Marcell glanced down and flashed a small smile. “A bit.”
“She’s too old for you, don’t you think?”
“Nine years’ difference isn’t that much. I’m already taller than her.”
Pointy couldn’t hold back the laughter this time. “You’re two fingers taller than her. She’d fit into your clothes, for Creator’s sake.”
Marcell’s cheeks turned bright red. He reached for the bandages. “I know it’s stupid, but I can’t help it, all right?”
“Tsch.” Pointy ruffled Marcell’s hair. “Don’t worry. I was eight when I met her mother, and I, too, was swept away by the beauty and the title and the grandeur of the grand duchess. It’s a crush, hero-worship, if you will, and will pass.”
“It won’t ever pass. I think I love her.”
“And you, at twelve, know all about love.”
“I’ll be thirteen next month. And I know what I feel. No one else is as smart or kind or beautiful as Cara.”
Pointy made his expression stern and shook a finger at Marcell. “When you talk about your queen, you’ll address her with the necessary protocol.”
“Fine.”
Of course, Pointy couldn’t disagree. As a boy, he’d thought Seraphine Lenoir the most beautiful creature to ever descend from the heavens to Ehrdia—she could only have been an angel.
Then he met Carabelle.
She’d been out of her prison the day prior, and he’d missed it. His chance to take her away from that damn castle and the spider who inhabited it.
“Now you want to clean the wound and cover it with a bandage,” Pointy said.
“I don’t see why you keep making me do these things,” Marcell said.
“What things?”
“Apprentice stuff.” Marcell shook the bottle of cleaning alcohol in his hand. “It’s not like I’m going to keep doing medicine.”
Pointy arched an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“Well, when she’s crowned, you’re going to advise the queen. No more physician shit for you, which means I won’t be an apprentice.”
“All it means is you won’t be my apprentice. Ahmed and Nathaniel would both be glad to continue your education. As an agent, you’ll still need some sort of cover employment.” A short shadow appeared at the entrance to the tent. “Enter.” He inclined his head toward Amber then faced Marcell again. “As a useful agent, you’ll work in a field where you see many different people on a regular basis. Besides, any additional skill-set you acquire is a bonus. Especially if you can mend cuts like this one.” Pointy gestured at his thigh.
Amber came closer with a grin. “Need help?”
“Please,” Pointy said.
She bent next to Marcell and showed him what to do with the bandage.
“See what I mean?” Pointy smirked.
“Thought you’d want to know, De la Fontaine was just spotted heading to the princess’s suite, dressed to impress.” Amber sat on a folding chair.
Marcell jumped up. “Can I come?”
Pointy shook his head. “You need to hear Amber’s report and deliver it to me later. I have to see the queen.”
***
Pointy half-gaped, half-grinned from his hiding place between a cluster of trees.
Carabelle leaned on Dominic De la Fontaine’s arm as they strolled along the garden path.
A spark ran up his spine. So close, within reach, yet Pointy had to be careful. Her presence had drawn a crowd, and people stopped mid-step to stare at her with expressions much like the one he’d worn a moment ago. Bodies clustered along the edges of the garden, some half-hidden behind trees and shrubs, whispering among themselves.
Even without the crowd, Pointy wouldn’t be able to make a quick escape with her. His injured leg was so stiff he’d barely made it to the garden unseen, and the fifteen or so minutes he’d waited, huddled in the snow, hadn’t helped at all. He could no longer feel his knees or toes. Until he healed, the cold would remain as great an enemy as Celestine Chastain.
De la Fontaine had the upper hand in this scenario.
Besides, Carabelle wouldn’t be able to run in her current state either.
Two weeks in this cursed place and look at her. Eyelids halfway closed, mouth ajar. Pale as a wraith and slim, so slim. Yet, the soft teal dress and grey, fur-lined coat suited her. The wind toyed with the ends of her dark brown curls and stirred the glittering silver ribbon that tied together the braids around her crown. The deep blue of her irises popped with the addition of golden talc and black kohl around her lashes.
What a sketch this would make. He burned the details into his memory; he’d draw it later.
She was beautiful, this queen of his. Perhaps he also suffered a case of hero-worship.
His every muscle vibrated with the need to run to her, save her from Collinefort and all the enemies hidden here. But how?
Pointy scanned the exits for the umpteenth time. More people had packed together around the hip-high garden wall. Some of them tried to hide behind shrubs or trees, but many of the onlookers didn’t even attempt to conceal their staring. Whenever De la Fontaine turned his face in their direction, some of them moved on, red-cheeked, only to be replaced with new watchers.
The ice along the walkways made running treacherous, while the snow would mark their passage along any other route. The way Carabelle was dressed wouldn’t allow for passage through the snow anyway—her legs would freeze in that dress, and the snow would creep over the edge of her ankle-high boots to melt between her toes.
Besides all that, the garden was located directly against the castle. Hundreds of soldiers were off duty in the immediate vicinity, in addition to the rotating guard. Frank himself could likely come to her ‘rescue’ within minutes, should Pointy run with her. And what about the old spider?
No way out.
De la Fontaine caressed her back as though he had some sort of claim to her. Did this man not know her heart belonged to Nathaniel? Idiot.
Carabelle raised a hand to cover her yawn as she and De la Fontaine turned on the path that would lead them right by Pointy.
Closer now, the deep shadows under her eyes became more pronounced. Clearly exhausted, but that was all. She didn’t shake. Her gaze held too much light and didn’t flit about. The rigid way she kept her back and neck, the small twitches of her eyebrows and the corners of her mouth—it seemed as though she were trying to hide her emotions. Not at all like one addicted to ethirin, who wouldn’t feel anything.
Could it be?
A few steps more, and they’d be near enough to discover him.
Pointy edged back, deeper into the darkness.
A snowy hare startled and jumped out of its spot beneath the tree, then hovered just at the foot of the path before it leaped right by Carabelle and De la Fontaine, rounded on the path and entered the wooded area to Pointy’s other side.
Dammit. He swallowed a grunt and crouched, his thigh ignited by the movement. The wooden bench just in front of the trees cast additional shadow over his hiding place.
Carabelle’s gaze flicked to the hare, and the hint of a smile lit her features. She peered between the trees as though she were looking for more hares, and her eyes widened when she met Pointy’s gaze.
His heart, his lungs, everything stopped.
For a moment, her dazed expression disappeared. Her breath quickened, and she licked her lips.
Pointy almost laughed. She bloody recognised him. No individual, two weeks under the influence of ethirin, would have the clarity of mind to spot a hidden spy among the trees. Carabelle was faking the addiction.
She must’ve found out, but how?
Carabelle blinked and stumbled—no, pretended to stumble—and De la Fontaine caught her and brought her to sit on the bench in front of Pointy. Previously, she’d smelled of frangipani, of books—ever the studious one. A clean and calm scent, pure and simple. Now, something of Malak’s spiciness hung about her, mixed with a too-sweet, overly floral perfume. All roses and lilies,
demanding and glamorous. Not at all Carabelle.
De la Fontaine shrugged out of his coat and draped it around Carabelle’s shoulders. “I’ll get you something warm to drink, all right? Stay here, sweetheart. Do you understand?”
“Stay,” she said in a voice so void of emotion she could have been a mechanobot.
De la Fontaine kissed her forehead then left.
If Pointy’s pulse raced any faster, he’d pass out.
Carabelle made a show of turning on the bench and lay down, facing the backrest. A curtain of her hair fell over her face to shield her expression from the onlookers, and she beamed at him. “I’m so glad to see you, Pointy. If I could, I’d hug you.”
Chapter 25
The well of warmth in Cara’s chest almost brought tears to her eyes. What she wouldn’t give to step in between the trees and run off with Pointy that instant. Wonderful, handsome Pointy. If anyone could get her out of this, it was him.
“My dearest Carabelle, I’ve never been happier to see you.” The lines around his mouth were deeper than she remembered, and his pale eyes were bloodshot. Faint bruising stained his cheek, chin, and the underside of his mouth.
All Malak had been able to talk about all day long had been Pointy’s crimes. The murder of three resistance soldiers—one of them so bloody it was sickening—had made him a wanted man, set to be executed after his trial. As though they’d really give him a trial. Cara knew for a fact he was innocent of the bloodiest of those murders and would likely meet a similar fate at the hands of the real killer if he was found. “They hurt you, those two you supposedly killed. Are you all right?”
“Fine, dearest.” He smiled. “They stabbed me a bit, but Nathaniel and the apothecary fixed me. Also, there’s nothing supposed about how I killed them. It was either me or them, and I chose me. But I have a feeling you know something else, since I apparently killed a third person, who you’ve failed to mention.”
Her hands and feet turned to ice. “Ashes, Pointy, you shouldn’t have come. You’re in too much danger. I saw her. Celestine.” Cara’s stomach petrified just at the mention of her name. “That third corpse? I was there when Celestine murdered that man. His name was Le Roux, and he’d done something that upset Frank, by the way they talked. I don’t have details. I just know that she was in a wheelchair, pretending to be this frail old granny, but she’s not at all what she seems. She’s strong. She gave him a tranquiliser and something to thin his blood—which by the way, they were also giving me—and shot him three times. Nobody came. Then she stabbed him over and over, and there was so much blood, I—”
“Did she see you witnessing this murder?”
“No. I was hidden in a closet.”
“Is there any chance she knew you were there? Any way at all. This is important.”
Cara sneered. “She’s Celestine. Who can tell what she knows or doesn’t know? But I’m pretty sure she’d have done something by now if she knew I know. But, listen, that’s not all. I also heard Malak and Frank talk, and they’re planning to discredit and kill you. You’re in danger from everyone, and you really have to leave.”
“Your concern warms the heart, dearest, but I’m not going anywhere without you. I won’t let them find me. Or kill me.” His eyes twinkled in that mischievous Pointy way.
Despite her worry, Cara bit the tip of her tongue. “You’re so cocky.”
“One of the reasons for my nickname.” He tipped his head. “But how were you able to be in a place where you could witness this crime?”
“There are passages in the wall. There’s one to my room. I’ve been exploring the passages, but almost got caught the last time I went in, and I had to hide in a random room. When I heard someone coming from the passages, I ducked into the closet.”
His jaw slackened. “When did this all happen? Three days ago?”
“Yes.”
“I heard about it. Well, some of it anyway. Marcell has been forced into hiding, because they believe he’s the one they almost caught.”
Ashes, she hadn’t thought about how her actions would impact her friends. “Tell him I’m sorry. How are Nathan and Nita? And Greg?”
His faint scent of mint and soap drifted towards her on the breeze, and he strained towards her, as though he struggled to stay away just as much as she did. “They were sent into the war-zone a few days ago to test the cure for rot. I don’t know more than that. I’ve been in hiding.”
Her innards knotted. She had so many questions but so little time—Nic could be back any minute. What if Nathan or Nita were hurt in the war-zone? What if she never saw them again? One thing at a time. “How long will they be away?”
“The apothecary will be back as soon as she knows if her medicine works or not.” He toyed with the end of his flaxen ponytail. “Nathaniel… Well, my dear, Frank’s assigned him to that outpost. Don’t worry, though, the apothecary will see to it that he comes back, and we’ll hide him.”
“How’s she going to—” Cara’s breath hitched.
Frank. Pointy, who never called anyone by anything other than their full name or title, had just called her brother Frank.
She couldn’t move. Another word roared in her mind: dear.
She was in the Crooning Cockerel, in the back room. The high-backed chair wouldn’t swallow her when Pipette looked at her as though she was a mythical creature in the flesh. Then Pointy told her everything. She relived that moment in which it became clear that the lies about her life were much more complicated than she’d initially imagined.
The solemn cast of Pointy’s expression when he said, “All right. I’ll say my dear, but I mean my queen. Every time I say it, you’ll know what it really means.”
Cara came back to herself in the small, cold garden in Collinefort. Had he ever stopped calling her dear? Only to call her by her title, and that one time he almost called her a queen in front of Frank. He’d caught himself and changed the title to princess, but had shot her a look as if asking for forgiveness. Her heart expanded. “Pointy?”
“Yes, dearest?”
She cleared her throat. “Remember that day in the Cockerel?”
“Of course. That was one of the greatest days of my life. You called me Pointy for the first time, and I’ll treasure that memory always.”
“You called me something, too.” She worked her lower lip with her teeth. “You said I’d know what it means when you call me dear.”
“Ah.”
“Does it still mean the same?”
He was quiet awhile, face turned down so everything below his forehead was swallowed by shadows. “Of course it does. A heart, my dear, is not so easily changed.”
She spoke through her teeth. “This is treason, Pointy. You have a king, not a queen.”
He laughed. “Let me tell you a little secret—I don’t give a damn.” When he met her gaze, his blue eyes were cold as frost. Intent. “I serve one person. One. Always have, always will. And nothing Frank does can change what I know and believe with my whole heart. He is the usurper on a throne meant for Carabelle of Mordoux. And I’ll fight till my dying breath to regain your throne from the Salamander and from Frank.”
The hair on her nape rose. “Creator, Pointy.”
“I’ll fight him, too.” The scar on his right cheek deepened like a dimple.
The tightness in her stomach abated. “What am I going to do with you?”
“Let me conquer the world for you, my dear.” He winked. “Remember what else I told you that day?”
“So much.”
“I said I am yours. I’ll always belong to you, my queen.”
“If Frank doesn’t hang you for treason.”
“Oh, he’ll try, but what’s a little added danger to a life lived on the edge of the abyss? But your new friend can’t be far, and this is important. When the old spider comes to you, run. Do whatever it takes to get away, my dear. You must get away.”
She shuddered. “I know. Frank and Malak talked about it yesterday. How they want
your lies out of my head.”
He made a choking sound. “You mean, they know about my thousands of lies?”
“You’re impossible, you know?” she said. “I heard something else in the passages. They’re drugging someone who doesn’t stay in the castle. She used to but has moved out.”
He frowned. “I’ll look into it. Another question, now that we’re on the topic of drugging. How are you not a shaking, addicted mess?”
“I realised what they were doing and have been pretending that I’m still taking it.”
His shoulders shook with silent laughter. “Of course you did.”
“I need to know more about ethirin. What does it—” Footsteps grated on the gravel. “I think Nic’s coming back. Can you meet me here tomorrow?”
“Of course.” He smiled and shrank back into the shadows. “My dearest Carabelle, you’re a marvel,” he whispered then disappeared.
Behind her, Nic’s footsteps grew louder. Was there someone with him?
Cara pretended to be asleep.
If Pointy still regarded her as his queen, and planned to fight to see her on the throne, what did that mean for Frank?
As if everything wasn’t complicated enough.
She didn’t want to be queen—she’d never wanted it. Monarchy and rule were reserved for Frank and Sera.
So, why did a part of her heart—the smallest part—dance around Pointy’s declarations?
Nic crunched the gravel right by the bench, and two other sets of feet followed soon after. Who was with him?
Cara peeked at them through her lashes. Guards, searching between the trees. Salamander’s spit, they’d seen Pointy.
Steam ssshed as Nic emptied the cup of tea he’d gone to fetch into the snow.
Cara shut her eyes and focused on keeping her breathing regular, while her thoughts scattered like a flock of startled birds.
“Cara?” Nic shook her gently but his tone was urgent. “Cara wake up.”
“Hmm?” She opened one eye then shut it again.
“Sweetheart, were you asleep the whole time?”
Still not his sweetheart. She yawned and nodded.
“I think Du Pont was hiding in the trees.”
A Trial of Sparks & Kindling (Fall of the Mantle Book 2) Page 20
