Destroy: (The Blades of Acktar 3.5) Page 5

  “Addie. Well, Adelaide Croft.” She swung her legs under the chair. He was apologizing to her? When she’d just delivered such news?

  The hint of a smile carved into his face. “Addie, I wish to thank you. Your actions saved Prince Keevan’s life, and may have saved this country. Acktar owes you a great debt.”

  Her facing heating, she stared down at her swinging feet. “It wasn’t anything. Not really. Anyone would’ve done the same thing in my place. I couldn’t have done anything else.”

  “You could’ve stayed in that closet in case those assassins came back. But, you didn’t.” Lord Henry’s tone softened. “And, I fear, I must ask you for yet another favor.”

  “Of course, sir.” She was a scullery maid. She wasn’t in any position to say no to a lord’s request. Yet, she got the feeling that Lord Henry was one of the few lords whose request she was free to refuse.

  “As of right now, only you, the healer, and I know Prince Keevan is here. Shadrach knows he is someone important, but he won’t ask questions or say anything. Prince Keevan will need tending, and someone has to bring him his meals. The healer can only come and go so much, and I can’t ask one of the servants and add yet another person to those who already know.” Lord Henry leaned his elbows on the table, his eyes soft. “I am sorry to ask more of you, but would you be willing to be his nurse? Nothing more than bringing him his food and switching the bandage.”

  Addie swallowed. Partly from nerves, but partly because she knew she could say no, and Lord Henry wouldn’t force her. If she wanted, she could walk away now.

  But she was a scullery maid. She wasn’t the type to sit around at ease when there was work to be done. Her mama raised her better than that.

  Besides, this was her prince. How could she refuse to help him when he had just lost his entire family?

  “It…It would be my honor, sir.”

  With that Addie linked her future to the prince. For how long? How long would this nightmare drag on?

  When Keevan woke, he blinked at the unfamiliar ceiling above him. He remembered hard ground, prairie grass, and cold night wrapped around him. Now four green-painted walls enclosed him with only a tiny window to let in the daylight, no furniture besides the bed, a small table, and a chair. A single green rug covered the wooden floor and matched the green coverlet of the bed. He ran his fingers over the blankets piled over him. Good quality.

  Was this Walden? He had no memory of reaching it.

  He touched his face and traced the line of bandages. Someone had done a more professional job than that girl’s haphazard attempts.

  The girl. He glanced around the room, but it was vacant except for himself. Surely Lord Henry was treating her well enough. She deserved some sort of compensation for all her efforts. She had saved his life, even if she was an unrefined scullery maid.

  The door creaked open. But instead of the girl, Lord Henry strode through the door, his face lined. When his gaze swung to Keevan, he didn’t smile. He slid into the chair and rested his elbows on his knees.

  Keevan opened his mouth and tried to make a sound. Any sound. But nothing came out but a wheeze. He fisted his fingers into the blanket. He couldn’t even ask any of his questions. He was helpless. Voiceless.

  “Don’t try to talk.” Lord Henry scrubbed a hand along his beard. “The healer said you shouldn’t try to talk for a few weeks.”

  Keevan relaxed into the pillow. Only a few weeks of silence. He could handle that, right? It couldn’t be that bad, especially not after…

  But he couldn’t let him think about that. He couldn’t let his thoughts go anywhere near that numb part of his heart. The part that belonged to his family.

  Lord Henry sighed. “You should be able to talk again, but it could be months. And the healer isn’t sure what kind of lasting damage this wound might have caused.”

  The numbness spread deeper into Keevan’s chest. Months? Should? What if he never regained his voice?

  He couldn’t think about it. He simply had to.

  Lord Henry rested a hand on Keevan’s shoulder. “I’ve written to your Uncle Laurence and Aunt Annita. I couldn’t tell them you had survived, but I requested they come here as quickly as possible.”

  Keevan swallowed and turned his face away. If he could’ve asked about his family, he wasn’t sure he would’ve. Did he want to know for sure what had happened to them? Or would it be better to go on wondering and cling to a shred of hope?

  “I’m sorry, Your Highness. Your family…”

  Keevan squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t want to hear Lord Henry’s next words. His father and mother. Aengus. Rorin. Little Duncan. Not all of them. Please, not all of them.

  “None of them survived.”

  Pain tore through Keevan’s chest. No. Please no.

  How could he be the only one left? Why, of his whole family, would he survive? The least of them. The worst of them. Aengus, at least, had been training to rule. Rorin acted so old and mature even at fifteen. And Duncan. How could anyone have leaned over him and slit his throat? He was only thirteen. Too young to die like that. Too young to die at all.

  Lord Henry’s hand tightened on Keevan’s shoulder. “I’m sure God must have a purpose in sparing your life.”

  Keevan’s jaw tightened. A purpose. What kind of purpose would include a thirteen-year-old boy’s death? What kind of plan included tragedy such as this?

  He couldn’t understand. Not any of it.

  The only thing he could do was ignore the pain. Shove it into a hard, cold lump in his chest.

  He wouldn’t cry. He wouldn’t feel.

  The door creaked, and the girl stepped inside. She stopped short, her eyes darting between Lord Henry and Keevan. “He’s awake! I mean, glad to see you’re awake, Your Highness. Do you need something to eat? The healer said you could have some broth. I’ll fetch some.”

  The girl spun on her heels and dashed from the room.

  Lord Henry stood. “I’d better return to my duties. You’ll be well taken care of in the meantime.”

  As soon as he left, Keevan fisted his hands and fought the tightness in his throat. His family. Gone.

  Why was Keevan the one to survive? Of all his brothers, why him?

  Too soon, the girl returned, this time carrying a tray with a steaming bowl on it. She set it on the table next to him and perched on the edge of the chair next to him. “I don’t know if you’re hungry, but the hot broth might feel good on your throat. At least, my mama’s soup always feels good when I have a sore throat. Here, let me help you sit up. Do you think you can feed yourself?”

  She wrinkled her nose, one hand on his pillow, the other tugging on his arm. Keevan shifted and did his best to sit up at her prompting. His head spun, and pain shot down his neck.

  When he was propped up against the pillow, the girl held the bowl out to him. He tried to look down to see it, but the bandages around his face and neck prevented that much movement. His wound throbbed with renewed agony.

  She yanked the bowl away from him so fast some of the broth sloshed onto her fingers. “Guess I’ll have to feed you. Sorry, Your Highness.”

  He gritted his teeth. How many more indignities would he have to suffer?

  Blinking, Keevan had to turn away from the girl for a moment. Who was he to complain about a few indignities—even the loss of his voice—when his whole family lay dead?

  The girl dipped a spoon into the broth, blew on it, and held it out to him. He forced himself to allow her to shove the spoon into his mouth. This girl was feeding him like a mother fed a child. Like his mother must’ve once fed him when he was a toddler.

  He squeezed his eyes shut. He’d never feel his mother’s touch again. Never see her soft smile when she tried to keep the peace between Keevan and his siblings to prevent bothering their father.

  “Think you can manage another bite?”

  He faced the girl again. Her eyes were large and brown, set in a round face framed with spirals of brown hair puffing o
ut from her attempts to tie it back. After all this time, he still didn’t know her name.

  He submitted to several more mouthfuls before the pain in his throat grew too great to swallow another bite.

  After she helped him settle back into the covers, she gathered the dishes and started for the door. Pausing, she turned back to him. “Is there anything I can get for you?”

  His voice back. His country back. His home back.

  But those things were out of her power.

  And answering her question out loud was out of his.

  Keevan held his left hand flat and made writing motions with his right hand.

  Her forehead puckered as she stared at him. “You want to…paint your hand?”

  He heaved a sigh, then winced when the hiss of air tore through his throat. Surely the infuriating girl wasn’t that dense. He tried again.

  She stared several more minutes until her eyes and mouth widened. “Writing! You’re writing! You want stuff to write with.”

  Yes. He nodded as much as he could past the pain and the bandage.

  “I’ll be back as soon as I can with ink and paper.”

  This time when she returned with paper, ink, and a bowl of steaming water, he drew his knees up and balanced the stack of papers where he could see them. She helped him position the ink so that he wouldn’t spill anything.

  Writing the one question he’d been burning to ask for two days was like the first breath of spring warming the castle stones. He still couldn’t talk, but he could communicate. He could be more than the silent, almost corpse that green-eyed assassin had turned him into.

  What is your name?

  He held the paper up to her. She squinted, probably trying to decipher his handwriting. It had always been a little less than perfect even without the messiness added from trying to write on his knees without moving his head.

  She turned from the paper to him and dipped into a small curtsey. “I’m Adelaide Croft, Your Highness, but most people just call me Addie…” She trailed off, as if realizing he wouldn’t be calling her anything out loud.

  This was progress. Hopefully, the words under his pen would be enough noise to banish the silence in his head, the pain in his chest. His family was dead, and he didn’t know why. He didn’t even know what had become of their bodies.

  Addie opened the one drawer in the bedside table, revealing layers of bandages and other medical supplies. “I’m supposed to change the bandage right about now. Sorry, Your Highness. You were still unconscious last time when the healer showed me how to do it properly, and…well, I’m a scullery maid. I’m still learning, all right?”

  He gritted his teeth. In other words, she would probably bumble through this. Why couldn’t the healer change the bandages? They wouldn’t risk Keevan’s health by giving his care over to someone totally incompetent, would they?

  But like everything since that knife had flashed down, he was helpless to protest. Go ahead.

  She unwrapped the bandages from around his face and neck. He tried not to look at her as she bent over him. Not only was it awkward, but she also seemed unaware of the view some of her movements gave him.

  But that was his problem. She was his nurse, and it was his problem to keep his thoughts and eyes where they belonged.

  Once she’d divested him of the bandages, she grasped his chin and turned his face toward her to get a better look at his face. What did the wound look like? A gaping, mangled line of flesh tracing along his cheek and down to the base of his throat. He couldn’t see it himself. If he wanted, he could ask for a mirror.

  He didn’t. He’d rather not know.

  But at least the girl seemed in better control of her stomach this time, even if her face had paled.

  When she dabbed the gash with a warm, wet rag, he clenched his fingers and squeezed his eyes shut. A hiss of air escaped him. It would’ve been a whimper, or a groan, if he could’ve managed it.

  The pain changed. A hand was on his throat. A green-eyed assassin leaned over him, a knife flashing in the moonlight. Pain coursed through him, stealing his strength, stealing his voice. He couldn’t even cry out.

  He lashed out, trying to stop the knife from coming down this time.

  Someone yelped. A high-pitched sound, at odds with the darkness and moonlight swirling across his vision.

  He forced his eyes open and found himself staring at Addie, her wide brown eyes framed by her mass of curls. He followed her gaze to see his fingers wrapped around her wrist, squeezing tightly.

  What had he done?

  He released her wrist. She snatched her hand back, but not before he caught a glimpse of the red marks his fingers had left in her skin.

  He’d hurt her. He gulped in ragged breaths, each one tearing through his throat like more knives threatening to finish what that assassin had started. Keevan had tried to be better. Tried never to see fear and hurt and tears form in a girl’s eyes because of him again.

  But he wasn’t better. He was still the same.

  Why had he been the one to live? Of all his brothers, why had he been the one spared when any of his brothers would’ve been more worthy of life than him?

  He should reach for the pen and paper to tell her he was sorry, but somehow, dashing off those two words seemed too trite for what he wanted to tell her.

  “I’m sorry, Your Highness.”

  He whipped his head back to her, flinching at the pain that action caused.

  She rubbed at her wrist, then paused. “I should’ve realized you might not react well to having someone touch your neck. After what happened, it’s probably expected.”

  Now he did reach for the pen and ink. I’m so sorry.

  “You didn’t realize it was me, did you? You were remembering that assassin.” She reached for the jar of salve again.

  He shook his head. A year ago, he might’ve accepted the excuse. Yes, he had been remembering the assassin and the memory had taken over. But, he’d still hurt her, and that wasn’t all right. Could never be all right.

  Wriggling his hands under the blanket, he tangled the fabric in his fingers, the best he could do at tying himself down. When he was ready, he met Addie’s eyes and gave her as much of a nod as he could manage.

  Pursing her lips, she set to work spreading the salve across his wound again. This time, he didn’t close his eyes, and he didn’t look away from her. As long as he focused on her brown eyes, the memory only lurked in the dark shadows of his mind.

  Yet another thing the green-eyed assassin had stolen from Keevan. His sanity.

  And someday, that assassin would pay for it.

  5

  Addie headed for the back kitchen door. Another group of refugees had come from Nalgar. Her parents and siblings had yet to arrive, but maybe they would with this group. Or maybe the next one. Or the next…

  Or maybe they’d never come at all. Maybe those Blades would target them for some reason or they wouldn’t be able to get out or Lord Felix—King Respen as he was calling himself—would start arresting Christians at Nalgar like Lord Beregern was doing at Mountainwood.

  She nodded at the somber cooks and scullery maids as she eased through the kitchens. No one smiled at Walden right now. Not when their new lord and his family mourned the murders of both the late Lord Farley Alistair and General Hannoran, Lady Eve Alistair’s father.

  Addie drew in a deep breath and pushed open the door. She slipped past the small kitchen garden and the extensive flower garden filling the back L-shaped part of Walden Manor. The group from Nalgar gathered in front of the main door. Lord Alistair stood among them, listening to their stories and the information they brought.

  Still holding that deep breath, Addie rounded the edge of the flower garden. Surely today was the day she’d spot her papa’s mess of curly hair or her brothers’ tall figures.

  Then, she was staring at it. A shock of curls above broad shoulders. Papa stood with his back to her, his arm tucked against Mama’s lower back. Addie’s youngest sister Ju
liana snuggled next to their mother while Addie’s four brothers—Francis, Patrick, Brennen, and Samuel—stood in a semi-circle, most with their arms crossed. Francis—Frank as they all called him—rested his hands on their sister Penelope’s shoulders.

  They had never looked so wonderful.

  Addie dashed forward and threw herself into the circle of her family. Somehow, one arm ended up around Mama, the other squeezed Samuel. She couldn’t even speak, not even when her family jumped, started, stared, and nearly fell over with her weight.

  They were safe. They were all safe and together and free from Nalgar.

  “Addie.” The whisper was so choked she couldn’t tell which of her family had said it.

  Then they were all around her, hugging, crushing, squeezing, talking, all at once.

  Wresting Addie away from Samuel, Mama squeezed her tightly, crushing her against her soft, ample frame. “I was so worried about you. Captain Stewart would only tell us you had seen something you shouldn’t have, but you were safe.”

  “I’m sorry you were so worried.” Addie squeezed Mama tighter as if that action could banish the lingering taste of her fear from her mouth. Even now, she couldn’t tell her family why she’d had to leave. She couldn’t even tell them about her new duties caring for Prince Keevan. “I worried about all of you, still stuck at Nalgar with those Blades.”

  Mama pulled back. “We were fine.”

  Something hard, like the cast iron of the cook pots, glinted in Mama’s eyes and sliced through her voice. It was the same sort of voice she had used when scolding them for a particularly bad misbehavior, yet darker, harder.

  Addie suppressed a shiver and glanced at her family. What had happened to them after she’d left?

  Juliana grinned, though something in her eyes remained shadowed. “Mama made the Blades sick.”

  “What?” Addie gaped between her mama and youngest sister.

  Samuel smirked until his freckled nose wrinkled. “She put raw meat in their food. They were puking for hours, and some were sick for a few days.”