Fatal Heir by L C Ireland

Author:L C Ireland [Ireland, L C]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781943367030
Publisher: Ghost Light Studios
Published: 2019-12-02T22:00:00+00:00

22

Daffodils

The journey back to the baron’s estate was a slog through dark, muddy streets. None of us spoke, only communicating with gestures and exhausted grunts when we sensed danger nearby.

Nettie met us at the gates. She noticed right away that only the four of us returned. Still, her eyes scanned our faces with the tiniest, most painful shred of hope.

Until I remembered I was still clutching Elijah’s bracelet in my hand, caked with my own dried blood.

I held it out to her. When she saw what it was, her face fell. She reached out and took the bracelet into her hands.

And then she fell, collapsing to her knees in the grass, clutching the bracelet to her chest and sobbing. Her father knelt beside her and wrapped his arms around her heaving shoulders.

We stared on with hollow eyes.

Someone led us to the baron’s manor, showed us rooms crammed with extra cots and blankets. An elderly woman handed me clean clothing and pointed the way to the bath house. I hardly perceived any of it.

Someone grabbed my sleeve and guided me through the halls like I was a lost little child. In the bath house, I fumbled with my own buttons until another man clucked his tongue and helped me undress and splashed buckets of warm water over me.

A rag and a bar of soap were thrust into my hands. I stared at them, forgetting entirely what they were meant for. The man wet the rag in a bucket of water and shoved it in my face. It was already filthy when I pulled it away.

As I cleaned myself, I took stock of my situation as if I were looking at someone else’s body. A bruise here, a cut there. The slightly off-color skin on my legs from the times Zarra had used the Boot on me. The shaggy hair and patchy, scruffy hint of my first beard.

I dripped dry, staring at the wall of the bath house, seeing Elijah’s face and the deadmen and Nettie’s tears, until someone draped a length of linen over my shoulder. I toweled off and pulled on the simple blue tunic and brown britches I had been loaned.

I had to ask directions back to the manor because I hadn’t paid any attention on the way out.

I wandered the halls until I found the room I had been shown earlier. Rath sat on one of the cots, looking just as exhausted as I felt. Progolo was perched on the edge of the bed in a dressing gown and elegant robe, writing notes in a journal as he and Rath conversed. Two other men were already asleep on cots.

“This is your room?” I asked. “I don’t mean to intrude.”

Progolo’s bed had been shoved against a wall to make room for the other cots and piles of blankets.

“It’s no trouble at all.”

“Won’t your wife be upset?”

Progolo’s smile faded. He set the journal on the table beside the bed. “My wife hasn’t been around for a while now. I’m sure wherever her spirit is, she doesn’t mind my sharing our room with those in need.

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