Cara rubbed her bare neck. “I was just thinking how the people danced earlier with ribbons in their hair, and now ribbons of light are dancing for them.” Her cheeks heated. “Almost like a benediction from Vanadis.”
“You are right, of course, dragonling. There has never been a Mating night without fox fires, and the gods use the colours to communicate with us. So many colours together are considered a blessing.”
Cara and Vendla continued their idle chatter for about two more hours, then Skjold came closer. She bent her head in front of Vendla, who closed her eyes and gripped Skjold’s fur.
Vendla was entranced. Her eyes moved under her lids, and her lips and eyebrows twitched. Tears slithered down her cheeks, so many that the front of her face was soaked, and large, dark brown stains riddled the neckline of her tunic.
Skjold jerked away, then walked off with Asger.
Vendla opened her eyes, but the pupils remained so dilated her irises disappeared.
Cara crouched before her and took both her hands. “What did you see?”
Vendla sniffed back tears. “I saw you look into a mirror, and a creature looked back. The head of a white deer, the body of a bear, and scaled, clawed feet like a lizard. When you moved, it moved. I always see a doe at the edge of my visions, but not like this…” She shook her head and the fog in her expression cleared. “It doesn’t matter. I saw trials and fire. I saw pain, so much pain. There will be an event that will spark a change. You’ll become kindling. You’ll burn. Are you ready for what’s to come?”
Ready? In the past, she’d done what she’d been told to do. Those days were over.
Her time at Collinefort had taught her one of the most important lessons of her life—she was stronger than she’d always believed, and she could be a queen. No matter how it scared her, no matter how much it might cost, she would fight back.
So. Was she ready? Not at all, but that meant nothing.
Cara would navigate whatever happened next as best she could. She’d save her loved ones, and save the people from Frank.
Carabelle of Mordoux wasn’t a mouse.
No, she was a dragon.
“Whatever comes, we’ll face it together,” Cara said.
“That we will.” Vendla stood on shaky legs. “Come, this old whale needs a bed. This day will bring many challenges.” She put her arm around Cara’s waist, and together they walked back to their tents.
Cara went to check on Pointy. He and Nathan were both asleep, Pointy in bed and Nathan in the chair next to the bed.
Pointy was covered in sweat, his skin scorching. She wet a washcloth and placed it on his forehead, then searched the supplies Nita had left behind.
That familiar poking ache in her chest flared up again. Something was wrong, and they were keeping it from her to protect her. As soon as they woke, she’d find out what it was.
Cara found a bottle of medicine for Pointy—not a brown bottle, thank the Creator—and measured what he’d need. When she turned to administer it, he smiled.
“Open,” she whispered and fed him the medicine.
He winced but swallowed.
“Something is going on, Pointy.” She balled her fists. “Something’s going on, and nobody is telling me.”
He sighed. “Has Nathaniel ever told you about his past? About his addiction to narcotics?”
Goosebumps prickled all over her skin. Once, in a different lifetime but not so long ago, an apprentice tried to kiss her beneath a tree by the morgue. That apprentice had said Nathan liked to prescribe himself medicine. Magnus had also made the odd comment along the same lines.
Nathan looked like a stranger. Could his haggard appearance be attributed to substance abuse?
“We’ll tell you everything later, but he seems to have fallen back into the old habit.”
“How long?”
“The apothecary caught him with a bottle of whiskey yesterday,” Pointy said quietly. “He used to combine alcohol and medicines. He swears he didn’t use it, but who knows?”
Her blood boiled white hot. She made no effort to keep her voice low. “Yesterday, as in the day he saw me kiss Nic. As in the day he made love to me.”
Nathan woke with a start, and opened his mouth, but Pointy spoke over him.
“Yes, my queen.”
She scowled at Nathan. “You did this because of me? Because you were jealous?”
Nathan held up his hands. “Cara, you have to let—”
“Answer the question, Nathaniel.”
“Yes. I was jealous, among other things.”
Her heart vibrated in her ears. “Other things?”
Nathan’s shoulders slumped, but he held her gaze. “I killed a man, maybe two, and what happened at that outpost— I couldn’t cope.”
“You couldn’t cope?” A bomb exploded in the cavity where she’d been keeping everything locked up. “What about the rest of us? Do you think we’ve had it easy? Do you have any idea what—” Her tone was shrill enough to echo in her skull. “I faced Celestine, Nathaniel. Celestine. And that while Pointy was strapped to a bloody table, and— You didn’t see what I did to her. I ripped out one of her eyes! I beat her unconscious. I’m a healer, but I—”
Her skin tingled all over. Nathan had kept this from her. He knew how she hated lies and concealed truths, but he’d done it anyway, then took her to bed. Again and again, after she’d been so unsure. In fact, he’d been adamant, even when she’d said no. Touched her, said all the words she’d needed to hear until she’d changed her answer.
To get what he wanted, he’d done what Frank would’ve done. Manipulated her.
She froze, breathed so fast her vision flickered to black. “Nathan, did you have sex with me because— Did you use me to forget about the drugs?”
Nathan covered his face with both hands. “Yes. I love you, of course I love you, but yes. I used you to escape the need. I’ve honestly even thought of being with you and being high at the same time.”
Her knees shook, and everything around her raced, while she was trapped. She couldn’t move. He’d used her. Like Frank and Celestine and Nic and Chastain and all of them. Nathan. Her Nathan.
Pointy shifted upright and opened his arms. “Please, my dear. I’d come to you, but—”
Cara rushed into his arms, wept on his chest.
“I’m so sorry, Cara,” Nathan said. “It was real. I still want you, I just—”
“Get out.” Pointy’s throat vibrated with the words. Sweat soaked his clothes, and he trembled with fever. “We’ll talk once she’s rested. I’ll tell you then if her majesty wishes to see you.”
Nathan’s footsteps thudded out of the tent.
He hadn’t even fought Pointy to stay. He hadn’t fought for her. What was happening to them?
She held Pointy tighter and tighter, until he went rigid in her grip. “I’m hurting you.” She began to pull away, but he stopped her with a bandaged hand.
“No.” He was hoarse. “You hold as tight as you need to, until you’ve found your way through this. I won’t break.”
Cara looked up at him, and he wiped away her tears with his bandages. She should be tending his fever and wounds, not hurting him further, not relying so heavily on him to make her feel better. This wasn’t fair. He’d likely only allow her to help if she commanded him.
“I don’t want to be your queen tonight. Can I just be Cara?”
He smiled, and the scar on his right cheek pulled into a dimple. “Whatever you need, my dear.”
“No. My dear means my queen. Just Cara. Say it.”
“Whatever you need.” He licked his lips. “Cara.”
“Was that so difficult?”
“Much more than you’ll ever know, my de—”
“Hush,” she said. “I’m still rescuing you.”
She untangled herself from him and rummaged through Nita’s things for something stronger to combat his fever.
“You have no idea,” she thought she heard him mumble, but when she
glanced his way, he was asleep.
Chapter 47
Varda awoke to someone shaking her.
Frank loomed over her, with the pink half-light of early morning reflected in his eyes. If anything, his wounds now looked worse, and fresh blood stained the bandages at his knuckles. “We have to get married, Varda.”
Her mind was still under the covers. “Why?”
“I made a mistake. I was angry and should have listened to you, but I didn’t. Now I’m afraid the Dvarans will leave. If we marry, they might stay. For you.”
They wouldn’t stay, not after she’d so clearly chosen her side, not after she hadn’t attended the Mating. But this was what the gods wanted.
“Fine,” she said.
Frank flashed a quick smile. “Good. What traditions do we need to observe?”
She rubbed her eyes and sat up. “Only two. I’ll carry in your ring on the blade of a sword. You must take the sword by the blade, without dropping it or cutting either of us, and I’ll take the ring. If you can sheathe the sword without incident, I’ll put the ring on your finger, and I’ll be your wife.”
“Sounds easy enough.”
“The blade will be anointed with oil.”
“Oh.” He wiped sweat from his forehead. “That’s fine. I’ll need to marry you in the traditional Creatorist way, but we can do your ceremony first.”
“Agreed.”
“And the other?”
She laughed. “You’re not going to like it.”
His eyebrows shot up.
“We must consummate the wedding.”
“Obviously.”
“We must consummate the wedding in front of witnesses. Three from your side, three from mine.”
He hesitated for a moment, then stood. “Fine. I’ll make the arrangements.”
“When?”
“As soon as possible. Tomorrow.”
Her mouth fell open. “That isn’t enough time.”
“It has to be. With Cara gone, and thanks to the letter that son of a bitch made her write, the nobles will find out soon. They’ll pull their funds. Cut us off. I hadn’t realised how many soldiers would side with your mother and Clarity—” He ran his hands through his hair, which stood at strange angles. “And her hair. What if they hurt her? What if they cut off more than her hair? I’m afraid, and I don’t like this feeling.”
“So, you haven’t found her.”
“It’s like she never lived here at all.” He puffed out a shaky breath. “Look. We’ll get married tomorrow. I’ll have someone let your mother know.”
“No, I’ll tell my mother myself.”
“All right. We’ll talk later.”
“Wait!”
He paused in the doorway.
“What happened to Clarity?”
“She’s dead.” He left.
Well. At least that was over. Clarity would have no more power over Frank, Cara was safely away from him and Malak, and he’d finally come to his blasted senses.
A torrent of pain shot through Varda’s chest. As princess-heir, there had always been the possibility that she could be married for alliance, but she’d always thought the day would be special. Instead, she’d get a ceremony born of necessity, hastily thrown together and without any warmth, while her heart belonged to someone else.
But this was what the gods wanted, and this was what she’d do.
Chapter 48
Pointy stared at the roof of his tent and swallowed a laugh when Vendla shouted at Sven for talking too bloody loud and taking too damn long with the coffee.
Apparently, it would be a day of many headaches and irritable Dvarans. The afternoon meal couldn’t be far off, but the camp had just begun to stir.
Just-Cara slept in the chair by his bed. Her head hung back, mouth open, and the odd quiet snore sounded every few minutes. That position couldn’t be comfortable, but he didn’t have the heart to wake her. Not after everything she’d learned and all she’d done to help him. She’d tended him, then cleaned the tent from corner to corner, until she’d eventually collapsed.
Amber popped into the tent, then paused when she noticed Carabelle. She moved closer on her toes. “Varda’s on her way—she’s coming to tell Vendla that she and Frank will marry tomorrow. You better move.”
Pointy nodded and pushed himself upright. His fever had broken, his mind was clearer, and the maddening nausea that had plagued him since his talk with Nathaniel had gone. “Anything else?”
“I’ll come back later, once I have a better grasp on what the letter and braid did, but there is one thing. Ghedi took off again to walk up the hill. The tail followed him into a thicket, where he met with a confirmed Salamane soldier.”
“He’s a traitor?” Pointy frowned.
Amber shook her head. “Doubtful. Frank’s often boasted about infiltrating the emperor’s chain of command. I’m thinking Ghedi is how he managed that. But not for long—I’ve a feeling he’s as pissed as we are with Frank.”
“Maybe he’d be willing to ally with us?”
“I’ll see what I can find out.”
“Good.” Pointy reached over and put his bandaged hand on Carabelle’s. “Majesty? I hate to disturb your slumber, but it honestly doesn’t look all that peaceful anyway.”
Carabelle’s eyelids fluttered. She yawned and stretched out. “Morning.”
“More like afternoon. Sleep well?” Pointy asked.
Carabelle snorted, then noticed Amber. “Hi again.”
Amber flashed a smile. “Good morning, my queen.”
“We’ve talked about this. Just Cara.” She pressed her hand to Pointy’s forehead. “You look better.”
“Only because of your tireless effort, majesty.” He narrowed his eyes. “I can call you that again, right? Or will you demand another day of the other thing?”
She stood. “If you don’t watch it, I just might.”
Amber tilted her head. “What other thing?”
“I asked him if I could just be Cara for a while. You’d swear I tortu—” Her eyes widened.
“It was a much gentler torture.” Say it. “Cara.”
She shook her head but smiled. Not a big smile, not the kind he’d have gotten before Nathaniel’s little declaration, but progress.
Amber started towards the tent flap, but Pointy stopped her with a raised hand. “Do you want to see Nathaniel this morning, my queen?”
“No.”
“I’ll take him somewhere else.” Amber pushed the wheelchair against the bed, then reached for Pointy’s arm. Carabelle helped her move Pointy to the wheelchair. “You’ll be all right?”
“We’ll be fine,” Pointy said.
Once Amber had gone, he tilted his head to the tent flap.
Carabelle gathered salve and fresh bandages, then followed Pointy outside, to a different tent a good way away from Vendla’s. It was empty but for three chairs and a small table.
“Are you sure you feel better?” Carabelle placed the medical supplies on the table. “You have to be better if you’re joking again.”
“Alas.” He sighed dramatically. “My jokes don’t get the response they used to.”
“I appreciate it, really, but I know what you’re doing. You’re trying to make me feel better. Meanwhile, you’re suppressing and not dealing with anything either, so we have that in common.” She massaged the back of her neck. “I just don’t know how to begin handling this. It hurts, Pointy.”
“I know.” If he could kick Cutter’s arse, he would. What a bloody idiot. “But you need an outlet for these emotions. I’ve been trained to store trauma for later, to deal with the stress once I’m safe, but then I will see someone to help me understand and work through whatever happened. Will you do the same?”
She closed her eyes. “We have to get back to Aelland soon. Once we’ve warned Sera, I’ll see whomever you want me to see then.”
Not ideal, but it would have to work. He’d get her to talk in the meantime.
Carabelle pulled o
n a pair of surgical gloves. “Let me check that dagger wound.” She reached to unbutton Pointy’s trousers, but he rolled backwards.
She pursed her lips. “Seriously?”
“My queen, I would rather not be half-naked in your presence.”
She placed her fists on her hips. “You listen to me, I’m tending that wound, whether or not you like it. You were halfway delirious with fever last night. I’ve nursed many half-naked patients, and my fair share of fully naked patients, so I don’t understand—”
“You weren’t a queen then.”
“I’m not a queen now. I’m not even a crown princess. What I am is a usurper plotting to remove an emperor and keep her brother from a throne she’s never even seen.” Her lips trembled.
He almost laughed. Creator, it was easy to bait her. Anger was good. If she was angry, she burned through the store of emotions she put away for Aelland. Besides, it gave her a lovely colour. Especially with the new hairstyle.
She arched an eyebrow. “Come to think of it, you had no complaints when I assisted in surgery. And you were completely naked then, with the reason for your nickname out in all its glory.”
Shit, he hadn’t thought of that. And…she couldn’t have looked, could she? “Respectfully, I was unconscious.”
“Would you like to be unconscious now?” Her nostrils flared. “Take off your damn trousers or let me do it.”
“Yes, my queen.” Pointy struggled with the button almost as much as he struggled to contain his laughter.
She puffed out her cheeks and slapped away his hands.
A strange knot formed in his stomach as she undid the button. Sort of hot, sort of cold, tight but not tight enough, and a bit fluttery. Hero-worship. Just a case of hero-worship.
Carabelle slid his trousers to his ankles and unwound the bandage. The gloves were silky in that rubber-and-talc kind of way, but her fingers were like ice beneath the thin cover. Cold, but deft.
This close, the scent of Dvaran honey-flavoured soap wafted from her skin in delicious puffs. She no longer smelled of Nathaniel.
“You know, Du Pont,” she said through her teeth. “You drive me insane.”
A Trial of Sparks & Kindling (Fall of the Mantle Book 2) Page 37
