The Clockwork Crown by Beth Cato

Author:Beth Cato
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2015-04-30T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 14

“Oh, Lady,” Octavia whispered as she recoiled from Devin Stout. His body, his blood, pleaded for healing. The chemical stink of brain tainted the air. She set the parasol on the counter and backed away until she found the wall. Peeling paint crackled against her back.

Rivka shakily stood. She was tall and lean, her body still hesitant to bud into a woman’s curves. Her lips distorted in a sneer as she walked up to her father.

“You killed Mama! You killed her! You were my father all along and you never said . . . !” Rivka kicked Mr. Stout in the ribs, the gut. Octavia lurched forward to grab her around the shoulders and pull her back.

“No,” she said gently. Rivka sheltered her face in Octavia’s shoulder and dissolved in sobs. Octavia held her and stared at the two bodies on the floor. This poor girl. No wonder she knew terror every moment in his presence.

King Kethan did not die. His distorted song scarcely altered. It had flared when the knife sliced in, but as she listened, the tune dimmed as his abdomen came together again. The blood that had oozed out—­thick as oil, the coloration as deep as copper—­dissolved as if she had passed a wand over him. He sucked in a long, rattling breath.

Devin Stout continued to die. He needed to die.

If I were a better medician, a more compassionate person, I would use a leaf on him. He’s Mrs. Stout’s son. She loves him. Yet Octavia stared at him and didn’t move.

His blood’s cry dwindled to a whimper.

“He was my grandson.” King Kethan’s voice rattled like bared tree branches in a windstorm. Rivka stiffened in Octavia’s arms.

“Yes.”

“The war did that to him. My wars.”

“Only in part, perhaps. His mind . . . maybe something was always wrong there, in some deep place no medician could ever touch.”

“Octavia Leander, you need not feel any guilt. I absolve you of it.”

Her smile quivered. “It’s not that easy.”

“No,” he said. “It never is.”

Rivka trembled. “He’s not dead? The King?”

“No. This isn’t the first time you’ve faced death again since you returned, is it, Grandfather?”

He stood with a whisper of bones. “No. I tried to end myself in many ways, as did Evandia’s men, when they realized what had been done. No mortal blade can slice the seed from my flesh. No maggots can gnaw it out. This is why I stayed in the vault. In truth, we knew not what to do, not with the Tree still hidden.”

Mr. Stout’s body was silent.

Rivka pried herself away from Octavia’s hug. She walked a wide berth around Mr. Stout, as much as possible in the tight space, to the King. King Kethan’s face showed shock as the girl embraced him. He smiled as he wrapped his baggy-­sleeved arms around her.

“You. You remind me of my Allendia,” he said.

“I’m glad he didn’t kill you, too,” Rivka said, words muffled against the robe. His song radiated a strange sort of harmony for the first time.

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