Chapter 175
Author: Maranatha
last update2024-07-02 00:29:26

Matilda felt the anger simmering off Leonard as if it were heat rippling from a kettle. Not at the girls and women. They adored him. Grinned and laughed, even as they concentrated on his thorough, precise lesson, even as the events in the library hung over them, the Torre, like a gray shroud. There had been many tears last night at the vigil—and a few red eyes still in the halls this morning as she’d

hurtled past.

Mercifully, there had been no sign of either when Lord Leonard called in three guards to volunteer their bodies for the girls to flip into the gravel. Over and over.

The men agreed, perhaps because they knew that any injuries would be fussed over and patched up by the greatest healers outside Doranelle.

Leonard even returned their smiles, ladies and, to her shock, guards alike.

But Matilda … she received none of them. Not one.

Leonard ’s face only went hard, eyes glinting with frost, whenever she stepped in to ask a question or watch him walk an acolyte through the moti
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    For a moment, Kashin glanced to the white banners streaming from the nearby window. She opened her mouth, perhaps to finally offer her condolences, to try to mend this thing that had fractured between them, but the prince said, “Then you understand how dire this threat may be.”She nodded. “I do. And I will be careful.”“Good,” he said simply. His face shifted into an easy smile, and for a heartbeat, Matilda wished she’d been able to feel anything beyond mere friendship. But it had never been that way with him, at least on her part. “How is the healing of Lord Westfall? Have you made progress?”“Some,” she hedged. Insulting a prince, even one who was a former friend, by striding off was not wise, but the longer this conversation went on … She took a breath. “I would like to stay and talk—”“Then stay.” That smile broadened. Handsome—Kashin was truly a handsome man. If he had been anyone else, bore any other title—She shook her head, offering a tight smile. “Lord Westfall is expectin

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    There was only darkness, and pain.He roared against it, distantly aware of the bit in his mouth, the rawness of his throat.Burned alive burned alive burned aliveThe void showed him fire. A woman with golden-brown hair and matching skin screaming in agony toward the heavens.It showed him a broken body on a bloody bed. A head rolling across a marble floor.You did this you did this you did thisIt showed a woman with eyes of blue flame and hair of pure gold poised above him, dagger raised and angling to plunge into his heart.He wished. He sometimes wished that she hadn’t been stopped.The scar on his face—from the nails she’d gouged into it when she first struck him … It was that hateful wish he thought of when he looked in the mirror. The body on the bed and that cold room and that scream. The collar on a tan throat and a smile that did not belong to a beloved face. The heart he’d offered and had been left to drop on the wooden planks of the river docks. An assassin who had sailed

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    She knew what he meant. Matilda dabbed at the blood on her chest. “I went in there, to the site of the scar, and it was the same as before. A wall that no strike of my gang could crumble. I think it showed me …” Her fingers tightened on the shirt as she pressed it against the blood soaboss her front.“What?”“Morath,” she breathed, and he could have sworn even the birds’ singing faltered in the garden. “It showed some memory, left behind in you. It showed me a great black fortress full of horrors. An army waiting in the mountains around it.”His blood iced over as he realized whose memory it might belong to. “Real or —was it some manipulation against you?” The way his own memories had been wielded.“I don’t know,” Matilda admitted. “But then I heard your screaming. Not out here, but … in there.” She wiped at her nose again. “And I realized that attacboss that solid wall was … I think it was a distraction. A diversion. So I followed the sounds of your screaming. To you.” To that p

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    Her aunt—still a full-figured beautiful woman whose four children had not slowed her down one bit—nodded in approval. “I told Brahim just this morning that our cook is better than the ones up at that palace.”A snort of amusement from a level up, from the wood-screened window overlooboss the courtyard. Her uncle’s study. One of the few common rooms on the usually private second level. “Careful, Zahida, or the Carl may hear you and haul dear old Cook to his palace.”Her aunt rolled her eyes at the figure just barely visible through the ornate wood screen and looped her arm through Nasri ’s. “Snoop. Always eavesdropping on our conversations down here.”Her uncle chuckled but made no further comment.Nasri grinned, letting her aunt lead her toward the spacious interior of the home, past the curvy-bodied statue of Inna, Goddess of Peaceful Households and the Balruhni people, her arms upraised in welcome and defense. “Perhaps the palace’s inferior cook is why the royals are so skinny.”

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    Her uncle swore, earning a look from her aunt. But even her aunt rubbed at her chest before asboss , “We’d heard the rumors, but … You have now come to warn us?”Nasri nodded. “The attack lines up with the techniques of enemies in Eagles gang . If they are here, in this city, I fear it may be in connection to my arrival.”She had not dared tell her aunt and uncle too much. Not for lack of trust, but for fear of who might be listening. So they did not know of the Valg, or Erawan, or the keys.They knew of her quest to raise an army, for that was no secret, but … She did not risk telling them of Sartaq. That he and his rukhin might be the path toward winning support from the Carl , that his people might know something about the Valg that even they had not discovered in dealing with them. She did not even risk telling them she’d been on the prince’s ruk. Not that they’d really believe it. Well-off as her family might be, there was wealth, and then there was royalty.Her uncle said, “Wi

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    What she had admitted about her mother … She had only told Hadiza upon entering the Torre. No one else. She had told no one else, not since she’d staggered onto her mother’s cousin’s farm and begged for sanctuary and shelter.She wondered how long his own story had been locked in his chest.“Let me order food first,” Matilda decided. She glanced toward the wood screen shielding the bathing room from sight, then down at her blood-crusted chest and dress. “While we wait … I might beg to use your bath. And borrow a set of your clothes.”Leonard was still watching her with that focused, calm face. A different one from any she’d seen on him before. As if in shaving off some of that darkness, it had revealed this facet beneath.This man she had not yet met.She wasn’t sure what to do with it. With him.“Take whatever you want,” Leonard told her, his voice low—rough.Matilda was light-headed when she crawled off the bed, taboss his ruined shirt with her, and hurried for the bathing cha

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    Leonard kept moving his toes long after Matilda had left. He wriggled them inside his boots, not quite feeling them, but just enough to know they were moving.However Matilda had done it …He didn’t tell Nasri when she returned before dinner, no sign of the Valg to report. And he’d only quietly explained that he was maboss enough progress with Matilda that he’d like to put off tomorrow’s visit to her family until another day.She’d seemed a tad crestfallen, but had agreed, that cool mask slipping back over her face within a few blinks.He kissed her when she’d walked by to dress for dinner.He’d grabbed her by the wrist and tugged her down, and kissed her once.Brief—but thorough.She’d been surprised enough that by the time he’d pulled away, she hadn’t so much as laid a hand on him.“Get ready,” he told her, motioning to her room.With a backward glance at him, a half smile on her mouth, Nasri obeyed.Leonard stared after her for a few minutes, shifting his toes in his boots.

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