Nita nodded. “If Frank’s people had caught him, he would’ve been executed after a trial. Frank would’ve flaunted him, made a thing of it. But nobody knows where Pointy is. There’s nothing—no information at all. Which means Intelligence has him. Or—” Her lower lip trembled.
“Just say it, Nita.”
“Celestine got him. For all we know, Pointy’s dead.”
Chapter 28
Lance smoothed Sera’s hair. Her head was cradled in his lap, eyes shut in fitful sleep, cheeks streaked with the last bout of tears.
He sat on the plush rug in front of the fireplace, and she was stretched out, bathed in orange light, while the physicians examined Laroche on the other end of the room. The piano stood behind them, unattended for now. Maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing, as Sera’s songs grew increasingly gloomy.
The day had been especially bad for her, as it had begun with an announcement from the new king. His coronation had been scheduled for noon, at the palace. Sera had fallen asleep before she’d heard the news—a group of nobles had protested this coronation, since the circumstances of the old king’s death were so obscure. The ceremony had never happened, and Aelland remained without an official king.
Apparently, Doc Cutter’s son was one of the most vocal protesters. He’d come to see his old man at lunch. Dorian, they’d called him. Good-looking guy. Tall, well-manicured, with bluish eyes and wheat-blond hair. He’d asked about his brother and had been upset when nobody could give him a straight answer about where this brother had gone.
Lance had a good idea Cutter’s other son, the physician, had left Aelland with Cara. Maybe that was also where the lady physician had got to. It made sense, now that he thought about it. Cara had probably come to the Mantle in the first place to find a way through.
Sera shuddered in her sleep, and Lance reached over to the chaise behind them and grasped the soft fleece blanket she’d been using for cover at night. He spread the blanket over her and caressed her hair again.
Sometimes, the softness of the blankets and the warmth of the fire made his stomach twist and tumble. The splendour of the Du Pont place, the sheer size—how many slummers could fit in here? Sell just one candelabra, and they could feed a slum family for a year. But that was why he was here. To help the slummers, and fight for equal rights for his people.
He chuckled to himself. His people? Better calm down before my head gets so inflated, I’ll float away.
Ahmed shot tentative glances his way. They hadn’t talked yet, not with everything going on. Lance wanted to talk, though he didn’t want to be the one to initiate the conversation. Ahmed had made it clear where he stood and could make the first move to repair their relationship.
The door opened, and Laura emerged from her fortress of melancholy. A rare sighting indeed. Hell, she’d even put on a clean, crease-free blouse and wide mauve skirt for the occasion. Her eyes slanted up at the outer corners, and the dark irises blended with her pupils, half-hidden under her straight black eyelashes. Jewels glittered from the inner corners of her eyes, soft pink, the same shade as her mouth. She crossed over, eyes narrowed. “That’s the queen,” she said.
Lance chuckled. “You don’t say.”
Laura’s lips parted, then shut again. She crossed her arms. “What are your intentions with her?”
She couldn’t possibly mean— Creator, she had to be daft to think he had feelings for Sera. Still, it would be best to ask her, in case he was the one jumping to stupid conclusions. “What do you mean by intentions?”
Laura plopped onto the chaise with a small noise. “She’s a recently widowed woman, whose kingdom is on the verge of implosion. I don’t think the addition of your advances would do her any good.”
“Advances?” Lance lifted his chin. “As in romantically?”
“Yes.” Laura squeaked the word, and her eyebrows twitched.
Of all the ridiculous things she could have said, it had to be that. Couldn’t a man and a woman be friends without someone accusing them of romance? Even if he had been interested in pursuing women, it had to be possible to have platonic relationships with the opposite gender, didn’t it? He’d had many male friends in the slums, friends who hadn’t shared his lifestyle, and he’d never made any advances towards them.
But Laura’s heart was freshly broken, so maybe that was why Sera’s happiness concerned her. He’d explain it, calmly, with a smile.
“Look.” Let his smile be friendly and not sarcastic. “I’m not making any advances. In fact, I’ve never made advances towards anyone of the female variety.”
Laura blinked. “What do you mean?”
“I mean I prefer the company of men. Romantically. I’m not attracted to women.”
Laura’s milky cheeks flushed, and she turned away. “Oh.”
Jerry laughed quietly from the other side of the room, a self-deprecating sound, as if he had some insight into the situation. Did he have the same inclination? That would be interesting. Jerry was a nice guy, funny, and it would be great to have a friend who understood what Lance faced daily. Someone with whom he could be normal.
Lance inhaled. “What I want from Sera is platonic, and has more to do with the well-being of the kingdom than anything else. Besides—”
“Magnus!” Jerry caught a slumping Doc Cutter by one arm, while Ahmed rushed closer to grab the other.
Sera yanked upright and jumped to her feet in a single motion. “Papa?” She froze when she noticed Magnus.
The old man was pale, his drool pink. His dropped cane rolled on the floor and disappeared in the dark underneath Laroche’s bed. Doc Cutter trembled; his breath sounded as wheezes. The physicians half-dragged, half-carried him to the chaise.
Lance rose to help, but Ahmed shook his head. “Please, give us some space.”
Sera gave a step back. “What’s the matter?”
Jerry sighed. “He should have stopped working ages ago. He’s ill.”
“Bah,” Doc Cutter said.
Ahmed’s gloved fingers trembled as he pushed them to Cutter’s neck, and his lips flattened into a severe line at what he felt there.
Doc Cutter was more than just ill. Lance had seen the symptoms too many times to miss the facts. The pale skin, the bloodshot eyes, the sweaty forehead and upper lip—the early stages of rot.
“Come on, Sera. We have to get out of here.” He hooked his arm through hers and pulled.
She struggled. “We can’t leave him.”
Laura took Sera’s other arm. “The physicians know what they’re doing. Let’s not crowd them.”
***
Lance sat on a couch while he tracked Sera’s pacing feet up and down the room.
This sitting room was blue. The drawn curtains—not that there were windows in the underground—the couches, the rugs, even the wallpaper, all of it in shades of blue.
Enormous mirrors framed in dark brown wood panelled the wall to his right. Sera, Laura, and Lance each had a twin reflected in those mirrors, reflected once again in the large mirror above the fireplace in the opposite wall, which bounced back to the panelled wall and reflected them all to infinity.
The image of his ruined face repeated over and over caused his blood to set. Slag and shit, he was ugly.
Silence sounded from behind the closed door, from the room where Sera’s old man slept. Where Doc Cutter was being examined.
Ashes, what a mess.
Lance had brought rot to the rest of Aelland with one goal—kill the king. The king had died, not of rot, but still. That was good.
What wasn’t good was the possibility that Lance had also indirectly killed Sera’s father. He wasn’t dead yet, but if he survived, he’d look just like Lance. Boiling ugly. Scarred for the rest of his life.
He might also have to claim responsibility for the death of Magnus Cutter, a man who’d worked his fingers to the bloody bone for the slummers—a man Lance hadn’t known long but had come to respect deeply.
For the first time, Lance could
n’t help but wonder if they’d done the right thing. How many people like Cutter had died because of the rot revolution? Innocents. Had he killed children? Must have. Did that make him any better than the king he’d been so desperate to remove?
His leaden heart smashed a hole through his soul as it plummeted to the ground. He’d done this.
Yet, his people were worth it. All the bloodshed, all the tears. The civil war. The slummers had lost and grieved the same as the nobles and middle-class. For his people, he’d carry this weight.
Laura shuffled closer, her head bowed. Fairy-like, that’s what she was. Half a head shorter than Sera, and so thin she could be lost when turned sideways.
What to make of her? Was she always so gloomy, or was her heartache responsible for her mood? She had to be adept at her job, judging by Sera’s opinion of her, and they were obviously friends. He was probably just uncomfortable around her because she didn’t trust him.
“I need to say something,” she mumbled. “I get protective of her. She means so much to me, and I don’t want her more hurt than she already is.” Laura met his gaze. “You get that, don’t you? She’s the queen and has to navigate our current mess. Every new heartache chips away at her ability to keep the ship sailing. Having said that, I think you might love Aelland as much as she does, considering what you did for the slummers. And that’s good. The patriotism, I mean, not the rioting. She needs people who will keep her on track. So, for her sake, we have to work together.” She came a step closer. “But I don’t trust you.”
He arched an eyebrow. “You’re judging me because I’m ugly.”
She snorted. “I’m judging you for killing thousands of innocent people.”
He crossed his arms. Someone sure knew how to strike where it hurt. “Fall in line, then.”
“But I get it. I’ve been judged by appearance before. And… It’s no excuse, but I’m hurting, too. Maybe I’m just lashing out at the person I know the least.” Her shoulders slumped. “So, in the name of a truce, I’ll give you a chance to prove me wrong.”
“Thank you.” He tipped his head towards her. “I’ll do the same for you.”
She opened her mouth as if she’d say more, but left instead.
***
Lance had lost track of time when Jerry and Ahmed entered the blue room.
Sera, still pacing, had just taken the first step of her return journey from the far wall, and now rushed closer. “News?”
“Yes.” Jerry sagged into the couch next to Lance.
Ahmed cleared his throat and waited to take a seat until Sera had. “We shall move the grand duke to a sterile room and remove the diseased tissue tomorrow. Few other patients infected via fluid live past the fourth day of illness. As this is his fifth day, and he has improved in the night, I can state optimistically that he should make a full recovery. It seems he, like our friend Lance, will naturally survive rot.”
Sera lowered her head, slack mouthed. Her eyes filled. “He’ll live.”
Ahmed nodded. “He should regain wakefulness soon.”
She laughed, then froze. “And Magnus?”
Jerry yanked at his orange hair. “I’m sorry to say he’s contracted rot. With the cancer to boot, I’m shocked it didn’t happen sooner. I think he’s just too stubborn to die.”
“No,” Sera said.
Lance crossed to her couch and sat on the armrest. He folded his arms around her. “Sorry.”
“What’s more, he’s asked us to inject him with something that will end the pain.” Jerry’s voice broke. “Permanently.”
“He wants you to kill him?” Sera trembled.
“Yes.” Jerry’s eyelids drooped. He opened his mouth twice before he took a breath, then said, “He’s tired. He’s been in pain for so long, he can’t stand it any longer.”
“And since he knows better than most what to expect from rot, he has asked that we allow him a humane end, one without further pain or disfiguration.” Ahmed glanced at Lance.
“No,” Sera said again.
Doc Cutter was a good man. He sure as hell didn’t deserve to be in pain, and sure as the bloody Mantle didn’t deserve to die of rot. In fact, of all the boiling people in Aelland, the doc least deserved rot.
Lance held Sera closer. “This is for the best, you know. You want to bury him looking like me, or still looking like himself?”
Sera sobbed in his arms. “I don’t want him to die.” She pulled into a ball. “Cara… She won’t even get to say goodbye.”
“She was close to the doc?”
“He’s the only father she’s ever known.”
Lance’s eyes watered. What the hell? Would he cry over this? Over a woman he’d met once? Or would he cry over his own guilt?
“When— Ah.” Sera clenched her jaw. “When are you going to do as he asks?”
“He asked that it be done today,” Jerry said. “Do you want to be there?”
Sera nodded and rose. “He should be surrounded by loved ones.”
“I’ll get a Du Pont to call Dorian.” Jerry shuffled away.
Chapter 29
Sera held Lance’s hand.
He didn’t move an inch, didn’t wince, no matter how hard she squeezed. He just accepted it as part of his punishment. The guilt danced in his eyes, but he remained stone-faced, stoic.
Try as she might, she couldn’t blame him. Had she been a slummer, she’d have done the same as Lance. She’d have rallied the people and would have spread rot. Her father’s rot-scarred face would be a reminder of what she’d allowed to happen in Aelland.
When she was queen—and she would be queen—her people would never suffer like this again. Never.
Magnus was so small in the bed. A once-proud man; a duke, reduced to little more than sallow skin and jutting bones. He struggled for air, and his chest and throat sputtered. Blood? Bile? Whatever it was, he didn’t deserve this.
Heaviness clamped around Sera’s stomach, constricted. She should have let Magnus rest. She’d known about the cancer and shouldn’t have had him help Laroche.
Dorian Cutter sat on bent knees, his head and neck bowed over his father, the bedspread riddled with dark spots beneath his head. More tears plopped down, but he didn’t make a sound. His hands were fixed around one of his father’s, knuckles white.
Cara was in love with Dorian’s brother. Did Nathaniel Cutter look like Dorian? Did he have the same tall frame? How short she must look next to him if he did. Was Nathaniel blond and stoic, like Dorian? Would Magnus also live on in his features—the pointed nose, and calm, blue eyes?
If only Cara and Nathaniel were here. If only they could witness the end of a hero.
A groan sounded from the room next door, and Sera turned her face in that direction.
Jerry and Ahmed shared a glance, then Jerry hurried to the door. Low voices sounded—was Laroche awake? Jerry appeared in the doorway a moment later and beckoned to Lance with curled fingers.
Lance squeezed Sera’s hand then left.
She frowned. What now?
Rustles sounded, followed by another groan, then Jerry returned. He pushed Laroche in a wheelchair.
“Papa.” Her knees wobbled beneath her, and she half-stumbled to Laroche’s side.
The end of his nose was gone. Wounds riddled his face and hands, oozing through their bandages. Some of his fingertips were also covered in bandages. What was left of those fingers would be amputated the next day. How many would he lose? He smiled at her. Weak, small, but alive.
Sera’s eyes filled and tears ran freely down her face. For once, she didn’t care. Let them all see her weep for the man who’d raised her. Let them all see her weep for the man who should have raised Cara. And for the man who did raise Cara, just for four years, but those years had proved to be the most important of all.
“He wanted to be here.” Jerry gestured at Laroche.
“I’ll bring him.” Sera took Jerry’s place behind the wheelchair.
Lance put a hand on her shoulder, a
n anchor, and remained behind her as she pushed her father to Magnus’s bedside.
Magnus’s eyelids fluttered open. “My son.” His teeth were covered in diluted blood. “Old friend.”
Laroche’s features contorted as he reached out with a shaky hand and took Magnus’s fingers in his. “Forgive me.” His voice was hoarse.
“All is—” Magnus coughed.
Pieces of Sera died with every gurgle in his throat.
“All is forgiven.” Magnus turned his gaze to Dorian. “I love you, boy.”
Dorian’s lip quivered. “And I love you, old man.”
“Tell Nathan and Cara I love them.” Magnus’s words were barely louder than a breath. “And tell Pointy and Nita I forgive them, and I’m sorry.”
“Will do.” Jerry smiled over the wetness on his cheeks.
“Goodbye, my queen. Save Aelland for me.”
“Goodbye, Magnus.” Sera knelt by the bed. “Thank you for everything.”
“I’m ready.” Magnus closed his eyes.
“Not yet.” Dorian shook his head.
“It’s time,” Magnus said.
Ahmed and Jerry nodded at each other, then Ahmed filled a syringe with clear fluid, tapped it in the air, and injected the stuff into Magnus’s arm.
Magnus took a deep breath, once, twice more, then had no more need for air.
Sera placed her head in Laroche’s lap and sobbed.
Chapter 30
Varda flattened herself to a wall and held her breath. She counted to ten, then inched forward.
A flash of purple moved around a corner. Malak’s vanity would be her undoing. Always dressed in bright colours, just to stand out. Probably not the best idea when she seemed to be sneaking out of the keep again.
Last time, Frank hadn’t believed Malak had left the castle. This time, Varda would make him believe. All she needed was proof. What did she have to lose? He detested her. When she proved Malak’s deceit, Frank would be angry, certainly. Anger directed at Varda as much as at Malak. Still, he’d have to get over it sometime, then he’d see Varda was better, more trustworthy.
A Trial of Sparks & Kindling (Fall of the Mantle Book 2) Page 23
