by CJ Archer
We watched them hurry off without waiting for a sedan chair to collect them.
"Well then, that's that," the duchess said with a toss of her head that set her blonde curls into a bouncing frenzy. "Being a duchess has its uses after all."
"It certainly does," I said, no longer sure if I'd been treating her with enough deference. I decided to curtsy too. If Lady Deerhorn thought it necessary, then it must be the done thing. "Thank you for intervening, Your Grace."
"Oh, don't curtsy for me, you lovely thing. Leave that for the sycophants like the Deerhorns." She hooked her arm through mine and we set off for the coach house.
Behind us, Miranda broke into giggles.
"I don't know what you find so amusing," the duchess said over her shoulder. "You've got Lord Xavier to contend with now. He seems to have taken a liking to you."
"Ugh," Miranda said, joining us. "I wish the king would banish him from court so we didn't have to put up with him."
"I know a way to stop his attentions," the duchess said lightly. "It's the reason he shows no interest in me."
"Go on," Miranda said.
"Get married."
Miranda pulled a face. The duchess and I laughed.
I was still smiling when the carriage deposited me outside my house at dusk. I thanked the coachman and considered heading across the street to see Meg but decided against it. It had been a long day, and I ought to do the housework I'd been putting off.
The house felt strange without my father. I doubted I'd ever get used to it. I paused outside his workroom and regretted tidying it up after his death. He liked clutter and disorder, with his books only an arm’s-length away. Now the desk was bare except for the thin layer of dust covering it. I rarely went in. I didn't like the emptiness of it.
I sighed but my breath caught. My heart leapt. I was not alone. I don't know what alerted me—a footstep or a creaking board? Whatever the sound, it had been small and fleeting, and it came too late to warn me.
I had no time to react before a hand clamped over my mouth and an arm wrapped around my waist from behind, pinning my arms to my sides. I was pulled back hard against a man's body. Hot breath ruffled my hair and a rapid heartbeat hammered against my shoulder blades. I struggled but he was too strong. I screamed but it came out muffled.
He found that amusing. His chuckle chilled me to the bone.
"It's about time you showed up," Brant said. "I'm glad you're alone, Josie. Very glad."
Chapter 8
I did not struggle. Brant would like that. He wanted me to fight against him and perhaps expected it. So I simply stood there and waited for him to make the next move. When he let me go, I'd do whatever I could to escape. If he wanted me for his next victim, he was going to have to render me unconscious or kill me first.
"You're shaking," he said and chuckled again. "You ain't so brave now that you're at my mercy." He rubbed his nose along the back of my ear and breathed deeply. The arm wrapped around my waist momentarily tightened before relaxing. Not enough for me to free myself, however. "I know what you're thinking, Josie, but that ain't why I'm here. I don't want that prick's used goods. I want to talk to you, that's all. Can I let you go and we talk without you screaming? Or do we have to stay like this? Either way, it don't matter to me. So can I?"
I had a better chance of escape if he let me go so I nodded. He slowly released me only to push me in the back.
"Kitchen," he ordered. "You're going to be a good girl and feed me."
I folded my arms across my stomach. "I don't have much in the larder."
"You got ale and bread. I already checked." He shoved me again and I led the way to the kitchen.
He stood by the door, his hand resting on his sword hilt, and watched as I poured ale into a cup and set out the bread on a board. "And one for yourself," he said, taking the cup.
I poured myself a small amount of ale. He waited until I sipped before he drank too. I don't know why he thought I'd poison my own ale.
"What do you want?" I asked.
He pulled out a chair from the table and indicated the other. "Sit. Let's have a discussion like civilized people."
"You're not a civilized person, Brant."
He smirked. "Careful. That tongue of yours will get you into trouble. There's only so much I'll put up with from you."
I bit the inside of my cheek.
"Now, sit down. Please."
I sat but not too close to the table. He finally sat too. He slowly sipped his ale, watching me over the rim of the cup, until he finished it all and set the cup down. He broke off a corner of cheese and ate it without taking his gaze off me. The silence stretched to snapping point. I dug my nails into my palms and waited.
"This is pleasant," he said. "Two people sitting over food and drink, talking."
"What do you want, Brant?"
"I want to know why you were at the palace today."
I held his gaze steady. "To visit my friends."
He snorted. "You think Hammer is you friend? He doesn't have friends. He's using you. You're his link to the outside world, the world beyond the palace. He needs you to do his dirty work in the village."
"A nice theory except he hasn't asked me to do anything for him. No spying, no searching for evidence, nothing. There's nothing more to our relationship than simple friendship. But it's not only him I went to the palace to see. I wanted to see Max and Quentin, Theodore, and Lady Miranda too."
He checked his cup. Seeing it empty, he rapped it on the table as if it were a tavern and I the serving wench.
"Would you like some more?" I asked.
He grunted.
"I'll take that as a yes." I filled his cup and gave it back.
Instead of drinking, he cradled the cup in his hands. "I know Hammer confides in you."
"He told me about the memory loss, but you already knew that. So?"
"So what else has he told you?"
"Nothing. Is there more to tell?"
"You know there is," he spat. "Don't pretend. You know about the cabinet."
"Cabinet?"
"I said, don't pretend!" His nostrils flared and the knuckles around the cup whitened. "The cabinet in Laylana's room. There was something in it. What was it?"
"I don't know. He didn't tell me."
He thumped his fist on the table. "He must have!"
I swallowed and dared shake my head. "No, he didn't. Not specifically, anyway. He just said it contained something valuable belonging to the king. I assumed jewelry or gold."
He scoffed. "You're not this stupid, Josie. You ain't no fool. There was something in that cabinet. Something…alive."
I frowned. "Alive?"
He nodded, all the anger dissolved. He looked unsure, confused, exactly how I expected a man without a memory to look. A small part of me felt sorry for him. The rest of me was revolted.
"Like it had a heartbeat," he went on.
"Go on," I urged.
He shrugged. "I felt it when I held that cabinet. When I let it go, I couldn't feel it no more."
"I didn't hold it," I told him. "And the captain didn't mention a heartbeat to me, or feeling anything odd about the cabinet."
"He wouldn't, would he?" he said, his voice rising again. "He doesn't want anyone else to know about it. That's what I'm trying to tell you. He's keeping secrets."
I put up my hands to calm him down again. "That may be, but I can assure you, he's not confiding those secrets in me. To him, I am an outsider," I said, studying the table surface. "If he has something to hide, I'm the last person he'll confide in." I looked up again. "But I don't think he's hiding anything. Not from any of you, that is. You're all in this predicament together, and I do know him well enough to know he's not so cruel as to keep important information about your memories from you."
"You think that, eh?" He slouched into the chair, taking his cup with him. He cradled it against his chest between both hands. "I think he's lying. I think he knows the reason we lost our memories. I think
he and the king both know and they're in it together."
"That's absurd. Why would you say that?"
"Because everyone from the village says magic was used to build the palace, and now the servants do too. The palace must be linked with our memory loss. It must be. And who benefits from this magic? The king, that's who."
"If you're blaming the king, then why include the captain?"
"Because he's close to the king. Maybe Theo and Balthazar are involved too." He suddenly leaned forward and stabbed his finger at me. "Don't say a word of this to anyone."
"I won't, but you should be careful. Don't spread those rumors or the wrong person might overhear you. If you're suggesting the king gained the palace and throne through magic, that's treason."
"I didn't say the throne. You did." He sniffed and drank down his second cup of ale. With a belch, he set the cup down. "I will find that cabinet. I've searched part of the palace already, so seems I'll just keep going, room by room."
When did he find the time to search the palace? He was either on duty with a partner or in the garrison or training yard. I doubted he snuck around at night. Sleeping servants would wake if he went into their rooms, and he was at risk of being caught by the guards on night duty if he entered the salons. He must do it during the day, and the best time for him to do that without Dane or Max noticing him gone was when he was supposed to be on duty. His partner must be lying for him.
And if his partner was lying, that meant Brant's whereabouts at the time of Ruth's rape could not be reliably accounted for.
I swallowed the bile burning up my throat and covered my mouth with my hand.
"You see it now, don't you?" he sneered. "You see how Hammer is in on it."
"Pardon?" I managed.
"Hammer, and maybe Theo and Bal. Definitely the king. You can't trust the captain, Josie. You understand me? He's been lying to you, just like he's been lying to the rest of us."
I shook my head. "I—I don't think he has answers about your memory loss, Brant."
He slammed his fist on the table, making me jump. "Are you blind? You think because he's handsome and charming that he cares about you? You stupid women are all the same. You think the ugly men are the ones you got to be careful of. Well sometimes the handsome ones are just as mean, maybe meaner. Hammer ain't always the fine fellow he pretends to be with you. I've seen him almost kill someone with his bare hands."
"The prisoner in the cells?"
"Does it matter who? The point is, he can be all nice one minute and violent the next. He can turn like that." He snapped his fingers. My nerves jangled. "You be careful, Josie. Girls like you fall easy for men like him, then it’s too late when their true nature comes out."
"And men like you are innocent and sweet?"
"I never claimed to be innocent. I never tried to be your friend or be something I ain't. I'm just passing on some advice from someone who knows Hammer better than you. Choose your friends carefully." He stood slowly, picked up the cup then slammed it down on the table. I could only guess that it was done to highlight his point. "Thanks for the ale."
I followed him to the door and locked it behind him when he left. I slumped against it. My nerves still felt fragile, and my hands shook. No matter what Brant said, I would never trust him over Dane.
It wasn't until I returned to the kitchen and tidied up that I wondered how he'd got in. I'd unlocked the front door when I arrived home, and the back door was still locked firmly. Somehow he'd got in and re-locked one of them. No kind-hearted soul worried about my welfare would do that.
I slept fitfully. The smallest sound woke me, from the drunken singing in the distance to the creak of the rafters settling after a warm day. My sleeplessness meant I was awake at dawn when someone knocked. Compared to the other sounds, it was loud.
I threw a shawl around my shoulders and called out through the door. "Who is it?"
"Gill Swinson. Josie, you have to come with me. Something's happened."
I unlocked the door and invited Gill in but he shook his head. He clutched his hat, screwing it tightly in his fists. He looked pale in the early morning sunlight. Too pale.
"What's happened?" I asked.
"It's Ingrid. She…she needs you."
I'd known the fisherman and his family my entire life, although I'd never been particularly close with Ingrid, his daughter, four years my senior. I hoped he would understand. "I can't," I told him. "I'm not allowed to—"
"I don't care!" He thumped his fist into the wall then spread his fingers wide, as if reaching for some patience. "I'm sorry, Josie, but you have to come. There's no one else. It's women's business anyway."
"Pregnancy?"
He leveled his gaze with mine. I'd never seen such worry in this jovial man before, or such anger. "Just come. Please."
"I'll fetch my bag." I dressed quickly and grabbed my pack from the kitchen larder, making sure it contained enough mother's milk, hollyroot and mildwood. I didn't know which one I'd need, or whether all three would be necessary.
I locked the house and trotted alongside Gill, struggling to keep up with his swift pace. We didn't speak. We didn't have to. I was quite sure I knew what was wrong with Ingrid. It was the only explanation for Gill's anger and worry.
The Swinsons lived close to the dock, not far from the bustling hive of activity that had already begun in earnest. Dockers, sailors, crane operators, and customs officers passed the Swinson house on their way to work, while many fishermen were probably already on their boats. Not Gill, however.
His son wasn't at home, so perhaps he'd gone out alone today. Gill's wife, Faye, looked exhausted. Her eyes were swollen and her hair hung loosely around her shoulders. She still wore her nightgown.
"In there," she said, nodding at a closed door. She touched my arm as I passed her and whispered, "She's been…forced."
I let myself into the room. I'd expected Ingrid to be lying on the bed, not pacing. She looked like a caged animal with her blonde hair rippling with each purposeful stride. Unlike her mother, her eyes were not swollen. She looked tired but not upset.
"So he did fetch you," she said, finally stopping. "I told him not to."
"Your parents are concerned about you."
"There's nothing for you to do here, Josie."
"You don't want me to take a look at you? Give you something?"
"I'm not in any pain." She grunted. "His dick wouldn't leave a shadow at full mast. I've got a few bruises on my thighs and hips, but that's all." I must have looked mystified because she added, "I'm fine, Josie. I have experience with men." Ingrid had been married for five years and widowed for one. She'd moved back with her parents after her husband's death and helped Faye sell the fish caught by Gill and their son. Ingrid had a powerful voice, perfect for a fishwife. Her character was just as strong, but even so, I'd not expected this defiance.
"I know, but…" I wasn't sure what to say. I felt woefully inadequate for such a task. Ruth had not been physically hurt either, but she had cried in my arms and I think that had helped us both. Ingrid didn't look like she wanted to cry. She looked like she wanted to hack off her attacker's genitals with a blunt axe.
"Sometimes it's not about the physical hurt, it's about the violation," I said. It had been something I'd noticed with Ruth, and it made sense that Ingrid might feel the same way.
"Violated." She began pacing again. "That's exactly it. I feel violated, like he took something from me without asking first. He made me feel weak, and I am not weak."
"You certainly aren't. You're one of the strongest women I know, Ingrid. What happened to you last night doesn't change that."
She gave a curt nod of thanks. "When I get my hands on him, I'm going to make him regret touching me. I'm going to make him feel like I feel now."
"Did you see him?"
"No. He came at me from behind."
Behind? Hailia. I felt sick. "Is there anything else you can tell me about him?"
"He wasn't a big man. I was ta
ller than him, but he was stronger than me. Damn it." She turned away and stared at the wall. I thought I heard her sniff but I didn't offer sympathy. She didn't seem like she wanted it. "He smelled clean."
"Clean?"
"Not sweaty or like fish. Like he'd just washed but not with scented water."
"Where did it happen?"
"Just around the corner from here. It was early evening last night, just gone dark. I think he'd been following me for some time, but I can't be sure." She slammed her fist into the wall, just as her father had done outside my house.
Her mother opened the door. "Ingrid?"
"It's all right, Mama," Ingrid bit off. "I'm fine. Stop fussing."
I nodded at Faye and she closed the door again.
"She's going to worry about me all the time now," Ingrid said.
I could have told her she was lucky to have someone worry about her, but I did not. No matter how brave Ingrid appeared, she wasn't all right. She was angry at her attacker and she was suffering, in her own way. She just had a different way of expressing that suffering to Ruth.
"If you need a woman other than your mother to talk to, come and see me," I told her. "Also, if you become pregnant, you must definitely come to see me."
"Damn it," she muttered. "Damn that fucking little weasel's prick. If I ever find out who he is…" She made a wringing motion with her hands.
I left the room and handed Faye a bag of mildwood leaves. "Steep this in some tea," I told her. "It might calm her a little." I wasn't sure mildwood would be enough to dampen Ingrid's rage, however—or her father's. Gill looked like he wanted to snap someone's head off too.
"It's one of them newcomers," he growled. "It's got to be."
"You don't know that," Faye said.
"I do know it! It wouldn't be a Mullian. We've known this whole village all our lives. Our friends wouldn't do…that." He began pacing the floor, just as his daughter had. "They shouldn't be allowed to come here. There's too many of them, and when they don't follow our rules, we suffer. They think they can take our jobs, our livelihoods, and our women. It ain't right."
