Silence stretched between them.
“If it comes to that – if there’s no other way… fine.” Felix finally managed to respond, his voice low. The knowledge that he might be forced to kill his charge was not a burden he was especially glad to carry on a long journey.
Lord Trevalyan’s mouth twitched. “Good. And you have my word that this decision will not affect your payment.”
Felix stared at him, unable to find an adequate response to so much callousness. The man did not seem to notice.
“One more thing,” Lord Trevalyan added. “Isolde is… an unusual young woman. She fancies herself something of a scholar. Indulging her interests, where practical, could ease the journey for her.”
Felix raised an eyebrow, his irritation simmering beneath the surface. The man was fine with having his daughter killed, as long as she enjoyed herself on the way to the gallows? He forced himself to respond. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Lord Trevalyan gave him an intense look before nodding and turning to leave. After taking a few steps, he paused and glanced back. “When Luella asks what we spoke of – and she will – tell her I merely wanted to get your measure and reassure myself that my daughter would be safe in your company.”
Felix nearly laughed out loud at the irony of this, but managed a nod instead. Lord Trevalyan continued on his way towards the pavilion. Felix remained where he was, staring out at the lake as the implications of the conversation settled over him.
6
Focus
For a long moment, Isolde didn’t move. She simply sat, trying to digest everything, trying to allow her new reality to sink in. Then she stood up, forcing herself onto her feet despite the pounding in her skull.
Leni was already moving, gathering Isolde’s travelling cloak and draping it over her shoulders. The maid had changed her out of her destroyed gown as well, she realised. Instead, she wore simple riding leggings and a tunic, the material soft on her skin. Her hair was detangled and tied in a loose braid. Even her nails were clean.
She took a deep, steadying breath, then exited the tent.
She kept her head down but walked resolutely towards her travel companions. The three of them were standing at the small dock, waiting for her. She did not pay any of them much attention; her head was too full, her thoughts too scattered.
Leni hurried out of the tent after her.
“My lady, let me come with you,” she pleaded, clutching at her sleeve.
Isolde sighed, turning to face her. “Leni, please. It is done. Let me go.” Swallowing against the lump in her throat, she gently pulled her sleeve free and continued walking. She did not allow herself to look back.
The rowboat was small, only just big enough to hold the four of them. Isolde settled on the narrow bench next to Luella. She kept her head down, her eyes focused on the ripples in the water.
Focus on simple things. Focus on breathing, or the weather. Don’t think too much. Be a lady. A lady has simple thoughts.
Low morning rays of sunlight slanted across the lake, catching the blue shimmer on her hand. She turned her wrist, studying the reflections. Then her eyes caught on the boots across from hers and slowly travelled upwards to sturdy arms, the sleeves rolled up, and hands gripping onto an oar. His skin was tanned, and the knuckles of his hands were covered in tiny scars. A longer, bigger scar trailed along the skin of his left forearm.
Her gaze continued upwards, helpless against the pull, and her heart made a little flip-flopping motion in her chest. Holy Triad above, he was beautiful, in a… feral sort of way. He was about her age, with sharp features that reminded her of the Medraj people from the south. Another scar curved down the left side of his face, running from cheekbone to jawline. His hair was pulled back into a warrior’s tail, and his eyes were so dark they were almost black. More concerningly, they were looking straight into hers.
For a heartbeat, she forgot how to breathe, staring at him like some dumbstruck little girl. Then the memory flooded her mind; the cracked ley line, the lifeless bodies surrounding her, the eerie blue light. The way he’d extended a hand towards her. His face, open and somehow calm, the one thing she had managed to latch onto in the chaos.
Isolde drew in a short, shaky breath, her fingers clutching the fabric of her cloak. “You! You were there!”
The black eyes widened a fraction before he inclined his head. “I was, my lady.”
His voice was low and warm. It made her feel… safe. For the first time since she had woken up, the dull terror in the back of her mind abated a little.
Where are your manners?They had not even been introduced, and they were about to go on a long journey together.
“You helped me,” she mumbled. “Thank you.”
Something in his face softened, and the faintest hint of amusement appeared, a quirk at the corners of his mouth and eyes that disappeared as soon as she thought she spotted it. She probably imagined it.
“What is your name?”
“Felix.”
