Owning Up
KATIA’S EYES PEELED open. She was lying on her left side on something soft, and everything was still black.
Was she dead? Her encounter with the triple gods—it was still so vivid. Did they always appear to believers at the moment of death? Katia sighed. If she was dead, she could hardly ask anyone about it, could she?
But . . . if she was dead, why did her bones ache so deeply? And as her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, which wasn’t as dark as she’d first imagined, why was there fabric hanging in front of her nose? Katia rolled onto her back and yelped as pain lanced her right shoulder.
A portion of the material swept aside, almost blinding Katia with the light that flooded into the curtained space. A human shape was silhouetted in the gap.
“You’re awake, then? Good. Wait here while I fetch the doctor.”
The shadow disappeared as quickly as it had come, leaving Katia bemused but now at least, able to see properly.
You’re not dead.
No, she was most definitely not dead. She was, in fact, lying in a rather large bed—a four-poster, no less—and (Katia lifted the covers to check) she was wearing a clean nightgown.
A nightgown? They know you’re a girl.
Katia snatched the bedclothes up to her chin as though that would hide the evidence, wincing as her shoulder twinged again. Then she pushed them down again. What was the point? Her heart sank. They knew she was a girl already, she was going to have to do some explaining.
“Here she be, doctor. Wide awake.”
Two heads poked through the gap in the curtains. One was a woman, a matron of middle age, with wisps of greying hair escaping from under her cap. The other was a man.
“Thank you, Mabel,” he said. “So, how are you feeling, Troy?”
“Master Thorn?” It was him, wasn’t it? Katia gaped at the doctor she thought had drowned.
“The very same.” His eyes twinkled at her.
“How did you—?”
Master Thorn waved away her question. “Good luck and the bounty of the triple gods, I think. I arrived in Eraton four days ago. Troy, I need to—but that’s not your real name, is it?”
“No.” Katia felt her cheeks redden. “I’m Katia.”
“Aaah. Much more suitable.” Master Thorn smiled. “Katia, I need to check how you are. I can see you survived the shipwreck—”
“Shipwreck?” The woman Mabel shrieked and clutched at her chest.
“Indeed, though I’m less concerned with the aftereffects of shipwreck at this moment and more with those of poison and sharp pointy things. Stick out your tongue, Katia. Mm-hmmm.” Master Thorn lifted Katia’s wrist to take her pulse. “Mm-hmmm. And the stitches?”
“Stitches?” Katia’s eyes widened. “What stitches?”
“That rather nasty wound on your shoulder . . . Another few inches further down, and I doubt you’d still be with us.” Master Thorn didn’t seem to notice Katia’s shudder as he helped her to sit up and slip the nightgown from her shoulder.
Had Mynott really come that close to killing you?
“Mm-hmmm. Healing nicely.” Master Thorn indicated that Katia could pull the fabric back. “And you’ve no double vision? No coldness?”
“No.” There was definitely only one Master Thorn and one Mabel. And there was nothing left of the icy cold that had gripped her so completely before.
“Good. Then the next thing I’d prescribe would be soup. Just a thin chicken broth, nothing too heavy to start with,” Master Thorn told Mabel. “If that stays down, we’ll progress onto something more substantial.”
“Right you are, Master.”
The doctor patted Katia’s hand. “You’ve had quite an adventure. I hope to hear all about it at some point. But right now, the head butler’s complaining of a rather nasty rash that he’d like me to look at. I’ll leave you in Mabel’s capable hands until tomorrow.”
Mabel saw the doctor out, then bustled back to the bed. “Right then, let’s get you up and fed, shall we?” She tugged the curtains back as far as they’d go.
Katia found herself exhausted by the effort it took to get out of bed and walk three steps to a comfortable wing chair. She sank into it with a sigh. “How long have I been here?”
Mabel tapped a finger against her lips, thinking. “Two . . . no, three days now. You were blue when they brought you in.” She laid a soft blanket over Katia’s knees and avoided her eye as she continued. “Master Thorn had to force the antidote down your throat, thought he was too late. Took a while before he believed you out of the woods, but look at you now.” Mabel beamed. “On the mend and pink-cheeked, just how we like folk to be.”
The soup arrived, hot and steaming and smelling so good. Mabel laid the tray on Katia’s lap.
Katia tried to lift the spoon to her mouth but her hand refused to move. Was this still an effect of the poison?
“Here, let me.” Mabel pulled up a three-legged stool, perched herself at Katia’s knee, and spooned soup into her until Katia shook her head to show she’d had enough.
“Thank you.” Katia leaned back and closed her eyes. She was so tired. Dimly, she registered someone knocking on the door.
“That’ll be the doctor back,” she heard Mabel say. “He’s always leaving something behind. Come in, Master—oh!”
Katia opened her eyes. She peered round the wing of the chair to see who’d arrived and the blanket slipped off her knee as she tried to stand. Prince Peeta stood in the doorway.
“Oh, don’t get up,” Peeta said, hurrying towards her. “Please, sit.”
With relief, Katia obeyed. She’d only managed to lift herself a couple of inches out of the chair and her arms and legs were already trembling with the effort. Peeta picked up the fallen blanket and offered it to her.
“Give that here.” Mabel whisked the blanket out of the royal hands. There was an awkward wait while she tucked it either side of Katia’s knees.
What do you say to a prince who’s come to visit?
Katia had no idea. Thankfully, the prince spoke first.
“Um . . . how are you feeling?”
Her tongue had stuck to the roof of her mouth, which had gone hideously dry. Katia swallowed. “Tired, but much better, thank you . . . Sire,” she added as an afterthought.
Peeta nodded. “Good. Good.” He lapsed into silence and his shoes became the most interesting thing in the room to look at.
Katia studied him. He was very much like his father; same dark hair, same eyes. He looked up and caught her staring at him. The heat of embarrassment burned Katia’s cheeks almost as much as the sun god’s fiery touch.
“Mabel, would you mind finding something else to do? I want to talk to . . .” Peeta turned to Katia. “I’m sorry. I don’t know your name.”
How many more times would she have to tell people who she really was?
“Katia Nasalter, sire.”
“Oh. Right.” Peeta turned back to Mabel. “I need to talk to Katia on her own. Can you make yourself scarce for a bit?”
Mabel patted the prince’s cheek. “Course I can, dearie. Don’t tire her out, though. She’s not fighting fit just yet.”
Peeta steered Mabel towards the door. “I promise.”
“I mean it.” Mabel wagged her finger under the prince’s nose. “Or I’ll take you over my knee and . . .”
What she would’ve done, Katia never found out; Mabel was out of the door before she finished the sentence. Katia’s face must’ve shown her surprise, because Peeta looked a bit sheepish when he came back.
“She was my nurse,” he explained. “Still acts like I’m a child sometimes.”
“Oh.” He certainly wasn’t a child, but how old was he? Katia tried to work it out. Peeta had outgrown the lanky phase that Troy was still going through at fourteen, but hadn’t yet filled out like Ned at nineteen. So he must be . . . what? Sixteen? Seventeen?
“May I?” Peeta indicated the stool beside Katia’s chair.
“Oh, you don’t have to sit there.” Katia looked round for something more suitable.
“It’ll do.”
Perched on the stool, the prince looked mighty uncomfortable. Katia stifled a giggle, turning it into a cough.
Peeta drummed his fingers against his knee. “So . . . No aftereffects of the poison, then?”
“No.”
“Good. And the shoulder?”
“Healing well, apparently.”
“Good. Um . . .” Peeta shifted uncomfortably on his stool, then leaned forward and peered into Katia’s face. “I need to know why you’re here . . . and why you were in the company of a man who tried to kill me.”
Katia took a deep breath, then the words tumbled from her like a waterfall as she tried to explain. “Elder Sevanya took me to Indigon because I’m so bad at my lessons she said she’d leave me there if I didn’t do everything right. I had supper with Gwennie, so I wasn’t at the banquet and then I heard Lord Arolf and Elder Harolt talking about how they arranged the murder of the king—”
The stool fell over as Peeta jumped to his feet, face pale. “Murder? But the crows’ message said food poisoning.”
“That’s what they wanted you to think, they were very clever and . . .” Katia saw Peeta’s eyes glistening and stopped talking.
Peeta cleared his throat. “Is that why the man you were with tried to kill me too?” His voice sounded only slightly choked.
Katia nodded. “Mynott was the assassin, but I didn’t know, not until we got into the palace. I thought he was my friend, that he was helping because Senior Martik was the dangerous one. I just wanted to warn you, bring you the Kingstone instead of leaving it for Arolf to hold—”
“Yes, about that,” Peeta interrupted, crossing his arms. “Why did Elder Sevanya ask you to bring it instead of bringing it herself?”
This was it, the moment she’d been dreading. Time to own up.
“She didn’t,” Katia whispered. “I stole it.”
“You—what?”
The horror in Peeta’s voice made Katia brave. “I stole the Kingstone. And I’d do it all again tomorrow if I had to.”
Peeta’s face grew even paler. “No one has ever stolen the Kingstone before. This is terrible. I shall have to tell the Enclave.”
The Enclave? Oh gods, what will they say? What will they do?
“Please . . . don’t,” Katia begged. “Can’t we keep it a secret, say that Mynott had the stone instead of me? He’s dead, no one can ask him and I won’t tell, I promise.”
Peeta was staring at her. She wished he wouldn’t.
“You would turn your new king into a liar?” he said.
Katia hung her head. Of course not. She’d lied and deceived, and look what was happening to her as a result. “No.”
“Well, then. I shall inform the Enclave.” Peeta spun on his heel and walked away, leaving Katia slumped miserably in her chair. At the door, he paused. “For what it’s worth, thank you. For telling me the truth about my father’s death. And for saving my life. I hope the Enclave will not be too harsh when they hear what you’ve done.”
“So do I,” Katia murmured as the door closed behind him. She shivered. The Enclave; highest temple authority, full of Elders who spoke direct to the gods. She didn’t stand a chance, not really.
Why did everything she tried to do right always turn out so wrong?