Jeanita flashed her teeth. “It’s still new, and…” She shook her head. “What are we going to do about Nathan?”
As if he knew.
Pointy kept his posture as straight as his injuries permitted, navigated around the trauma Celestine’s torture had gifted him. Didn’t fidget—not that his bandages would allow for that—and didn’t let anything show how deeply this situation worried him. He’d already given away too many clues about his emotional state. This time, it was just in front of Jeanita, who’d have known his state of mind anyway, but next time, he might let an enemy read him.
He was better than this. Better trained than this. To seem calm and confident was the director’s job. Nobody had to know that ninety percent of the time he had no idea where to go or what to do.
Last time, Nathaniel had been in a hospital. A facility with constant supervision and limited resources or options of freedom for an addict. This time, they had none of those things, nor did they have the time for this hitch. They had to return to Aelland soon, before Frank did.
There was one asset they’d not had the last time—Carabelle. How would his unpredictable queen react upon the news? Not that her response mattered as much as Nathaniel’s reaction to hers. Would it scare him straight, if he thought he’d lose her?
“We’ll tell Carabelle,” Pointy said.
“It’s going to break her, Pointy. Do you know what they did last night?”
Of course, he knew. If Jeanita knew, every Dvaran within a three-tent radius also knew. The canvas walls were too damn thin to muffle sounds.
He nodded.
“It was her first time.” Jeanita scratched her neck. “Can you imagine how she’s going to feel if she learns that she’s basically become a substitute addiction? Or worse, something to take his mind off it for now, but forgotten once the need sets in again?”
“What else can we do, apothecary? If we don’t tell her, we’re complicit in the lie. I had to lie to her once—when I suggested her father didn’t yet know of her existence—and it was a gamble and a mistake. I won’t ever do anything again to affect the trust I’ve worked so hard to build between us.” He gritted his teeth. “And I won’t sit by and watch him hurt her, especially not when she’s about to embark on one of the most difficult journeys of her life.”
“I love her, you know.” Jeanita swallowed. “But she’s soft, sweet. Sometimes I think we’re forcing her into this position that she’ll never want, and that it will break her in the end.”
“You’re wrong.” He snorted. “Has she told you what happened last night?”
“Not in detail.”
“She found me shackled to a table, then immediately began to think of how she could get me out of there. I was so out of it I couldn’t suggest anything to help her. I was convinced she’d get caught there, and we’d both be stuck, so I told her to leave me multiple times. She refused. She found a bunch of keys and tried many of them on the shackles, but then Clarity rolled in.
“Carabelle left me the keys, then listened to the old spider spread her lies, and in the end, pretended to want to go to Clarity. When I realised what she was doing, I got her attention and gave her the keys. It was the only weapon I could offer. She arranged those keys between her fingers, and beat the living shit out of Clarity.
“You should have seen her. She ripped open one of Clarity’s eyes, for Creator’s sake. Then she took the key we needed for the shackles from Clarity’s pocket and relieved the old spider of a pistol. Mine.
“When I shot Clarity, I asked Carabelle to look away. She refused again. She said she wanted to see Clarity die this time, so she could believe it was really the end. For a moment there, I thought she was going to do the deed herself. She was glorious, apothecary. Then, she ran out of there, with half the damn network on her tail, and still scrubbed down for surgery? She’s coming into her own, as I’ve always believed she would. Don’t underestimate her. She’s strong enough to be our queen. She’s more than strong enough, and she’s going to exceed our wildest dreams.”
Jeanita smiled. “I won’t doubt her again. When do you want to tell her?”
“How many people saw Vendla help us yesterday?”
“Many. Amber spread some stories, so it might take Frank a while to figure out Cara’s here.”
Pointy rubbed his lips together. “Let’s see how the day progresses. I’m not convinced Frank doesn’t already suspect we’re here.”
“He came to see me this morning. He was livid, but I persuaded him that I had nothing to do with Cara’s disappearance. With the rumours floating around that the emperor is gathering physicians, I think I might be safe from Frank. At least, while I’m useful. He won’t kill me if he can gain an advantage over the enemy from me.”
“Best stay useful.”
“That’s the plan,” Jeanita said. “Apparently, the kitchens began preparations for a feast this morning.”
“A wedding feast?”
“That’s what I think, too.”
And Jeanita, freshly besotted. He put a bandaged hand on her leg. “How are you handling this?”
She laughed. “I’m terrified. Varda must do this, just like I’m going to have to leave her to go wherever Cara goes. I don’t want to leave her, though. I have a bad feeling that this place is going to mean her death.”
“Does she feel as you do?”
Jeanita nodded.
He rolled his neck. “We’ll find a way.”
She jumped off the table and kissed his forehead. “Pointy, you come to me. What Celestine did to you, that had to leave a mark. Don’t leave it, like Nathan has. Talk to me. I’ll help you carry this load.”
His vision swam again, but he blinked away the sensation. “Don’t you have a cauldron to attend?”
She stuck out her tongue. “Amber reported while you were asleep.”
“Let’s hear it.”
***
Pointy rolled to Vendla’s tent. Who’d have thought the old spider would leave him a parting gift that would make his life easier?
Marcell stood outside, red-cheeked and looking at everything except Pointy.
“Thanks for your help this morning,” Pointy said.
“The queen comes first,” Marcell said.
Pointy arched an eyebrow. “And you’ll best serve the queen if you actually know what you’re doing.”
“Sorry.”
“Are they still inside?
Marcell nodded.
“Chief-queen, is this a convenient time?” Pointy asked.
“Come in,” Vendla said.
He rolled inside.
“Pointy.” Carabelle crouched to hug him. Nathaniel’s scent still clung to her. “How are you?”
He patted her back with his bandaged hands. “I’m fine, dearest, but we have a problem. News from the castle is that Frank’s destroying everything in his path. It won’t be long until he comes here.”
The corners of Vendla’s mouth twitched. “If he comes here today, on a holy day, he’ll find himself initiating a war he cannot win.”
Holy day? Had he been in Celestine’s lair for so long? “The Mating is tonight?”
“Aye.”
Pointy pushed his ponytail over his shoulder. The ends were frazzled—what he wouldn’t give to twirl the damn thing like he always did. Everything was falling apart. “Honestly, chief-queen, I doubt a holy day would deter him. In fact, I have a feeling Frank already knows he’s lost you, but he isn’t planning to let Varda go. This morning, a bustle began in the kitchen. Preparations for a feast. I’m willing to bet everything he plans to marry Varda. Soon.”
“Just to keep her here,” Vendla said through her teeth.
“I think so.”
Carabelle’s mouth went slack, and she twiddled her thumbs in her lap. “The fertility treatment.”
Pointy looked at her sidelong. “Yes, dearest?”
“What fertility treatment?” Vendla asked.
Carabelle licked her lips. “Malak said F
rank’s been giving Varda a fertility treatment. She said it was hers, but he stole it and replaced it with something that made Malak infertile.
“I think Frank’s giving this stuff to Varda so he can rush the wedding and begin working on an heir as soon as possible. Then, when that heir arrives, he won’t have any need for Varda. He’ll probably have her killed, maybe he’ll make it seem like she died in childbirth. Like my mother.”
Pointy’s stomach spun. “All he needs is the baby.”
“To raise the child like he wants to,” Carabelle said. “With his ideas and his beliefs. A half-Dvaran child, the only heir of the Ahlström line, gives him immediate access to the Dvaran throne.”
Vendla crossed her arms. “He has to kill me first.”
“Can’t we warn Varda?” Carabelle asked.
Vendla shook her head. “You could warn her till she drops dead, but she wouldn’t leave Frank.”
“Is she in love with him?” Pointy grimaced.
“Bah. What she feels for him is more powerful than any romantic emotion,” Vendla said. “She believes the gods have intertwined their fate, and the only way to save Dvara is by his side. The problem is the abyss in her future.”
“What does that mean?” Carabelle asked.
“Abysses mean endings or grave changes. She might lose her spirit, squander what is dear to her, succumb to darkness. She might die.” Vendla’s hands fisted. “But she doesn’t believe as I do. We saw the same bloody vision, but my doubts are her convictions, and my fears feed her confidence. Worse still, she doesn’t know what half the signs may mean, because she couldn’t be bothered to study her visions properly.”
Pointy rubbed his nose. “You allied with the wrong Lenoir, chief-queen.”
Vendla glanced at Carabelle. “Did you hear that, dragonling?”
Carabelle’s eyes twinkled. “Ah. Off with his head?”
“My first lesson in monarchy is complete.”
Pointy’s chest swelled. “You allied?”
“We did,” Vendla said.
“My dear?”
Carabelle placed a hand on his arm. “Seems I really am going to be your queen.”
Blood rushed to his head, and he fought back tears. “That is the only good news I’ve heard all day. Let me be the first to tell you how relieved and excited I am, my queen. Unfortunately, we have no time to celebrate. I believe Frank will arrive here before the end of the day. He can’t find you, especially not if he suspects what we plan for Mordoux.”
“All he wants is my hair. He doesn’t really care—” Carabelle covered her mouth with a hand.
What was going on in that mind this time? Pointy almost quivered in anticipation. She’d pull out some random idea that would change everything, and surprise them all.
“All he wants is my hair,” Carabelle said. “So, let’s give it to him.”
Pointy beamed. “The apothecary isn’t half bad with a scissors. This is a brilliant idea, but let’s make a spectacle of it.”
Chapter 44
“This is ridiculous, Frank.” Varda kept pace with him as he stomped down the cobbled path. “You can’t seriously believe Mother had anything to do with it. I spent the night there, and I’m telling you, Cara isn’t in the Dvaran camp.”
“If you’re not going to help us find my sister, go away.” Frank’s nostrils flared, and his mouth was set in a downward curve. The bridge of his nose was red, slightly swollen, and pink and dark blue discolouration circled his bloodshot eyes. His hands were bandaged. Blood and discharge stained the bandages around the knuckles. Some of it seemed fresh.
Nic shot Varda a look, his left eye swollen halfway shut, bright magenta and splotched with purple. Like his eye, one side of his mouth was so puffy he could barely speak. The teeth had likely cut into the soft flesh inside his lip, judging from the way his tongue flicked into view every few minutes. He favoured his right side and clutched his ribs with a hand cut in multiple places.
All because of one missing princess.
Something had spooked Cara, and she’d run from her room, Frank had said. In her unwell state, she’d become lost around the keep grounds. Some of the staff had tried to help her, but after being lost in the dark for hours, cold and scared, she’d also run from them. Right into Skjold.
Vendla had then taken Cara for a walk, but various reports proved Vendla bringing Cara back to the castle. Vendla had gone back to the Dvaran encampment, but what had happened to Cara remained unconfirmed. Search parties had been at work since, but the princess was gone.
Varda had never seen anything like the fury with which Frank had destroyed his council room—and her brothers had been berserkers. He’d raged for hours and had apparently gone on to spread the destruction in his own quarters.
And on Nic’s face.
Of course, the story was riddled with lies. For one, while a few reports claimed Cara had wandered the keep grounds, too many others disputed the fact. Many people had seen her escape from a passage—one that had since disappeared. They claimed the outer wall of the castle had just opened, and there she was, pushing Du Pont in a wheelchair. Apparently, he’d looked horrible, and both had been covered in blood.
Afterward, pandemonium had reigned in the courtyard, where members of Intelligence had been required to use brute force to subdue people, and two innocents had been killed.
Additionally, Cara’s room was always locked. The only way she’d have made it out of there would have been through the passages in the walls. Cara was in no way capable of opening a passage in her current Frank-induced condition, which meant someone had to have opened it for her. The most probable scenarios involved Clarity or Malak. What else would have spooked Cara so?
Clarity had sounded old, perhaps sick. Even in her near-lifeless state, Cara would likely have been able to run quite a way before she’d become lost, and Clarity would have been too slow to catch up. If it had been Malak in her skimpy but restrictive skirts and shoes, her wardrobe would be explanation enough that Cara got away.
There had been rumours that Nic had helped her escape. Some rumours had even claimed that he’d killed Intelligence agents, and Nathan Cutter, who was also missing. No evidence existed that could prove him guilty or innocent, but that Nic was involved was the only rumour Varda believed—why else would Frank have beaten him?
Ghedi and Driessen trailed just behind them, and Malak jingled and tingled to one side. Her fists were balled by her sides, and her lip trembled. She truly cared, it seemed.
Even if Nic hadn’t let Cara go, she had other allies. Where were they in this? Where was Nita? Varda couldn’t fault anyone for freeing Cara, but it scared her that Frank knew she and Nita had overheard his conversation with Clarity. What if he’d hurt Nita?
“News on Cutter?” Varda asked.
“None,” Frank said.
Her heart raced. “And Nita?”
Frank glared. “Questioned her. She was in the basement the whole time. I wouldn’t have believed it, but too many staff members saw her enter there and not leave again. But the older apprentice is missing. Nobody has seen him for days.”
The man Nita feared she’d sent to his death? Must be.
The people parted for them in absolute silence. Some genuflected, but most were probably too stunned, or curious to see what would happen.
Vendla met them at the edge of the Dvaran encampment. Skjold stood sentinel behind her, fangs bared. Sven and his bear, Njal, stood to Vendla’s left, while Olaf and Asger flanked her on the right. They were all clad in full armour and skins but carried no weapons—the signal that they wouldn’t fight but would defend at any cost. At least they wore no war paint, and the bears hadn’t been armoured.
All of them together for the first time in months, and they were standing against Frank. One hundred and fifty Dvarans and their bears.
Vanth’s bloody balls, this was the last thing the resistance needed. This was the last thing she needed. Would she lose her mother today?
But she
’d lost her mother a long time ago, on a day shrouded in smoke, when they were running for their lives, while most of her family were reduced to bleeding heads on pikes. The others had fought to the death, and Ylva had been flat on the ground staring at the sky, so still, lifeless.
“Look who it is,” Vendla said. “Francois of Mordoux has come to visit for the first time in weeks.”
Frank straightened. “Where is my sister?”
“If you lost her, you’d best set to the task of finding her.”
He pointed at Vendla. “You took her.”
She crossed her arms. “If you want to level accusations, you’ll afford me a moment to do the same.”
Frank inched back.
“I am no subject of yours, boy. I am the chief-queen of Dvara. You will show me the respect I deserve. Additionally, it’s a holy day. You’ll respect our customs or face the wrath of the gods.”
“I don’t serve your gods. All I want is my sister.”
“Lies. You want to desecrate the holiest of our holidays. You want to look through our personal belongings against our will. It seems you revel in forcing what you want upon others.”
Varda’s breath stuck in her throat. Vendla knew more than she’d let on. Why else would she say things like affording her a moment to accuse, or forcing what he wanted on others?
Ash and damnation, she had to stop Frank—now—or everything would be for nothing. The Dvarans weren’t strong enough to win against the entire resistance, and by all fourteen gods, she wasn’t about to witness another massacre like that day in Fjordheim. She might lose her mother’s trust, but she wouldn’t let her die.
Varda took his arm. “She isn’t here, Frank. Every report says my mother brought her back to the castle. Don’t ruin the alliance over this.”
Frank shook her off. “If she isn’t here, you won’t mind if we do a sweep, chief-queen.”
Vendla drew her bear-head hood, fangs resting on her eyebrows. She resembled the goddess of war, Anath, come down from the heavens to drink mortal blood. “Sweep all you want, Francois of Mordoux, but if you enter my house, I’ll enter yours. Allow us to look in the passages while you look in our tents.”
A Trial of Sparks & Kindling (Fall of the Mantle Book 2) Page 34
