This Dark Descent, page 22
Mikira lay panting in the muddy grass, her muscles sore and screaming. Ailene sobbed beside her, her entire body shaking, Wolf nudging her face with his nose.
And on her other side, his face pale and splattered with mud, was Reid.
She gaped at him, struggling to form words. He was still dressed in his suit from the ball, his tie torn loose and his hair a wild nest. Before she could say anything, he was on his feet with Ailene in his arms. She looked so fragile against his chest, lying limp in his grasp as they hurried across the pasture.
They burst into the house. “In there!” Mikira gestured to the glow of the evening’s dying fire in the drawing room, then shot into the mudroom. She retrieved her father’s medical kit, a bottle of salve for cleaning the wound, and as many bandages as she could carry.
When she broke back into the foyer, she found Nelda peeking out from their father’s study, the book she’d been reading clutched to her chest like a stuffed animal. For an instant, Mikira half expected to see her father’s tired face over her shoulder, but there was only the darkness of the study she couldn’t bring herself to enter since he’d left.
“Nelda.” Mikira’s voice broke. “Go upstairs, and don’t come down, no matter what you hear. Can you do that for me, little frog?”
Face pale, Nelda nodded, bolting up the stairs.
In the drawing room, Reid had torn away the rest of Ailene’s trousers up to her knee, revealing a bloodied mess. Mikira’s stomach turned, but she forced the nausea down and dropped to the floor beside Reid, proffering the medical kit.
He took it and set to work. “I need light.”
She retrieved an enchanted lamp from out in the hall and held it over Ailene’s leg, moving it to the left or right each time Reid instructed. Wolf lay with his head in her lap, and she petted him mechanically with her free hand. She was vaguely aware of Reid cleaning the wound before he set the bone and began stitching. Time stretched so that it felt like he’d been operating forever when he finally slumped back with a heavy breath.
“It’s done.”
Mikira couldn’t look. She lowered the lamp beside her and turned her back against the couch, staring at the dying embers in the hearth.
“She’s going to be okay,” Reid said softly. “It was a clean break. I don’t know if she’ll ever run on that leg again, but she’ll be able to walk. We won’t know until much later if it’ll cause her any pain.”
She nodded, and kept nodding, until her addled brain realized what she was doing, and she forced herself to stop.
“When you left the ball so suddenly, I got worried,” he said awkwardly.
She wanted to tell him she was glad he’d come, but everything inside her felt numb.
An arm fell around her shoulders. It wasn’t until she felt the heat of Reid’s body against her own that she realized how cold she was. Bone deep, achingly cold. She leaned into him, and let him hold her until the fire turned to ash.
CHAPTER 25
MIKIRA
REID DEPARTED EARLY the next morning, leaving them with instructions to watch for infection and ensure Ailene stayed off of her leg, a task Mikira dreaded. Keeping Ailene cooped up on a couch for days on end was like sticking a wild stallion in a tiny stall. The last time her sister had been on bed rest, battling a fever, Mikira had come home to find her out racing the neighbor’s boy in the freezing rain.
Now, though, Ailene lay with her arms folded, staring blankly at a spot on the wall. Wolf had wedged himself between her and the couch. She’d cried when Mikira told her about Starling, but since then, she hadn’t said a word. Nelda had taken it upon herself to be at their sister’s beck and call. She’d made her breakfast, kept an endless supply of tea coming, and read to her from the book she’d been carrying about. But Ailene kept staring.
She just needs time.
She wasn’t the only one. The prince’s stable master had arrived earlier that morning, and with the horse he’d wanted gone, Mikira had promised him his pick of another.
She waited for him now while he perused the selection she’d brought into the stables. He’d been looking for nearly an hour, popping out occasionally to question her about one or the other, and the wait was slowly wearing at her. They needed this sale. Only a purchase from the prince would break the embargo Rezek had effectively placed on their business, and if she didn’t win the Illinir, they would need the money.
Mikira was sitting on the steps, picking a long blade of grass into tiny pieces, when the stable master’s stocky form emerged. He walked with a limp, a wolf tattoo on his bronze forearm indicating he’d served in the Iziri military.
Dropping the grass, she clambered to her feet. Her hope rose and died like a wave as he frowned back at her.
“I’m afraid none of these are quite what the prince is looking for.” His gruff voice was thickly accented. “You don’t have others of the speed and danger line?”
Mikira’s gaze strayed reflexively to Iri, who stood at the fence of his paddock, waiting for her. She’d ridden him only sparsely the last few weeks, too busy with Atara and the races, and his head hung just the slightest, as though he knew he’d been replaced.
You haven’t, she promised him silently.
“He’s of the same line as Starling, isn’t he?” the stable master asked. “I saw it on his stall plaque.”
Mikira flinched. “Iri’s not for sale.”
The stable master’s frown deepened, and she nearly kicked herself. She needed to be on her knees groveling, begging him to buy another horse, not snapping at him like a testy mare.
“The prince will not be pleased if I return without his horse, Miss Rusel,” he said, not unkindly.
She bit her lip, glancing between the horse and man. He had a thick beard that framed a hard-planed face. From what she’d learned about him, he was a respected enchant breeder from Izir who’d recently taken a position at the castle. Her father would have dug further, but she didn’t have the time or the luxury to be so fastidious. He seemed kind enough.
But Iri …
He was all she had left of Lochlyn. She couldn’t just … She wouldn’t … She dug her nails into her palms, focusing on the sharp pain rather than her welling emotion.
“Listen, lass.” His voice softened. “I’m going to be honest with you. The prince wants this horse. If you think times are tough now, the last thing you want is Prince Darius as an enemy to boot.”
Rezek had nearly destroyed her family. They could not survive the wrath of a prince.
“I can see you have an attachment to him,” he said. “So I’ll double the prince’s offer.”
No.
The word was a solid weight in her throat. She tried to force it out, to tell him to leave, but she knew she couldn’t. Without that money, Ailene might never walk again.
And though it was like tearing out a piece of her heart, she said, “Okay.”
* * *
MIKIRA WRAPPED HER arms around Iri’s neck and held him as tightly as she could. The stable master had given her privacy to say goodbye, but alone with him now in his stall, she didn’t know how she could. If only she’d been here when Ailene needed her, if only she hadn’t been so wrapped up in the machinations that had consumed her life, maybe this wouldn’t have happened.
“Miss Rusel?” called the stable master from outside the barn. “I have to be getting back.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, and squeezed Iri one last time. Then she led him out of the stall to the stable master’s trailer. She couldn’t bring herself to walk him up the ramp, so she handed over the lead and watched as the stable master secured him inside, closing the gate behind him. It barely even registered when he set a pouch of coin in her outstretched hand.
“You take care,” he said solemnly, and climbed into the motortruck.
Mikira’s hand closed around the pouch as the trailer trundled forward, thankful she couldn’t see Iri inside. It was like losing the last piece of her brother, like watching him be taken away all over again. She wanted to chase down the truck and tell him she’d changed her mind. Wanted to fling the coin back into his hands and rip open the trailer.
But she didn’t move.
A breeze tickled the back of her neck. The storm had blown over, leaving pure blue skies and clean, crisp air that betrayed nothing of what’d happened. It felt like a slap in the face. Starling was dead, her sister might never run again, and Iri—oh, Iri. Everything was coming crashing down around her, but the world didn’t slow. It broke and broke and broke, but it never stopped to witness its destruction.
Mikira didn’t move until the trailer was out of sight, then she pocketed the coin and gathered a bag of tools, setting out for the fence. If she stood still, she wouldn’t be able to take it. If she stood still, she would fall apart.
She slowed as she approached the fence. The edges were blackened from the fire, but in the light of day, she saw something she hadn’t before: hatchet marks. Dropping her bag, she knelt before the lowest rung, running her finger along the sharp break.
This fence hadn’t been struck by lightning. It’d been hacked apart and set on fire to cover the evidence.
Someone had sabotaged her.
“Rezek.” His name felt poisonous on her tongue. Who else would have done this? He must have been trying to prevent the prince’s purchase.
This too was her fault.
If she’d never gotten involved with Damien, if she hadn’t angered Rezek, none of this would have happened. Ailene wouldn’t have gotten hurt, and Iri wouldn’t have been sacrificed to the prince in Starling’s place.
Staggering to her feet, she stepped over the fence’s remains. Below, the rush of the river echoed. She released a small prayer that Starling’s body had been washed away and glanced down.
It wasn’t Starling’s body she found.
A corpse lay on the nearest riverbank, tangled in the roots of a tree. The skin was pink and rubbery, the face bloated and distorted from days of decomposition. Its chest was a gaping red maw from where a bullet had torn through it. Bile rose in Mikira’s throat, and she heaved her meager breakfast into the grass. It took her several moments before the nausea passed.
Using the exposed root of a nearby tree as a handhold, she climbed carefully down the muddy bank. The stench struck her as she neared the corpse, and she nearly retched again. Holding her breath, she grabbed the corpse beneath the arms and pulled, dragging it up the bank. The skin felt slimy and squelched beneath her touch.
Letting the body drop to the ground, she rushed to the river’s edge and plunged her hands into the freezing water, leaving them there until the feeling of crawling flesh turned to icy numbness.
When she turned back to the corpse, something glinted. She lifted her shirt over her nose and crouched beside the body, a silver object clutched in its hand. It must have had it in its grasp when it died, long enough for rigor mortis to set in before the storm came, washing it downstream.
Before she could think too deeply about it, Mikira seized a stick and pried it between the metal and the corpse’s flesh. It took some maneuvering, but she finally dug a thick silver ring free, and froze.
Set at the top was a hawk’s wing formed of hematite and diamond. Black and silver.
Damien’s missing ring.
She’d suspected Damien had made a fake ring rather than commission a new one to hide the fact that he’d lost it but hadn’t known why. Now she wished she didn’t. Damien must have lost it in the struggle.
“Rezek,” she breathed, remembering his delight at learning of the missing ring. Was he involved with this somehow, or was this the exact kind of potential outcome that had made that information valuable to him?
She stared at the ring cupped in her palm. What was she supposed to do? She needed Damien. His sponsorship was the only thing keeping her in the Illinir. Without him, she couldn’t help her family. And now with Ailene’s leg, they’d need money for medicine and doctors, more than Iri’s sale could cover. But with the winnings from the Illinir, they’d be fine.
If she gave the ring back to him, there would be no proof he’d ever been involved. Only her.
He killed someone.
Some part of her had always known who Damien was, but she’d buried that part beneath her desperate need for his help. Then she’d gotten to know him over the last couple months, seen the way he helped his community, the way people looked at him like a savior, and she’d thought maybe he was okay. Maybe she hadn’t bound herself to a monster.
But now—now she wasn’t so sure.
“You don’t know the full story,” she told herself, even as she stared down at the bloated face of the corpse. If Damien hadn’t killed him, why hide the loss of his ring? She couldn’t ignore Talyana’s warning about the sergeant investigating him, nor how familiar the man looked. Had she seen him at Adair Manor before?
Mikira squeezed her eyes shut. If she won the Illinir, her prize money would be funneled through Damien. If he was arrested, would his funds be frozen? What if he discovered it was she who told? He could pull his sponsorship for a partial return of his money, but would he with so much riding on her winning?
Her eyes snapped open. Damien Adair did not take kindly to betrayal. She’d be lucky if all he did was withhold the money.
What would her father do?
He’d never stand in the way of the law, but he had always been unyielding, and her family had suffered for it more than once. It was her trust in the law, in what was right, that had lost them Lochlyn. But her father had also been a fierce and loyal man once. He would never have betrayed someone who’d done so much for him.
Mikira’s fist closed over the ring. “I’m sorry,” she said to the body at her feet. Then she placed her boot against its ribs and pushed, releasing it back into the roaring river.
CHAPTER 26
ARIELLE
ARI HAD NO idea where she was.
One moment, she’d been asleep in her room at Adair Manor, having retired early when the others went to the Ruthar ball. The next she’d woken to morning light and cold cobblestone beneath her bare feet.
A horn startled her, and she stepped onto the sidewalk as a motorcar revved its engine, flying past. Her heart kept skittering long after it’d gone, the small side street now empty and quiet.
There had to be a logical explanation for this. Was she dreaming? No, she could tell she was awake. Then how had she gotten here?
She looked down at herself and stilled. Her nightgown had specks of red on it.
Unease wedged beneath her ribs as she gently pulled the gown up to inspect the stain, though she already knew what she would find.
Blood.
She stared at the nightgown and at the fingers that held it. Her nails were crusted dark with blood.
“Ma’am?” asked a voice.
She whirled. The man behind her recoiled a step. He wore a dark blue uniform and clasped a bundle of posters in one hand. A military recruiter. Just a recruiter. She forced herself to calm down, seizing control of her emotions and wrenching them into compliance.
“Are you…” He trailed off as he saw the blood.
“I was attacked.” Her throat scratched like she’d been screaming. “I ran, but now I don’t know where I am.”
The man visibly relaxed. A woman in distress he could handle. She almost laughed, and it must have shown in her eyes, because a nervous twitch formed at the corner of his mouth. Perhaps he wasn’t sure if he should smile or call for help.
She longed for a piece of verillion, for the singe of magic to calm her nerves, to make that decision for him so, so easily. He should scream, of course, though no one would hear him. It was too early, the street too remote. No one would come for him.
“Ma’am?”
Ari blinked, realizing she’d taken a step forward. Had those thoughts been hers, or the voice? It was getting more difficult to tell, the line between them wearing like a fraying rope.
She clasped her hands, setting her expression with fear and confusion. The latter was easy. She felt disoriented, like a leaf caught and thrown by the wind.
“Can you help me get back to a main road?” she asked. “I can call a coach from there.”
The recruiter smiled. “Of course. Follow me.”
* * *
THE WIND CARRIED the scent of lavender after her as she hurried back to her room at Adair Manor. She closed her door and leaned against it, as if she could lock the whole experience outside.
She wanted so badly to believe that there was a logical explanation. That she’d sleepwalked or gotten drunk and not remembered wandering out. But she knew those weren’t true as surely as she knew the crimson on her gown was blood.
Something was happening to her.
Tearing off the gown, she tossed it into a corner and scrubbed the blood from her nails in the sink. Then she dressed in a loose black skirt and embroidered blouse. By the time she’d tied up her hair in one of her mother’s headscarves and slid on her Saba’s necklace, she felt more herself.
She slipped into Damien’s room to the sound of hushed voices.
“I’m losing patience, Hyle,” Damien said. He reclined at his desk, his chin resting on one fist. A thin, pale man with a lean face and long blond hair pulled back in a bun fiddled with various things on his desk. To anyone else, it might look as though Damien hadn’t noticed it, but she detected the annoyance in the tilt of his lips. From the smile on Hyle’s face, he did too, and seemed to be rather enjoying it.
Hyle set down the pen he’d been spinning in his fingers. “Maybe I can find that for you instead. Or perhaps a lock for your door?” His gaze slid to Ari, who hadn’t moved from the top of the steps. There was something about this man that unnerved her.
“Speak freely.” Damien waved his hand, and Ari descended into the room, seeking the teakettle.
“I always do.” Hyle grinned. “Your ring remains as absent as my love life, though not yours, it would seem.”
