City of Ruin, page 21
My breath catches, and I have to blink a few times. “Selene?” I don’t know why it’s a question, or perhaps it’s confusion. But my heartbeat quickens.
“Bronson said to watch over you tonight,” she whispers, and I can’t help but cling to the relief in her eyes. “He hoped you would wake.”
It takes me a moment to remember why I would need the healer’s help, and why I’m in my chambers—in my bed—and Selene is sitting on the mattress beside me as if she belongs there. Only then do I realize I’m holding her hand against my cheek. She must realize it too, because a second later, she slowly pulls away.
“You’ll be all right,” she promises. And when Selene leans back, she takes her warmth with her. “You hit your head in the falling rubble, and you may have fractured your leg.”
I remember the sweltering heat, the dust, and the clank of falling metal. The crumble of brick. “We were turning for the exit . . .” I remember aloud. “But the earth shook me off of my feet.” My eyes dart to hers. “Remy?” I hold my breath, watching her features shift ever so slightly. He’d called for me—lunged to push me outside.
Selene’s eyes sadden and she bites her bottom lip. “I’m afraid your foreman didn’t make it,” she says sympathetically, and brushes her thumb where she holds my arm.
My chest tightens and I look away, my thoughts consumed by Remy’s family.
“Apparently, the south end of the foundry saw the worst of it. There were a few casualties, including the Council’s proxy—”
“What?” My heart stills, but it isn’t sorrow or regret that fills every inch of me, but dread.
Selene shakes her head. “I’m sorry. They told us—”
I let my head fall back against my pillow. “They will think I had something to do with this,” I mutter, the urgency to ride to the city clawing at me. “They knew—” I wince as I try to move again. They knew about Selene, and whatever they are scheming, they will think I am trying to thwart their plans.
“I know more than anyone how much stronger the quakes are in the city. I’m sure they felt its magnitude far more than we—”
“You don’t understand,” I practically growl, though I don’t mean to. Rubbing my forehead, I squeeze my eyes shut. All I can think of is Paige again, unprotected. “They are looking for any reason to act against me—” I brace my hands on the mattress to sit up again. “Where is Collins?”
Selene reaches for me, resting her hand on my shoulder as if to soothe me. “He’s gone,” she says calmly. “He wanted them to hear what happened to the proxy straight from him, in person. To tell them you were injured and reassure the Council no foul play was involved. He even rode ahead before they could reclaim the body from the rubble.”
“Then how do you know he is dead? He could still be alive.”
She shakes her head. “I doubt that is possible,” she says, and I listen with bated breath. “I was told it will take half of the night to sift through all of the bricks. Besides,” she continues, “Collins knew you would worry, so he took the proxy’s manservant to bolster his claim. He barely survived himself, apparently. They left for the city an hour ago.”
As quickly as all my anxieties tripled, a measure of relief washes over me, calming my nerves enough to allow me a deep breath. “Good.” I exhale. It’s only a sigh, but it’s all I can manage. Collins will know what to do and say in my stead. Though, the idea of them learning I’m injured worries me as well. Flinging the blanket back, I try to climb out of bed.
“Please—stop.”
I cringe as my weight settles over me.
“You’ll only make it worse.”
I shake my head, my eyes flashing to Selene. “And if they say I am unfit? They could make their move now—”
“That will take days,” she says, her voice firm. And with a stern gaze, she presses me down against the pillow again. “There is time to think this through, I assure you. The city often bears the brunt of the quakes. Who knows what disrepair the districts are facing this very moment?”
I stare at her, hearing the truth in her words. Selene would know, and she is right, thank the gods. Whatever we felt here was five times worse there. With a discontented sigh, I stare up at the ceiling.
“I hope you don’t mind,” Selene starts again, and she dips a discarded cloth into a water bowl. “I’ve asked Ms. Fairchild to make Remy’s family some meals to send over. I know they must be inconsolable, too much to worry about—”
Her words taper off, and I realize I’m frowning. My heart feels too heavy as I think of Remy—a father and husband—gone. The last thing he’d done was to try to get me out of there, and he’d paid the price for it.
“Um—apologies.” Selene sets the cloth down as she straightens. “I didn’t mean to overstep. I thought someone should see to these things, and Prudy—”
“No.” I reach for her, but drop my arm, regretting it immediately as my body protests. “You didn’t overstep,” I tell her with a pained exhale. Squeezing my eyes shut, I try to get a hold of myself and focus. After a heartbeat, I clear my throat and rub my hands over my face. “Thank you for doing that. I want them to have all that they need. I just—” All I’m certain of is my friend, who has been on this journey with me since my father died, is gone forever. “He—he pushed me out of the way.” The words nearly cut through me and tears blur my eyes.
Selene rests her hand on my forearm, lightly squeezing. “He saved you because he wanted you to live. Because he cared about you and what you do here for everyone he cares about.”
Unable to meet her gaze, to see any sort of sympathy in her eyes, I lean my head back again, the gratitude and guilt nearly swallowing me whole. A heartbeat passes. A minute. And finally, anger grips me. “Is there no end to any of it?” I clench my fists at my side. “Have we not lost enough—have we not suffered and endured enough?”
“Papa?” Paige whispers from the doorway, stirring me from dark, desperate thoughts.
Blinking the tears from my eyes, I look up and move to wipe my brow with the back of my arm, ignoring that my body feels as if Midnight has thrown and kicked me far too many times to count.
“Come in,” Selene tells her, rising to her feet. She sets the dish of cool rags on my nightstand and motions for my daughter to take her spot. Mona steps into the room behind her as Paige runs over.
“I knew you were too stubborn to die,” Mona quips, lifting her brow with amusement. Her eyes rake over me, assessing. “A little worse for wear, but still breathing, as I expected.”
Selene heads for the doorway, and though I want to ask her to stay, the relief in Paige’s eyes consumes me. The tears filling their green depths and trickling down her cheek cinch my heart until I can hardly stand it.
“Don’t cry,” I plead, wiping them away.
“You almost died,” she whimpers, but I shake my head.
“No, I’m all right. It’s just a scratch.”
Paige sniffles and drags her arm across her snotty nose.
“Come,” I say, voice hoarse with emotion as I try to clear it away. I open my arms and Paige climbs into them, wrapping herself around me. I grimace but revel in the pain as I squeeze my eyes shut. Feeling the burn in the backs of my eyes, I breathe my daughter in. I would never leave you. I love you. The words are there, but catch in my throat. “Please,” I repeat, “don’t cry.” It’s all I can manage, and as I open my eyes, Selene tears her gaze from us and steps out of the room.
34
SELENE
I barely have time to discard the bloody, tepid water bowl on the hallway table before falling into the wall to catch my breath. My heart hurts. For Paige. For the reality of what she might’ve lost today.
I know all too well what it is to be without parents, and upon finding the wagon empty in the drive, and Blackburn’s body unmoving in his bed, I thought she might suffer the same heartbreak.
How can a man so hard-edged and broken have such softness in his eyes? Such love and devotion for his daughter, even if he never allows himself to show it? I still tell myself my father loved me in his own way, despite bartering my life away. But I know it was nothing compared to Blackburn’s affection for Paige; all he’s endured for her. And the misery in his eyes nearly ripped my heart in two.
Holding my breath, I listen to their murmurs. He utters reassurances as though there are any certainties in this world. As if everything would have been okay, even if he hadn’t been.
Tears fill my eyes as the truth of my unwanted feelings ring too loud to ignore. It’s relief blooming in my chest. Relief that Blackburn is alive and that Paige still has a father. But more than that, it’s relief that the way we parted in the woods is not the last words we’ll have ever spoken, and the anger in my voice and hate in my heart is not how he will remember me.
Swallowing my unexpected grief, I take a deep, steadying breath, bracing my palms against the wall. Mona’s voice reaches my ears, and our conversation cannot be undone—my mother’s words cannot be forgotten. Though my fate in this place feels thrust upon me, it’s not wholly unwanted. I’m not sure it ever was.
35
GREYSON
I watch the fire flickering low in the hearth beside my bed, my eyes heavy but my mind unable to rest. It takes nearly two days to get to the city, which means I must stew for another three, at least, before Collins returns with word from the Council. I pray he thinks to check in with Chauncey while he’s there, to learn of any rumors about the ship, or about the Council moving against me. Though I can’t say Cecil’s death saddens me, it might be the final tipping of the scales.
And the foundry . . . I fling the blankets off, unable to sit idle a moment longer. I hate feeling like an invalid. The spicy scent of yarrow wafts off of me, like I’ve been dipped from head to toe in one of Bronson’s vats of salve. And despite my head still pounding, my insides will be overflowing before breakfast if I drink any more of Mona’s special teas.
The rug is cool but plush beneath my bare feet, and I ignore my body’s protestations as I limp my way to the window. My leg isn’t broken so much as it looks mangled by a rabid dog from Bart pulling me out of the rubble. The bruises, cuts, and scrapes on my face and torso are constant reminders of my continued inability to keep the people I care about safe, and I welcome the discomfort of them.
Had I focused more on securing the castle seven years ago, lives might’ve been saved.
Had I finished the foundry, instead of spreading my workers so thin, it might’ve held strong in the earthquake.
And that I should be the one to survive again is the cruelest of jokes, and yet, I cannot help but be grateful. The realization burns like acid through me.
I toss the drapes open, letting the early morning light filter in, blaring as it is. I don’t know why I peer past the beech tree line along the property’s edge, as if I might be able to see Northshire, but I know Draven is there, and it makes me all the more anxious for Collins’s return.
The door handle jiggles, and I hear the clank of dishes.
“Prudy—” I grumble. “I’m not the slightest bit thirsty, nor hungry.” I glance behind me to find Selene standing in the open doorway. Her hair tumbles over her shoulders like spun gold, practically glowing against the garnet dress I’ve admired on her before.
She takes in the sight of me in equal measure. And only then does it dawn on me I’m only in my night pants.
“Forgive me,” she says, glancing furtively around the room. “I thought you would still be asleep.”
“Yes, well, you have to fall asleep to stay asleep,” I mutter, and peer once more out the window. I’m not sure I have the energy to contemplate her reasons for being so attentive to me after our deplorable conversation in the woods, not when I have an estate that might now be in dire need of saving.
“Perhaps you’d like some breakfast then, since you’re already—” The china clinks together as she comes to an abrupt halt behind me.
I pivot to find her gaping at my canvases, partially covered and stacked haphazardly beside my wardrobe.
“You paint,” she breathes, and her gaze darts to me.
The absolute shock in her eyes confuses me, and I frown. “I used to. Not much anymore.” She sets the tray on the table in front of the fire, eyes glued to the discarded atrocities that should never see the light of day.
I take a hobbled step toward her, ignoring the pain in my flare of panic. “Miss Sinclair,” I say warningly as she moves closer. “Miss Sinclair, don’t—”
She tugs the cloth away and straightens. Her painted eyes, malformed as they are, stare out from the canvas.
I don’t dare admit I’ve only recently picked up a brush for the first time in years, needing to rid myself of her disdainful blue gaze that’s plagued me since her arrival.
Selene’s features give nothing away as she steps closer. She fingers the fabric of the dress she’s wearing, its painted likeness paltry in color.
“Red,” she rasps, and her hand covers her mouth. “You were painting.”
I don’t know what epiphany she’s having, but I squeeze my eyes shut, rubbing my brow in utter mortification. “You were not supposed to see those,” I admit. None of this was supposed to happen this way, and it’s all I can do to find solace in the fact that she can’t possibly deplore me more than she already does.
Selene’s gaze burns the side of my face, and with a groan, I finally muster the courage to look at her.
She tilts her head, considering something as she stares at me, as if she’s trying to understand. “They are paintings of me.”
“As you can see,” I tell her brusquely, eyes locked on hers as I brace myself for her scorn.
Instead, she turns back for the tray on the table. Confused, I watch as she pours a cup of tea before nodding to my leg. “Are you in pain?”
Yes. “No, I’m well enough.” My brow furrows, unnerved by whatever is happening. But I don’t wish to speak of the paintings any more than she seems to, so I embrace it. “I don’t need to be coddled, Miss Sinclair. There’s far too much to do.”
“Yes, well, you’re right,” she says offhandedly. “It’s already been, what, a handful of hours since you nearly died?” Her eyes flick to me. “You better not recuperate for too terribly long.” Sarcasm drips from her words, and though I give her a sidelong look, I’ve missed the curtness in her tone. “Restless or not, Master Blackburn, it behooves you to take things slowly.” She uses that damned moniker again, but the command in her voice is pleasantly surprising. It’s as if she cares, just a little.
Selene uncovers a plate of toast, oblivious.
“Shouldn’t you be with Paige, teaching her something?” I grumble. “It should be Rosemary tending to me, or Prudy. Not you.”
Her expression folds a little, and I realize how rude that sounds.
“It’s not your job to bring me breakfast,” I clarify, and then I realize she likely assumes I expect this of her. “Selene . . .” I sigh, exhausted despite my restlessness. “I know you think I’m a beastly man, but I don’t expect you to wait on me, or to serve me in some way.”
She straightens, running her hands down the front of her dress again. It’s a nervous habit I’m noticing more and more. “I know,” she says simply. “But I want to.”
My brow twitches in surprise as she clears her throat, delicate noise that it is.
“Now,” she starts again. “Would you like to eat in bed this morning, or at the table?” Her eyes drift to my chest and I tell myself it’s only curiosity I see in her gaze, nothing more.
“The table is fine,” I murmur, and walk over to it. A sharp pain shoots through my thigh as I take a step, making me stagger. I latch onto the bedpost for support with a curse.
“Easy,” Selene coos as she hurries over to help shoulder some of my weight. “There’s a reason Bronson told you not to walk around yet. Why we all have—” Her voice peters out when I glare at her, but there’s no genuine anger in it. I’m too busy noticing how she nestles under my arm perfectly.
“I can’t lie in bed and do nothing,” I grumble, and allow her to help me into the chair at the table.
“I’m sure there is plenty we can find for you to do while you convalesce. Is there work in your study I can bring up for you, perhaps? Or books you would like to read? You have two libraries full of them.” Selene uncovers fried eggs, blueberries, and a few slices of ham to go with my toast.
“Did you make this?” I ask.
She laughs—actually smiles so wide it reaches her eyes—and my heart stumbles. “Good gracious, no. I don’t know how to cook, but Ms. Fairchild saw to it to make everyone breakfast before she started on today’s meals for Remy’s family.”
The truth of all that happened last night settles in again, and I find my appetite wanes once more. Selene’s stomach, however, seems to feel the opposite.
Her cheeks blush, and her hand flies to her middle as her stomach rumbles again. “I’m not sure where that came from,” she says bashfully, and I can’t help a smile of my own.
“Sit, eat something with me—”
“Oh, I couldn’t. I’m not hungry.”
I lift my eyebrow.
“I couldn’t,” she continues to protest, but I point to the other chair and nod.
“You can, and you will. I don’t need you fussing over me, and I can’t eat all of this on my own. I barely have an appetite as it is.”
With a sigh, Selene pulls out the chair across from me. Only as the air shifts around us as she moves do I remember my absence of a shirt again, but I suppose modesty went out the window the moment she tended to me in bed.
My chest warms, reimagining her beside me when I first opened my eyes. “Thank you,” I say, cutting into a slice of ham. “You did not have to tend to me last night. Bronson or Prudy, even Mona could’ve done it. I’m sure it was unpleasant and frightening.”
Selene plops a blueberry into her mouth. “Yes, I suppose they could have tended to you,” she says, “but I wanted to.” Her voice is softer than before, less surly, and she plops another blueberry onto her tongue.
