Soften the Ache
Fourteenth Day, First Month, Thirty-Fifth Year of Aidan’s Reign
Officer Archer spoke to me today. I was walking to the library when it happened. We passed each other in the hall. Normally he acknowledges me with a simple nod. But not today. Today he smiled and said, “Good day, Lady Elizabeth.” Oh, that smile. My blush could’ve rivaled the queen’s rose garden.
I hope I see him again tomorrow. Maybe I will even learn his first name.
Wow. Never pictured Mom as the swoony type. Learn something new every day.
Regina usually accompanies me, insisting a thirteen-year-old girl should not wander the castle without a chaperone. But today she was needed in the kitchens. The entire staff is preparing for the king’s seventy-fifth birthday party tomorrow . . .
Holy Verity, this entry was written the day before Aidan and his queen disappeared.
I flip the page. Inhale. Let the discovery sink in. The lamplight is nearly extinguished. Ky sleeps on the rocker, legs stretched before him. One hand splays across his stomach while the other clasps the hilt of his dagger. His breaths are extended, slow. The deep circles under his eyes remind me he’s exhausted too. What is it about seeing a person asleep that makes him seem so vulnerable? Likable even.
I roll over onto my back and hold the sketchbook up, trying to catch the last morsel of light. Mom’s entries have me hooked. Why have I never read them before? When I was young and first discovered her sketchbook-slash-journals, the calligraphic cursive was too hard to read. As I grew older I never thought much about them. I can’t believe what I’ve been missing. Just one more page. One more, and then I’ll go to sleep.
. . . but parties are the last thing on my mind. Because I’ve decided, someday, I’m going to marry Officer Archer. He is only seven years my senior, and what are seven years between adults? Regina insists my feelings are a “crush,” whatever that is. She is always using strange Third Reflection terms since that’s where she grew up.
Father would never approve of me wedding a Guardian, believes it is below our station. Why can’t I have a normal life? A simple life far away from Father’s critical eye. All I want is a small cottage somewhere. Dewesti Province is so lovely . . .
A sharp, papery sound ensues as I flip to the next page. Ky stirs and I wince. I’ll have to be more quiet.
Like something from a storybook, a sketch of a quaint cottage stares back at me. A stone chimney peeks out of the thatched roof, smoke rising in wispy spirals. The fence isn’t a fence at all, but a hedge of rosebushes. A break in the bushes opens to a winding path that leads to a front door framed in ivy. The caption on the drawing simply reads: Someday . . .
I’ve always loved this drawing. But seeing it now, in the context of Mom’s words, it’s like an entirely different picture. This was Mom’s dream house. Small and simple and oh so very country. Was she disappointed with our life in the city? Living in a home where we could hear our neighbors singing show tunes in the shower if they belted loud enough?
Yawn. I stretch and flip onto my stomach. Close my eyes. Why didn’t she share any of this with me? Or maybe she tried and I didn’t listen. Her entire life was about me. She never dated, never asked for anything. Did I ever once stop to think about her happiness apart from my own?
Another yawn. I turn the open book upside down on the bed to save my place, fold my arms beneath my head. A few minutes of shut-eye won’t hurt. Mom’s sketchbook isn’t going anywhere . . .
My eyelids burst open. The lamplight has died. A hand clamps over my mouth. Stormy’s wild-eyed face hovers above mine. “Shhh.”
I nod, and she removes her hand. “What’s the matter?” I glance at Ky, still asleep. Beyond the window brilliant stars salt the sky, and the moon illuminates the night. “What time is it?” I rub my eyes.
Stormy grabs my hand, drags me out of bed. “Late. Hurry. We have to go.”
Something’s wrong. She’s acting . . . panicked? Nervous? “I’ll wake Ky.”
She shakes her head. “No time.” We exit the room, spilling into the shadow-shrouded hall.
“What about everyone else?”
“They’re waiting at the gate. Come on.” Stormy leads me down the stairs. Out the door. Into the square.
Crickets perform their cacophonous song as our feet plod stone. My hyperventilating breaths release in clouds, the night’s chill washing my hot face. At the abandoned gate we stop. Stormy stares through the bars, focused and unblinking.
What’s that noise? Moving water. I peer through the bars. The fountain. It’s working, filling. Glowing green and churning like a whirlpool. “Stormy, what’s happened? Where are the others?”
Her hands shake. Voice cracks. “A-asleep. I . . . slipped them all something. Had to be sure they’d doze until morning.” She doesn’t look at me.
Why won’t she look at me? “Why would—?”
“You have to understand.” Her fingers curl around iron. “I don’t have a choice in this. Please understand . . .” She whimpers, wedging her face between two bars.
No, this can’t be happening. I retreat, backing toward the inn. “Stormy—”
“I made a promise.” She opens the gate a crack. “If I don’t do this, I’ll die and then he’ll kill Kuna.”
My boot snags on cobblestone, and I fall. Pain slices through my tailbone. “What? You’re not making sense. Who—?”
“Gage,” she says, her voice deadpan. “Gage will kill him if I fail to uphold my vow.”
I feel around the ground for a stone, a stick, anything to use as a weapon. I don’t want to hurt Stormy, but I have to defend myself. If it comes down to it, I could take her. I inch away. Her back is still toward me. Maybe she won’t notice if I—
Oh. Snap.
The interim commander towers over me, a section of coiled rope in his left hand. His face is rigid. And then, then he smiles, baring two rows of toothpaste-ad teeth. “Going somewhere?” He stoops and grabs my ankle with Herculean strength. I kick at him, but I might as well try to escape an iron shackle. For the second time in one day, Gage captures my wrists, binds them. He doesn’t bother to be gentle this time. My skin is still raw from earlier. This doesn’t help.
He straightens. “A word of advice, girl. Don’t ever give someone a Kiss of Accord unless you’re prepared to bear the full weight of your bargain.” His sneer fixes on Stormy.
Kiss of Accord? What nonsense is he babbling about?
“Don’t do this, Gage,” Stormy sobs, eyes still fixed on the fountain. “I’ll find another way to repay you, but please, don’t make me do this.”
Her desperate pleas chisel at my core. What in the Reflections have I walked into?
“Oh, but you will repay me.” Gage steps over me, stands behind Stormy. He caresses her shoulder and she shudders. “You’ll do as I say until I’m satisfied your debt is paid in full.”
I think I’m going to be sick. Ky was right all along. His disdain and distrust for Gage were justified. I attempt to separate my wrists, fighting against the rope. Useless. Stall. “You’ll never get away with this.” With my peripheral vision I search for anything to help me out of this maelstrom.
A sigh escapes Gage’s lips as he begins to pace. “Oh, but I already have. When Kyaphus took you to Crowe, I worried my opportunity had passed. Imagine my delight when you showed up in the Forest of Night, alive and unscathed. Healed even. Then all I had to do was get rid of Archer, which turned out to be easier than I foresaw. When I suggested he continue on for your mother, he didn’t hesitate. It’s obvious he’s in love with her.” Is that disgust in his voice? “Why else would one of the most talented Guardians of our generation spend nearly eighteen years as your invisible babysitter? Pathetic.”