writhed.
The relentless, searing pain lifted at once, leaving only a dull ache in its stead. When I pulled in a breath, no flames of pain awaited to punish the motion.
Jade chuffed her satisfaction. If you bear fae blood, you’ll heal swiftly with the workings removed.
Brilliant light pooled in Riven’s palm, burning the dark filaments to ash. He studied me. “I know you were fond of Asrina. Her loss must pain you.”
Blight and rot. Why did he choose now to express sympathy? This time, I couldn’t check the tear that escaped, but I dashed it away before it fell. “She didn’t deserve her fate.”
“And Damir will give an account for it.” Deftly, he rewrapped my wound. “There’s something else that may yet be important. You spoke of a dream that made you afraid. Will you tell me of it?”
To expose my dream would be to reveal a bit of my soul, and I could think of nothing more uncomfortable. I’d already exhausted myself with the confessions made thus far.
He stepped back. “You’re under no obligation to do so.”
“I know, but I want to.” Given that Lord West had sent the dream, it might hold more significance than I understood—I couldn’t leave it out. Somehow, I fumbled through a recounting beneath a gaze that perceived more than the words I confessed.
“Had you heard of the dagger before you dreamed of it?”
“Never.”
“Then your dream explains a great deal. Damir has liminal abilities. I imagine he was responsible for it.”
“He said as much.” I traced a finger down the carved arm of the chair. “But I did not know what he meant, not in full.”
“Among other things, a liminal affinity gives the ability to influence dreams and other places where reality is in flux. He planted the constructs the dream would shape around, provided the power to bring it to life. When twined with your own thoughts and feelings, the dream took on a life of its own.” A stray spark of light appeared between his fingers. “It was well-timed. Damir knew he’d see you at the Holloway ball, where he could work upon the seeds of fear he’d sown in your dreams. He knew how to make you vulnerable, and he seized his chance. Yet in so doing, he may have revealed one of the reasons for his interest in Kilmere—a gamble he’d be willing to take, for no mortal would know of the dawn-dagger.”
“What is it?”
“An object of great power, long lost from our world. If he’d found evidence it was concealed within Kilmere, then it would explain his sudden interest. Perhaps the knowledge gives us an advantage, but I prefer to possess the facts in full before drawing conclusions,” he said. “Tell me what passed between you when he took you captive. Burke said he’d abducted you but could offer little further.”
“Is that why you came last night?”
“Yes. Burke called, and he had some choice words for me.” Rather than offense, a small glimmer of amusement appeared. “He intended to provoke me to act, I believe.”
“Then I owe him thanks for doing so.” Particularly since I knew his sentiments about becoming involved with fae. “And you for returning this morning, despite Aunt Caris sending you away last night.”
Since I could push it off no longer, I sketched out the tale of my abduction and what Lord West had sought. Riven remained motionless as I recounted the assault, but the scent of storm overtook that of sun.
When I’d finished, no trace of gentleness lingered in Riven. “It is time to end him, you must know that now. You say he has the basilisk—perhaps that’s our answer. You weren’t prepared to wield Kilmere as a weapon before, and you’re far weaker after your injury. The confirmation he keeps her on his person presents another opportunity.”
I’d been so fixed on understanding Kilmere, on considering how to unmake its workings, that I’d not fully accounted for what must be done to deal with Lord West, so he did not seek revenge on my family afterward, if I was . . . out of reach. “What do you propose?”
“That we sway her to strike. He keeps her close, and she’s fast. If she released the full measure of her venom, it would kill him before he had a chance to seek healing.”
“And she would die also?”
“Yes, in a just and honorable death. By the laws of your land, her life is owed for those she’s taken. By the laws of her own kind, her sacrifice would reclaim her lost honor.”
A neat ending, but the notion of attempting to persuade even a basilisk to its own death left me unsettled. Was it justice to allow her to go free when she’d committed murder? She’d not acted of her own will, yet still, so many had suffered and died. I tucked my hands in the folds of my skirts. “She must know that, yet she’s not chosen to act—not any time during the long years that she must have yearned for freedom.”
“According to the account in Kilmere, her first master broke her and placed upon her additional bindings, using affinities Damir does not possess. He won’t have the same hold, not yet.” Riven paced the room. “We have a window of opportunity to reach her, to remind her of the ways of her knot, their value for honor. Her fierce nature must resent being used as a pawn. If any remnant of the basilisk spirit remains, she might be stirred to resist.”
“It seems a very cruel redemption.”
“Either way, the basilisk must die. Even if she’s freed from a fae master, she’s a key part of the bargain. As long as she lives, she’s bound to it and has no choice but to execute its terms. Unless you want the original terms of the bargain to stand, she cannot live.”
