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Nelda woke with a start. She’d been dreaming of smoke and metal. It wasn’t a vivid dream, but she had been scared and unable to escape. Grace murmured beside her, and a candle flickered. She didn’t know the room. It looked as though it should be familiar in some ways, but she couldn’t get her head around why that should be.
She sat up slowly, stretching out her aching body. Heath slept in another bed, so close she could almost touch it. She stood and stepped across the short distance shakily, then sat on the edge of the bed and ran her fingers through his hair.
In many ways, it was as though she were checking on her child. But he wasn’t hers. None of them were hers. She had lost the chance at her own family too long ago to regret now. Not that she did regret it, but she considered these boys as though they were her own. Frayne, she knew wasn’t far away, but she couldn’t see him beyond the candlelight. She shivered and rested her hand on Heath’s shoulder. He was still but unharmed, although there was no blanket on the bed. She looked at the other, where Grace was snuggled beneath two. She stood slowly, pulled at the top one, and then spread it over Heath, trying not to lose her balance.
The king had been here, she remembered. She had heard his voice in her dream too. She had no idea why he would interfere. He should have let her die. In many ways, it would have been easier. For her at least. Not for these boys left behind.
She swayed a little, standing over Heath, and then a strong hand grabbed at her arm while the other closed around her.
“You should be in bed.”
“As should you.” She was tempted to shrug him off, but he was comfortable, so much like his father. Both of them. She shook her head, trying to pull her thoughts together.
“You don’t think I should let them know who I am?”
“I think you will know what you should do when the time is right.”
“There is no heir,” Frayne murmured, his mouth close to her ear.
“There is,” she returned, finding she was leaning on him. “Have you slept?”
“I can’t,” he said, guiding her back a step.
“Don’t wake her,” she whispered. He stopped and pulled her close, as though he was trying to hold her up but wasn’t sure how. Or was he trying to hold himself together?
“When I close my eyes, I am lost in the dark, in the coffin.”
“I’m sorry,” Nelda said.
“It is not your fault. The man doesn’t mind who he captures or what he does with them.”
“The king won’t allow you to be lost.”
“Does he know who I am?”
“Not yet, but he will keep you safe.”
“You can’t be sure of that.”
“He believes you are mine, I hope, and that will keep you safe.”
“You are a witch. A witch he believes killed his son. Why would he protect me if he believes I am yours?” Despite the desperate nature of the questions, his voice was level and calm—or perhaps weary.
Nelda wanted to smile at the memories of the man the king had been before the fire. But the muscles in her face wouldn’t cooperate.
“Trust me,” she whispered, reaching out and putting her hand to Frayne’s face. He felt clammy, as though he might be developing a fever, or perhaps he had remained cold and damp from his time in the coffin.
“I do,” he returned, putting his hand over hers.
She could smell the water then. Although it was cold, she pulled away from him and put her hand in the bucket. “Where did this come from?”
“The king’s soldier has a maid,” he said.
Nelda looked back, but as his back was to the candle, she couldn’t see his face. “Servants talk,” she whispered.
“Not this one,” he returned.
The water warmed around her hand, and she felt the cloth move through her fingers. She fished it out and wrung it over the bucket. “You can’t get sick,” she said.
“I won’t. There are extra blankets.”
“Wash the sweat from your skin,” Nelda instructed.
“I washed my hands and face,” he said. As though he were one of the little children she looked after in the convent.
“Hair, and the rest of your body,” she said, trying not to shiver herself.
“I am not removing my clothes,” he said, sounding even more like a little child.
“How long are we here for?” she asked.
“Until he is ready to kill us or outwits the cardinal, or whichever comes first.”
She wanted to talk to Nuris. He had been there in the throne room, if unseen by the others. But she needed to see him, more desperately now than she had previously understood. She needed to explain.
“Is there any word on the child?” she asked, unsure why she thought of the girl or if there would have been an opportunity to find out any such information. They had escaped the coffins. The king had, in his own strange way, protected her. And then she had woken up here.
“The general,” Frayne said, his voice not indicating what it was he knew.
“He has the child or has killed the child?”
“Has her, I think,” he said. “Nelda, what do you think will happen next?”
“You will watch the others. I have to find someone.”
“Who?”
“Someone,” she repeated. It was far better if they didn’t know where she was.
“You can’t leave us here,” he said, his voice too loud. She shushed him, but it was too late; Heath murmured and sat up.
“I’m not leaving you,” she said. Although she wondered if it wasn’t the best idea. If she was helping them, despite her certainty that the king wouldn’t harm them if he believed them to be hers. It had saved them from the cardinal, after all. She shivered again, her body betraying her. She had been so sure she was going to die a slow and painful death in that chapel. The Goddess was the only thing that had kept her going locked inside that metal coffin.
“You just said you wanted to go out.”
“I’ll come back.”
“It isn’t safe,” Heath murmured.
“It is dark; no one will see me.”
“The castle might be a very different place than what it was twenty years ago. Things may not be as you remember them.”
“I don’t need them to be the same.”
“No,” Heath said, his hand closing around her arm. “We are to stay. If you anger the king—if we anger the king—then we will all be lost.”
She reached out, but he stepped out of her reach. “I’ve warmed the water,” she murmured.
“Mother, you promised,” Heath whined.
She blinked in the dim light and then formed a flame in her hand, holding it closer to his face to look for the sarcasm.
He looked sad, and she ran her fingers over his face again. He wasn’t as clammy as Frayne. She turned back and reached for Frayne’s face, but he brushed her away.
“What is it?” Heath asked.
“Frayne,” she said, her voice steady. “You are not well.”
He shook his head. “You can’t keep watch over us when no one is watching over you.”
Heath opened his mouth and then closed it. Reaching out, he ran his fingers over Frayne’s forehead and growled something under his breath.
“Can you tell him?” she asked Heath.
“Sit down,” Heath directed. “There were more blankets. Didn’t she bring more blankets?”
Frayne nodded. If she could burn the illness from him, she would, but it wasn’t something she had tried before. The woman who had performed such magic on her had also contained fire, and that might have had far more to do with the healing. Frayne had nothing. There was too great a chance she might cook him from the inside.
She took a deep breath and found she was still unsteady, but she had to go out. She wasn’t going to end in this room. She put her hand to Frayne’s chest. “Lie down and rest. You won’t be any good to any of us if you fall over.”
He remained unmoving, watching her, and she knew he understood that she was going to do something he didn’t approve of.
Heath put a hand to Frayne’s arm and pulled him too easily towards the bed, where he lay down, and Heath covered him over as Nelda had done to him not so long ago. “Use the water,” she murmured, raising her flame again to look around the room. There didn’t appear to be any drinking water or food for them, but she did find the blankets by the door. She had no idea how long they had been inside the chapel, and she had no idea how long they had been in this room. But despite the lack of windows, she knew it was night.
She also knew that they needed help from more than King Sunsorrow. He was in this for his own reasons, and she needed to get out. She extinguished her flame as she pulled the bolt back and the door squealed open, making her cringe. Glancing into the hallway, a distant torchlight provided some illumination. Without looking back, she stepped into the cooler air and pulled the door closed behind her.
Nelda touched her finger to the door by the latch, scorching a small mark into the wood that wouldn’t be seen unless it was looked for so that she could find it again. In the dim light, she felt her way along the cool stone. It smelt familiar, although she had no idea where in the castle she was.
She had only turned a corner or two when she knew exactly where she was. It was an odd feeling, as though she had only walked this way the previous day and the last twenty years hadn’t happened. There were no signs of the fire, and she wondered how much of the castle had been rebuilt. How much of it needed to be rebuilt?
She could remember exploring the passageways late at night with Jamie and Nuris. She had thought Jamie had lived with the other soldiers in the barracks. Where had Daisy been? Had he truly left her to birth Heath alone, or was there something else he had kept from her? Heath appeared so like Jamie, and she was sure the king would see that. Despite their status, Dunstan had been a friend of sorts to Nuris and Jamie. Nelda had never told her brother about her friendship with the prince. Not that it had protected her once the fire started—and he clearly still thought she was responsible.
She stopped, leaning into a wall and catching her breath. She hadn’t been walking very fast, but she felt the effort. Her lungs hadn’t fully healed from the fire at the convent, and she hadn’t stopped to allow herself any time to recover. The cardinal and his metal box had pulled any remaining strength from her, as was certainly his intention.
He had more power over her by keeping her weak. She wondered then what they would do to her if she set him alight, burnt him to nothing as she had his tent. Although she had never done such a thing, he could be someone worth experimenting on.
She pushed away from the wall when she thought she heard a noise ahead. Her legs shaking, she wondered whether she could run if needed. Although she wasn’t sure where she could run to. She couldn’t lead anyone back to Grace and the boys. Even if she wasn’t their mother, she had to protect them as such. Jamie had done the same. She worried about him now. All those years keeping Frayne safe and away from the castle, and here they were in the thick of it.
She had to find Nuris. He would know what to do. He would understand, she hoped, when she was able to explain it all to him. But then memories of the fire pressed in on her. Nuris had looked at her with such hatred when she had just needed him to reassure her. His unrestrained attack had scared her as much as it had hurt her. She had only survived thanks to Rose. Although she wasn’t sure she should have. Nuris must have known she had survived because he had searched for her ever since.
He might even kill her now, but she had to chance it. She only hoped she could find him in the expanse of the castle walls. Would he still be near to the rooms they had grown up in, or had those too been destroyed by the fire?
Nelda shivered and waited, but whatever she thought had made the noise didn’t come any closer. She listened for footsteps or voices, but there was nothing. Despite it being night, there would be some movement still around the castle. Soldiers, servants. She wondered then at the soldier having a maid they were sure wouldn’t spill their secrets. Too many knew they were in the castle and who they could be.
Nelda turned into a familiar hallway. She had walked along it so many times before that it felt like home. It was a feeling she hadn’t had in so long, and it scared her. As though she was returning to a place she wasn’t allowed, and it would mean her certain death. She closed her eyes and sent a silent prayer to the Goddess.
Nelda took a deep breath and tried to find the solace in the Goddess she had cultivated over so many years in the convent. She felt Nuris draw closer, understood his fear as though it were her own, and knew this would be her last moment.
She opened her eyes and watched him approach. Death and life. He had been her life, and now he would be her death. She was tired of running, of hiding who she was and what she could do. Nuris was the right person to end it.
In many ways, he looked like a stranger. He appeared so much older than when she had last seen him. Now lean, tired, and scarred. He moved forward with the confidence of a soldier ready to defend his way of life, his sword held out before him. She closed her eyes again, not ready to face his hatred as he pushed his sword through her.
Instead of feeling the cold blade, she heard it slide into its sheath, the sound echoing along the hallway. His breath brushed across her face as his arms closed around her. His scarred face pressed against hers, and he sucked in a breath as though too scared to let her go. She waited for the knife or blade. For the end to come. But his hold only grew more confident, firmer. She closed her arms around the brother she loved no matter how he felt about her.
“Thank the Goddess,” he murmured. “I know you didn’t start the fire.”
She squeezed him tighter, burying her face in his shoulder, breathing in the scent of him. Trying to pull his too-thin body against her and become one once more.
“Come,” he said, releasing her, and she felt the emptiness around her that she hadn’t noticed in so many years. Now it overwhelmed her as her legs threatened to give way.
His hand closed around hers and pulled her along the hallway. He seemed just has he had all those years ago, yet so much older. Touches of grey highlighted his hair, and yet he moved in exactly the same way.
Nelda felt a hundred years older, struggling to keep up with his fast pace, reaching for the wall to stop her stumbling. He maintained his tight hold, pulling her along before he pushed her through a door.
Nelda stopped, taking in the comfortable space. It looked just the same and yet unfamiliar at the same time. It was shabby in some places, as though he had held on to furniture that should have been replaced long ago, while other things had been replaced. She wanted to run into her room, see if it was still the same small space, if her things were still there. Instead, she fell into the seat closest to the door.
A child stepped forward as she took in the detail of the room, a small girl who walked with confidence towards her and rested a hand on her knee. Nelda ran her fingers through the child’s dark hair. It had been pulled back into a long braid down her back, but it was already slipping free about her face.
“I told you she would come,” the girl announced.
“So you did,” Nuris said, standing in the middle of the room and smiling. A broad, honest smile, it made the tears Nelda had managed to hold back for so long flow freely.
He knelt by the child and brushed at Nelda’s face.
She sniffed and tried to smile back at him, finding it hard to look away. He hadn’t killed the little witch—there was a chance he wouldn’t kill her either. Nelda dragged her focus back to the girl. “What is your name?” she asked.
“They called me Pip,” she said, studying Nelda with the same intensity.
“Why is she here?” she asked Nuris.
“The king asked me to keep her from the cardinal.”
“And others,” Nelda said, looking to the child, who bowed her head once and then looked at her directly with large, dark eyes that seemed to reflect the world. “The convent you were taken from?”
“It is gone,” the child said, the ragged rising of her chest the only indication of the distress she must have undergone at the hands of the cardinal and the death she must have witnessed.
“And when the king has won over the cardinal?” Nelda asked.
Nuris shook his head and stood up. She could feel the conflict warring inside him as though it were her own.
“How do you know I didn’t start the fire?”
“At the camp, when you burnt the tent, I knew it was you. Like you were calling to me. I hadn’t felt that with the fire here, and I knew there had been a mistake.”
“But I am a witch.”
“Yes,” he said slowly, looking towards the fireplace rather than at her. “And so you should be put to death.”
The child stepped closer to him, slipping her hand into his. And he looked down at her, although Nelda couldn’t read his face.