Page 47

Chapter 47

Kat

“When is your next raid?” Mary asks in a whisper as she works a sweet-smelling herbal hair growth serum into my scalp before bed. Rahk has been out all evening—doing what, I have no idea—and so we aren’t at risk of being overheard. I have not stopped thinking about the conversation we had earlier. I had not realized how much I wanted him to say, “Nothing takes me back to Nothril. I would rather stay here with you.” But I have always known he would go back. Now I understand why.

I never expected him to mention the Ivy Mask. My memory flashes back to the tentacled monster, when he told me he needed my help to save his sister. The pitiful part of me wanted then to shout, “I’m the Ivy Mask! I thought you wanted to destroy me—but you really just want my help? Of course I will help your sister!”

But no matter how deeply I long to fully trust Rahk, the stronger, more determined side of me demands reason. I can still help his sister—but he can never know who I am. If he has not already received orders to kill me, then that will change the moment I rescue his sister, and he will know who I am and how to find me.

I pick hair out of the brush she was just using. “It’s the day after the ball. I’m going to the Star City this time. Then it’s only a week before the big Nothril raid.”

Mary inhales slowly.

I lower my gaze to my lap. “I know I’m going to have to stop.”

“You’ve done so much for those people, Kat.”

“I know,” I groan, flopping back on the bed when she is finished with my hair. “But it’s never enough. There’s so many more to be helped.”

“You don’t have to help them all .”

“How can I stop at some? How can I walk away from it? Mary, I’ve known for some time that it can’t go on forever—but I just cannot imagine trying to live with myself knowing that there are people out there. Suffering. Parted from their families. Wishing to be free.”

She pulls a face. “But ultimately, you aren’t responsible for them.”

“Yes, I am!” I cry, surprising both of us with my vehemence. “I have the means to help them. So to stand by and do nothing is tantamount to imprisoning them myself.”

Mary turns fierce. “No, it is not . And you don’t have the means to help them anymore. Not without risking your life.”

“I’ve risked my life from the beginning, Mary.”

“Not like this.” She turns pleading, taking my hand in both of hers. “Kat, you’re all I have. You cannot count your life as cheap. Your parents would be heartbroken to see you so cavalierly—”

“Don’t bring them into this.”

She smacks the back of my head with the soft side of the brush. “They’re the reason you’re doing this. They’re at the core of this. I cannot bring them into it any more than you have. You know I will help you in any way I can. You know I love you like my own sister. And as a sister, I am afraid for you. I’m afraid the work you do will never be enough—and that you will sacrifice your life needlessly. I just . . . I just want you to be at peace, Kat.”

My shoulders collapse. I haven’t the will to fight her anymore.

She seems to be trying to find the right thing to say as she changes the subject. “Lord Rahk is very kind to you.”

“You don’t even know the half of it,” I say, sagging even further.

She regards me with concern. “I know you’re being careful.”

A growling sigh escapes me. “I’m trying!”

The unmistakable sound of the front door opening and closing, followed by booted footsteps, announces Rahk’s arrival. Mary and I share a quick look. I fear what might be visible on my face.

Mary, ever practical, merely picks up the jar of fae salve and motions for me to hike my nightgown and give her my calf. I listen to the pattern of footsteps, trying to determine Rahk’s destination as the they grow fainter, and then louder. They come down the hallway. Mary’s hand freezes just before she sticks it into the salve. A knock sounds on the door.

I swallow hard. “Come in.”

Rahk’s silver head is the first thing I see. His black eyes fall almost immediately to the exposed wound on my calf. My mouth goes dry. I’m suddenly very conscious of how dark it is, the fact that I wear only a nightgown, and I wonder if this is the night he decides to spend with me instead of at his desk.

“Thank you, Mary. You may go,” Rahk says with a nod.

Mary’s eyes find mine for only a half of a second before she sets the open salve down on the quilt, curtsies, and leaves. Rahk shuts the door behind her.

“You’ve been gone,” I say to fill the silence.

It takes him only three strides to stand in front of where I sit on the bed. He takes up Mary’s spot, sitting beside me. With one hand, he picks up the container. With the other, he takes a creamy dollop and lightly dabs it across my scar. It tingles against my skin.

“I was at the edge of the Long Lost Wood again,” he tells me. He sets down the container and places his palm over my kneecap, holding my leg still as he gently massages the salve into my scar with two fingers. The pressure, though light, is enough to sharpen the remnant of the pain. I brace against it. Rahk’s eyes flick up to me briefly before returning to his work.

“What did you find?”

“The queen still refuses to meet with the troll. The forest continues to recede. I had to intervene to keep Ymer from killing someone who tripped in their efforts to escape him. I am also concerned by how close the humans get to the edge of the Wood. They’ve discovered that the closer they are to the source, the better and faster their crops grow. It would not be difficult for an accident to happen, and one of them to trip over the border. A few thieves have also appeared.”

“This isn’t good,” I say, chewing the inside of my cheek to stay focused on his words and not his touch. As he nears the edge of the wound and the cream works its magic, the pain disappears, and all I’m left with is the sensation of his warm fingers working against my skin.

“No, it isn’t.” Rahk finishes his ministrations and wipes his hand on his trousers before screwing on the lid and returning the salve to its place on the vanity. He takes up his seat beside me again, so that we’re both watching the candles flicker in front of the mirror.

I rack my brain for something else to say on the subject and come up short. Instead, I ask, “Are you tired?”

He sighs. “I am.” Then he glances sidelong at me. “You must be too.”

At this moment? I’m wide awake. “It was a very full day.”

“I shall leave you to your rest, in that case.”

I blink, surprised, as he stands. He’s not staying? I expect relief, and all I find is disappointment. He pauses in front of where I sit.

Slowly, he leans down, planting his hands on the bed, flanking either side of me.

I stare up at him, wide-eyed, forgetting to breathe.

His gaze travels over my face, lingering on the faint scars on my temple, then my freckles, and then, finally, my lips. He brings his gaze back up to mine and pins me there with the force of his endless black eyes.

“Would you like a kiss goodnight?” he asks softly.

“I know you’re being careful”— Mary’s voice echoes into my thoughts, completely unbidden, reminding me exactly what reply I ought to give my husband in this moment.

“Yes,” I breathe, hating myself for my weakness, hating myself for revealing so much to Rahk in one word.

His hand lands on my neck, his thumb stroking beneath my chin as his mouth presses against mine.

How can his lips be so soft? All thoughts scatter in the wake of that question, because when I assume his kiss will be short, it lengthens and slows. I don’t breathe for a single second, terrified for the moment he pulls away. But he lingers, kissing me sweeter and longer.

When he does finally pull away, candlelight flickers across his bright eyes, highlighting the color in his cheeks, the intensity of his focus. His touch remains a moment longer. His fingers move slightly on the back of my neck, his thumb tracing my jaw.

“Goodnight.” His voice is a low rasp as he withdraws.

My mouth has fallen open, and I only realize it when he releases my hand and strides out of the room.

He’s gone. I catch my breath, pressing my hand to my heart and staring into the darkness. I wonder how much longer I can lie to myself. I wonder how I will ever be free of him, even after he returns to Nothril.

“I have a surprise for you,” Rahk tells me several days later over breakfast.

I set down the bite I’m about to take. “A surprise?”

“We’ll leave in an hour.”

“Leave? Where are we going?”

He looks up, and even though his expression doesn’t change, his amusement carries in his tone. “I said it was a surprise.”

I look down at my breakfast. The morning light shines across my mostly eaten poached eggs, sausage, toast, and a fresh glass of orange juice. It is a delicious breakfast, but my attention is suddenly much too diverted. “Are we going riding? Is it something we’re doing, or a gift? If it’s a gift, you really have been giving me too many gifts! Or are we seeing a person? Are we seeing my cousin about the estate?”

His mouth twitches, but he doesn’t reply.

“Rahk!”

Finally, a smirk ghosts across his face as he looks at me. “If you’re that impatient, we could go now.”

“Yes!” I shove back my chair and get to my feet. “Let’s go!”

He smiles and follows me to the front of the house. As he hands me into the carriage he says, “I thought you might want to go straight there. It is why I waited until the end of breakfast to mention it.”

My eyes widen just as I land on the cushion. “Did you not get to finish your breakfast? We can go back! I didn’t mean to pull you away—”

He climbs in beside me—instead of across from me—chuckling as the footman closes the door. He stretches his legs across the space in the cab, lets out a sigh, and leans back. He casually drapes his arms over the back of the bench. I happen to be sitting upright when he does so, which then presents me with the option of sitting with a ramrod spine the entire drive . . . or leaning back into his arm. I prefer the latter option, with the exception that it feels very intentional. Leaning back is a statement.

So is staying upright .

I lean toward the window, avoiding either statement, and eagerly peer out of it. Then, when that doesn’t give me clues as to the surprise, I turn toward Rahk. “Do I get a hint?”

One of his legs is stretched straight, and he draws the other one up so it’s bent at the knee. He looks down at me. I’m very aware of how only six inches separate my arm from his side.

“Do you want a hint?” he asks.

I nod quickly.

“Well, let’s see,” he murmurs, shifting his gaze to the opposite side of the carriage. At the same time, he slides his arm and wraps it around my shoulders, drawing me against him.

My eyes nearly bug out of my head in surprise. His familiar scent fills my awareness, somehow both soothing and enlivening. I should resist this—I should resist him —just like I should have resisted the kiss he gave me a few nights ago that I have not stopped dreaming about since.

But I love how warm his side feels. I love that he wanted me here. I love the way his hand settles on my ribcage and makes me forget every reason I wanted to stay sitting upright.

“It is a place,” he begins, “that was once stolen, but is now restored.”

That distracts me enough that I make a face. “What is that supposed to mean?”

He lifts one eyebrow, trying not to smile as he looks down at me. He gives my ribs a soft stroke. “That’s the only hint you get.”

“I asked for a hint, not a riddle,” I reply, sitting backward. “Are you taking me to the Long Lost Wood? What surprise would you have for me there? Dead bodies and a house-sized vegetable?”

A wave of frustration over that situation passes across his face. Then he pats me lightly. “You only need be patient for a few more minutes.”

Those minutes last a lifetime. I’m not sure what to do with the rather intimate way he has his arm around me. It feels silly and strange to ask, “Does this mean you have feelings for me and want our marriage to be more than an inconvenient arrangement? I suppose the kiss might have also indicated that, but you haven’t been kissing me the last few nights, so I don’t know if that was a one-time thing. And if you go back to Nothril, would you ever visit me?” It occurs to me several minutes later that he has given me an opportunity to reciprocate in some way—to flirt back, to lean closer.

And I cannot deny that in other circumstances, I think I would do exactly that. Maybe he would kiss me then. Maybe he would stop sleeping in his study then.

But the more I think about it, the more upset I become. He doesn’t know I’m the Ivy Mask. I’ve lied to him and deceived him. I know our marriage can never work. He doesn’t know any of this—save that he will live in Nothril and I will live here. I have to be the one to keep the boundaries between us. As much as I loved that kiss, as much as I want more and more and more, how can I accept his affection, knowing what I know—and knowing what he doesn’t know?

The carriage comes to a halt. I’ve forgotten about the surprise. I should be excited for it, but I find myself dreading it instead. Rahk removes his arm from around me and climbs out of the carriage, turning to help me out after him.

Then I forget everything of the past few minutes.

Because we are standing in front of Vandermore Manor, with its vibrant green lawn and the shrubs trimmed into a rearing stallion, and every familiar door and window.

I turn in confusion to Rahk. “What are we doing here? Are we meeting with Agatha?”

If we are, I did not mentally prepare myself. What a nasty surprise that would be!

“She isn’t here,” Rahk replies evenly as he marches toward the door.

I keep pace with him. “Is she out calling? Are we here to see Bridget and Edith? Bridget often calls on her friends in the morning, so it will probably only be Edith.”

“None of them are here.”

I stop in front of the door. Charles hurries to open it, and I barely remember to send him a warm smile in my confusion. “Then why? I don’t understand.”

“We are here,” Rahk announces as we cross the threshold, “because this is your house now.”

My feet root to the spot. My mind rejects every attempt at understanding this statement.

“It’s part of your inheritance.”

I turn incredulous eyes up at him as realization dawns. “Are you saying that you kicked Agatha, Bridget, and Edith out of this house?”

He is standing with his legs braced wide, arms crossed over his chest, surveying the parlor where my identity was discovered. “It wasn’t their house.”

A loud, unladylike chortle bursts from my throat. I stare at this man—this fae—in utter astonishment. “You—” Nothing coherent emerges from my mouth. I shake my head and try again. “But—but I don’t need this house! I’m living with you.”

“They didn’t need it either,” he replies. “They had more than enough money from your bride price to purchase their own living.”

I should feel terrible. I should insist that the money Rahk gave them should be put toward Bridget and Edith’s dowries. Instead, I start laughing and I cannot stop. Tears leak from my eyes as I whack his arm soundly. “You are utterly wicked!”

He cocks one eyebrow at me. “I am a Nothril prince.”

“When did you do this?” I demand, going to Agatha’s favorite sitting room. Everything is in its place. Even the harpsichord Edith abused so soundly sits in its corner. The sheet music, however, is all gone.

“A week ago.” He goes to the mantel and drags his finger along the wood. His nose wrinkles slightly, and I don’t know if it’s because of the dust that comes away on his fingers, or whatever his keen fae nose smells. “Your stepmother was shocked.”

“Am I a terrible person for wishing I had seen that?” I reply, wandering to the next room.

“No.”

I come to the dining room where I ate so many meals with my stepfamily. Something about it pricks my heart, leaving a pulsing ache behind. I sigh and close the door, continuing down the hallway toward the spiral staircase to the second floor. “Sometimes I don’t know what to think of them. They were never kind enough for me to be glad for their family joining mine. They were also never cruel enough for me to truly hate them.”

“They sold Bartholomew,” Rahk reminds me. “On purpose. Knowing it would hurt you.”

“That’s just what it seems like. Maybe she didn’t mean—”

“I got her to admit it. When we discussed the house. Lady Duxbury Vandermore knew exactly what she was doing.”

That hits me harder than I thought it would. I sit down on the stairs. My chest burns.

Rahk leans against the railing. “She threatened to beat you. She tried to break your mother’s glass slippers. She tried to trick you into a marriage with her son. You’re allowed to hate her.”

“Those things were cruel,” I admit. “But growing up, when I was a child, she didn’t treat me like that. There were even some years that Edith and Bridget and I enjoyed spending time together. Not as sisters, perhaps, but as friends. Sometimes I think that my fortune is what ruined everything. If I had been like them, if Father had split the fortune among all of us, maybe we could have been a family together.”

Rahk’s mouth thins. “Your fortune did not create your stepmother’s greed. It only brought it into the light.”

“But it makes me feel like a fraud! An imposter! I did nothing to deserve this fortune.” I gesture at the house. “I don’t need two houses! Shall I live here by myself while you stay at your estate?”

“If that is what you desire.”

“I desire to not feel guilty that I have so much—far more than I know what to do with it—when they have so little.”

“They hardly have so little . From my research, the son has a fine estate from his father, and besides that your father did leave your stepfamily with a generous living. When paired with what I paid them, they are as far from paupers as you can get.”

I crumple my dress in my fists. “It’s just . . . my stepsisters’ dowries. I had every eligible man in the entire kingdom pursuing my hand. They don’t have that.”

Rahk gives me a pointed look. “More options are not necessarily a good thing.”

“Stop trying to reason away my guilt!” I cry, burying my head in my hands. The words tumble out, an echo of what I told Mary. “This mess is all my fault! If I have the means to fix something, then to stand by and do nothing makes me feel as though I’m the one committing the crime itself.”

I’m not talking about the house anymore, and I’m afraid he will be able to sense it.

Suddenly, Rahk crouches before me, gently pulling my hands away from my face. “Kat, that is ridiculous. There are things in this life that are our responsibility, and there are things that do not belong to us. Meddling in the business of others does not make us their savior. Sometimes it makes us their curse.”

I shake my head, finding myself squeezing his hand hard, holding onto it to keep from fracturing into tiny pieces. He’s wrong. He means well. But he’s wrong. “I just . . . I just wish my family wasn’t this broken, ugly mess. I wish that we’d never lost my mother. But if we had to, I wish Agatha could have been my new mother.”

Speaking the words out loud make me realize just how true they are—and how I’ve never acknowledged that was what I wanted all this time. Deeper than that, though, I wish losing my mother wasn’t my fault. I wish Agatha hating me wasn’t my fault.

“Kat,” Rahk says quietly, still crouching in front of me, his face level with mine. His gaze holds mine, turning gentle and tender when I am tempted to look away. “Giving away all that you have will not repair what is broken. If you wish to give the entirety of your fortune to Agatha and her daughters, you can do that. But it will not restore the relationship with them.” Then, even quieter than the last words, he murmurs, “It won’t bring your mother back. The tragedy of your family is not your fault.”

I yank my hands away from him, the words bursting from me with a force I cannot restrain. “But it is my fault! I should be dead. Me—not Mama and Father. Me .”

The shift on Rahk’s face is immediate. I turn away from him, hating what he will read in my expression, hating that I let those incriminating words out of my stupid mouth—hating how violently tears fight against my restraints.

“Kat,” he says slowly, “what really happened on the edge of the Wood?”

I shake my head, my shoulders trembling.

He climbs to the step beside me and gathers me to his chest as the tears finally win. He holds me close with one arm and cradles my head with his other hand. I haven’t the will to resist, so I lean against him and weep.

“You don’t have to tell me what happened if you don’t want to,” Rahk whispers at last, “but whatever happened, it does not change that you are allowed to have good things. And your existence does not take away good things from those you love.”

A loud keening rips straight from my chest. I press a hand over my mouth, biting down on my palm to keep from letting further sounds escape.

Your existence does not take away good things from those you love.

How can he say something like that? How can he just stab me straight through the heart with a few words?

Rahk tightens his hold on me, and his voice sounds almost choked. “You don’t have to earn your right to live, Kat.”

That only makes me cry harder. He can say that—but he doesn’t know what happened.

He doesn’t know that it was not Mama who was swallowed by the Long Lost Wood.

He doesn’t know that it was me.

Eventually, I pull my composure back together. It is a monumental effort, but he lets me take my time. When I finally sit up, pulling away from him, and dry my eyes, he regards me with solemnity.

“What would you like to do?” he asks.

My blurry gaze drifts toward the edge of the harpsichord visible from where we sit. “I would like the address of my stepfamily’s new arrangements. I think they left a few things behind that I don’t have use of. Then I would like to go home.”

Rahk’s gaze darts to mine, his pupils dilating at my words. He offers his hand and draws me to my feet. “Then let us go home.”