Over-protective mother hens. She was too tired to argue. In a matching cold tone, she said, “Sleep, Escort. That's an order.” She dropped the ring into a pouch and left.
After a cold bath and redressing her injury, she conveyed the same command to Jerome. He must have been exhausted enough to obey her for once – although he did step into her room and ensure there were two beds before agreeing.
Fatigue crept into her consciousness as she paused at the entrance to her room. Pelios guarded Zara and the maid’s brother. Vern shared a room with Castien. It wasn't just desire that made her want to be with him. He had recognized her once; she could bring him out again.
She sighed and pushed open her door. Jerome had taken the bed closer to the entrance. Naturally. Against the wall was the sack she had taken from the castle. A sliver of pale white moonlight shone across it.
The healer or alchemist or whatever he was must have taken notes. She dug out the book of diagrams, and, indeed, the margins were filled with scrawls. She sat at the small table. There had to be something in here that would help. Perhaps techniques to induce the trance, and she could do the opposite.
After a few minutes of flipping through the pages, her eyes drifted closed.
—
The city was swarming with soldiers.
Zara and Pelios had departed separately to secure horses. Travel rations and weapons were packed and ready to go. The only difficulty was Castien.
He had seemed different this morning. Vern had untied him to eat. She had walked in and, for a moment, his eyes had flashed withsomething. Then he had returned to his food.
Anais swallowed her greeting and nodded at Vern instead. “We can't drag him through the city in chains.”
Vern glanced at the window.
She rolled her eyes. “No, we're not using the rooftops. He'll walk.”
“My blade at his back won't make us less suspicious.”
She flicked an annoyed glare at him.
An idea had occurred to her this morning. It was a terrible one. Her instincts said she could trust Castien, that this was unnecessary and cruel, but practicality said otherwise. Vern was right. He couldn't be trusted.
She moved toward Castien.
Discomfort and regret twisted her gut.
He would forgive her.
The alchemist's book had reminded her of the words she had heard before she ran from Castien. He had changed in a moment, confusion and chaos snapping to blank focus.
She stood right beside him, watching him lower a fork with a slightly unsteady hand. Vern was still and silent. Indulging the ache in her chest, she brushed his shoulder with the back of her claws. “Castien, look at me.”
This was a mistake. If there was even a hint of the man she loved, she wouldn't be able to do it.
He blinked several times, his shoulders tensing. His head turned. His eyes lifted.
Hard, cold, distant.
She hated that look.
She said the words.
Shock overcame his features. Shock and hurt. Pain. She inhaled sharply. “Castien? Wait–”
But it was all gone in a blink, and that terrible blank expression relaxed his face.
“How long will that last?” A note of unease was in Vern’s tone.
Her stomach tightened at the emptiness in his eyes. Had the cold only been a mask? “An hour or two, according to the notes. Longer if he's calm.”
