A Trial of Sparks & Kindling (Fall of the Mantle Book 2)

by Yolandie Horak

  “The spymaster.”

  “Yes.”

  “Hmm. Is she going to be a problem?”

  Cara couldn’t help but laugh. “She’s come back from the dead before, but Pointy shot her so many times she might leak a bit if she does this time.”

  Vendla snorted.

  They trekked a fair way out of the keep, to the tented area where the soldiers lived. Skjold went ahead and ducked into one of the tents. The pungent smell of fish slammed into them as they drew closer.

  Cara’s knees trembled by the time they stopped.

  “This is my tent.” Vendla pointed to the left. “Take him and make yourself comfortable. I’ll tell the physicians to prepare for the patient.”

  Cara wheeled Pointy into the tent and made a fire in the coal oven. Glorious warmth spread through the tent.

  The bed was covered in grey and tan furs, and a small folding chair, square desk, and chest made up the rest of the furniture. Various mud-stained animal pelts covered the canvas floor, and an enormous morning star lay under the bed.

  Pointy’s lips were bluish, and sweat dotted his face.

  “How am I going to get you warm?” she mumbled.

  He didn’t open his eyes. “If you keep staring at me, my dear, I might blush. That should warm me right up.”

  Cara grinned, and some of her knotted insides untangled. “How long have you been awake?”

  “A minute or so.”

  “How bad is the pain?”

  The cloak bulged as he raised a hand. “What’s a bit of pain in—”

  “Jacques Du Pont, I’m not in the mood for one of your glib answers.” She shook her head. “Truth. Now.”

  “If we’re going to use full names, my queen, you should know my middle name is Benoît.” He winked.

  Cara laughed. “Well, Jacques Benoît Du Pont, stop stalling, and give me a straight answer.”

  He shifted in the wheelchair. “Honestly, I’d rather not.”

  “That bad?” She used her sleeve to wipe a river of sweat from his forehead.

  He gave a nod.

  “I’m so sorry, Pointy—”

  “Sorry? Sorry you saved me, my queen? Sorry you arrived before the old spider made a pincushion of me?” He swallowed, and that same intensity that had lit his eyes in the Cockerel returned. “Thank you. You should have left me and ran, but you stayed and faced her. It wasn’t worth risking your life to save mine.”

  “I’d never leave you behind. You mean too much to me.” She kissed his temple.

  He swallowed. “You haven’t once told me not to call you my queen.”

  “We’ll argue about it later,” she said.

  “I look forward to it.”

  Vendla pulled away the tent flap. “Come with me.”

  Cara pushed the wheelchair outside and followed Vendla into another tent, two removed from the one they’d just left.

  Nathan turned as they entered, and Nita and Marc jumped up from the bed. A woman Cara didn’t know stood to one side, filling a syringe. They’d all already donned surgical gloves, and a table had been prepared for surgery.

  Nita grinned at Pointy. “I’m so glad you’re alive, but we can say our hellos later. If we don’t do this now, I’m going to cry, and I’ll have to scrub down again. Nathaniel, Amber, help me put him on the table.”

  “Where do I scrub down?” Cara asked.

  “No, Sweets.” Nita shook her head. “You look like hell. Rest, eat something.”

  “Where do I scrub down?”

  “I’ll take you,” Vendla said.

  “Thank you, chief-queen.”

  Vendla led her to a communal tent with small, open-ended shower stalls. Heaps of towels and washcloths were stacked at the entrance.

  Cara suppressed a shudder. She’d faced one of her greatest fears that night, and sure as the Mantle wouldn’t lose her composure now, because she had to get naked in front of other people so she could shower and help her friend.

  “I’ll find you something to wear.” Vendla left.

  Cara held her head high, then stripped and washed herself. She dressed in a pair of black trousers and a dress shirt—she’d seen Marc wear this outfit—then went to help with the surgery.

  Chapter 39

  Nathan pulled away from Pointy’s foot. The tweezers trembled violently in his hand, and his eyes throbbed. All he had to do was pull out the blasted nail, but how in the Creator’s name was he supposed to do that if he couldn’t even grip the nail’s head?

  He couldn’t do this. What he wouldn’t give for a shot. Anything. Anything at all. He eyed the anaesthesia Nita had administered to Pointy. There had to be more of that somewhere. In one of the tents, or back in the basement? If anything could dull his fears, that would be it.

  “Nathaniel.” His name left Nita’s lips like a bullet.

  Nathan opened his mouth, but the words ‘I can’t’ died on his tongue as he shook his head, then altered the motion into a nod halfway through. What was he doing? He couldn’t let her know what was going on inside him—she was angry enough as it was. “Fine. I’m fine.”

  Nita arched an eyebrow, then turned her head to where Amber worked opposite her. Marc assisted Amber, but he trembled, and was almost the same shade of white as his surgical mask.

  “All right there, Marc?” Nita asked.

  He cleared his throat, a peeping sound. “Fine.” The mask ballooned then flattened with his breath, too rapid, his eyes wide.

  “I want you to take a deep breath, then hold it for a moment, all right?” Nita continued to suture.

  As apprentices, they’d learned it usually worsened the situation when a physician kept their focus trained on an apprentice who was losing their composure. It was easier to ground oneself again if one didn’t feel everyone was looking.

  Marc did as Nita said.

  “Good. Now, slowly as you can, let that breath go.” Nita winked. “Good. Again, deep breath in. Hold it… Let it go, nice and slowly.”

  Nathan caught himself holding and releasing breaths right along with the boy. He was supposed to be a physician, a renowned surgeon, not some squeaky-voiced apprentice assisting in his first surgery. This wasn’t even a complex procedure, just a few sutures, setting broken bones, and those feet. Had this not been Pointy, Nathan wouldn’t have blinked.

  He’s not my best friend, a patient. Just another patient.

  But a physician on call shouldn’t crave the medications administered to their patients.

  Salamander’s spit, he was an idiot.

  “Nathaniel,” Nita said. “Are you planning to get started sometime this century?”

  Pointy’s soles—no, the patient’s soles—were riddled with a range of thick or thin, somewhat rusty, or shiny gunmetal nails. Some stood out far enough to grip easily, others were flush with the skin. Others still had burrowed into the flesh, too deep to get out with the tweezers.

  Nathan’s job was to remove those nails, but how would he manage this if he couldn’t think? If he failed, Nita would have even more reason to watch his every move, and he’d have no chance to purchase another bottle of whiskey. Or steal medicine from her.

  This was more important.

  He lowered the tweezers back to the patient’s sole and pinched at one of the nails. Find and extract the easy ones first, then worry about the others. Step by step.

  He picked at various nails until he found one that seemed loose, then yanked it out and placed it in a metal tray. The nail swayed then stilled.

  Blood trickled from the hole in the patient’s foot, and Nathan covered the wound with gauze. One done, onto the next.

  Cold air rushed into the tent as the flap lifted—the chief-queen—and Cara entered, hands up. She crossed to Nathan’s side, yanked on the gloves Nita had left for her, and tied the mask at her face. She picked up a second tweezer. “Hi.”

  Once, she’d have asked what she was meant to do. She’d have deferred to him as her mentor, the most senior physician in the room. How sh
e’d changed.

  Nathan’s spine tingled. Or maybe she knew instinctively that he was no longer to be trusted with important decisions. Maybe she saw right through him.

  Impossible. She couldn’t know.

  She smelled of soap, a scent infused with honey, and he had the urge to taste it on her.

  “Hi.” Nathan’s heart thundered. He inched her way so his arm brushed hers, and his skin set alight.

  She peered up at him, the full power of those blue eyes, and pressed her forehead to his arm for just a second. “I’m so glad you’re safe.”

  “Likewise.” His following breath was easier than any other had been in too long. Being with her almost stilled the dark demands inside him. Maybe if he could get even closer, if he could hold her, kiss her, the other need would go away completely. “Cara, I’ve missed you.”

  “And I’ve missed you.”

  The next nail was thicker and had been jammed in deep enough that Nathan couldn’t get at its head. He almost laughed. With Cara by his side, where she should be, everything made more sense. He’d cut out the difficult ones later.

  Nita’s eyes glittered as she met Cara’s gaze. “It’s so good to see you, Sweets.”

  “Oh?” Cara’s eyebrows shot up, but her tone held a smile. “Earlier, you chased me to bed.”

  Nita laughed. “Did you look in a mirror before you took that shower? You were covered in blood.”

  “I had a run-in with an old friend.” Cara picked at a nail until the head was extended far enough for her to yank out without taking skin with it.

  Creator, she was confident. Blood rushed in Nathan’s ears, and heat spread through him. She’d never carried herself this way before, never stood so straight. She’d always been beautiful, but this new attitude lent her a level of allure she hadn’t possessed in the past.

  “You’re going to have to elaborate on that.” Nita tied off the sutures on the cut she’d been closing, then moved to sterilise the next.

  “Hi, Marc, good to see you.” Cara nodded at Amber. “And I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Cara.”

  “Amber.” She half-curtsied. “Good to meet you, majesty.”

  “Ah, you and Pointy must’ve talked,” Cara said.

  “How so?” Amber asked.

  “He’s the one with all the majesties and my queens.”

  Amber shrugged. “It’s who you are.”

  Cara snorted.

  The month prior, she’d have protested. Shied away from the title.

  A nail plinked in the metal tray where Nathan discarded it. He worked faster; his own confidence restored more with each passing second. Yes, this was how he was supposed to feel. During his time as a heart surgeon, before his mother’s death, he’d always felt this way. And he’d gone home with another nurse after most surgeries.

  Maybe today, he could go to Cara’s bed. Maybe—

  “Ah, hello? Which old friend?” Nita shook her head.

  Cara laughed. “Celestine.”

  Marc drew in a sharp breath.

  Nita paused, and frowned at Cara. “You’re talking and laughing about Celestine. And blood.”

  “Oh, I’m definitely in shock.” Cara pulled out another nail. “She’s dead.”

  Nita groaned theatrically. “Details? You know she’s been dead before.”

  Cara laughed again, and the sound caused tingles up and down Nathan’s spine.

  He would take her to bed later. She could give him the high he needed. All the strain and worry would go away, as it always did when he was with her, and they could take it to the next level. Shit, what was he thinking? But…it would be good. He’d stick it to Frank. If he ever asked Nathan again if he and Cara had been intimate, Nathan could tell him he, a lowly physician, had claimed the maidenhead of a princess.

  “I found Pointy shackled to a table, looking like this.” Cara shuddered. “In the creepiest room you’ve ever seen, with a potted plant and pretty cushions, and this enormous painting of Sera, Frank, and myself as kids. I think I might have nightmares about that for the rest of my life. Anyway, Celestine came in, and… Well, she said a lot. I don’t want to go into it now. Marc, pass me that please?” She motioned towards stacked rolls of gauze on the supply table and grabbed the roll he almost dropped as he passed it to her. “You’re shaking. Are you all right?”

  Marc retreated a step. “It’s just, he’s my… And I never thought I’d see— And what if he dies?”

  A naked patient on a table was a strange enough sight for an inexperienced apprentice, but a loved one on a table was difficult, no matter how advanced a surgeon might be. How had Nathan not considered this sooner? And that while he’d felt the same fear as Marc.

  “He’s not going to die, silly.” Amber elbowed Marc in the ribs. “None of these wounds are fatal. He might walk funny for a bit, but he’s in no mortal peril, I promise.”

  “Exactly,” Nita said. “And if you want to make his day afterwards, just comment on his excellent physique. He likes to be told now and then he has the biggest penis in the history of the world.”

  “One of the reasons they call him Pointy?” Cara said.

  Nita chuckled. “You’ve got it.”

  An army of dark thoughts rose in Nathan’s mind. Why would Cara say that? Had something changed between her and Pointy? Had—

  But, of course not. Pointy was Cara’s most loyal friend, and she loved Nathan. Maybe he just needed to hear her say it. He was losing his bloody mind.

  “So, about Clarity?” Nita prompted.

  “Oh, yes.” Cara raised both hands. “Honestly, all you need to know is she’s dead. For good this time. Can we talk about something else now? Or not talk at all?”

  “Whatever you need, Sweets,” Nita said.

  For a while, the only sounds were those related to their work. The plink-plink of nails added to the metal tray, the soft whir of the cauterising tool and its accompanying acrid smoke, the snip of scissors to thread when a suture was complete.

  Cara worked faster than Nathan, and he found himself picking up speed just to prove he still knew enough to teach her. She paused for a moment when they had to start cutting out the remaining nails, and a thrill danced around Nathan’s stomach.

  He reached for a scalpel, showed her how to hold it, then proceeded to cut.

  She mirrored his motions on the tissue surrounding a different nail.

  “Not bad, apprentice.” He smiled.

  “I believe the correct form of address is your majesty,” Amber said.

  Cara groaned. “Nope, just Cara.”

  “You were never just Cara,” Nathan said.

  She looked at him from under her lashes, and that strange heat spread right through him again. His muscles thrummed with need, and his mouth dried.

  Tonight, he was getting high. One way or another.

  Chapter 40

  Hours later, Cara entered her new tent, located between Vendla’s and the one where Pointy slept post-surgery. Her knuckles were still tight, her eyelids heavy, but she breathed more easily than she had in weeks.

  The tent looked just like Vendla’s, minus the morning star under the bed, and the warmth from the coal oven caused tingles on her skin. Who’d have thought a simple tent with a small oven would be warmer and cosier than her suite in the castle?

  Her muscles demanded that she curl up in bed, but instead she hugged Nita. “I’ve missed you so much.”

  “Not as much as I’ve missed you, Sweets.” Nita sighed. “I’ve really needed a friend, but I’ll tell you everything tomorrow.”

  Cara frowned and glanced between Nita and Nathan. “You two haven’t spoken a word to each other all night.”

  “Understatement,” Marc said.

  Nita raised a hand. “As I said, tomorrow. We’re all exhausted, and you probably want to be alone with him now. I have to get back to the keep before someone realises I’m gone.”

  “Why don’t you stay here?” Cara took Nita’s hand.

  “There are few th
ings I want more, but I have to go back.” Nita turned. “Oh, just so you know. I’ve sent Greg back to Aelland with the recipe for the cure for rot, and some stowed-away ingredients.”

  Cara gaped. At last, some good news. “You had a breakthrough.”

  Nita’s smile lacked its usual warmth. “Sure did. Have your moment. Tomorrow will bring its own challenges. Come on, Marc.” She left.

  Marc saluted then followed Nita.

  Nathan put his arms around Cara from behind and rested his chin on the top of her head.

  “Are you going to tell me?” she asked.

  He held her closer. “I haven’t been in the same room as you for three weeks, and we haven’t been alone for even longer than that. I don’t want to ruin this moment.”

  Cara turned around in Nathan’s arms. “I’m so sorry about earlier with Nic. If it makes you feel better, I punched him afterwards.”

  “You punched him.”

  “Not only him.” She showed him her bruised knuckles. “Celestine, too. I took out one of her eyes with a bunch of keys.”

  He bit the corner of his lower lip, eyebrows raised.

  “Pointy shot her after, but…”

  The clinical side of her mind, the star apprentice, dissected her cadaver-like thoughts. Her soul had been blackened by what she’d done to Celestine. Just because she was no longer shaking and near-hysterical didn’t make it less true.

  Dissociation was expected—Cara was in shock—and the numbness would soon gain dominance over everything else. Denial had always been her strongest armour. Additionally, she hadn’t even begun to deal with the emotions that had come before.

  But black-souled or not, wanting to kill Celestine didn’t make her a bad healer or a bad person. The apprentice said in her most soothing bedside voice, these are normal thoughts for one who’s suffered this kind of trauma. Give it time.

  “But?” Nathan said.

  She had to admit it to someone, so she drew a breath and found her voice. “I’m sorry I wasn’t the one who pulled the trigger.”

  He bent down and buried his face in her neck. “I’m glad you don’t have to carry the weight of having taken another’s life.”

  She’d forgotten. Back at the outpost, he’d told her that he’d had to kill someone, and he was probably dealing with those emotions along with whatever had happened with him and Nita.