Page 22 of The Thief’s Lord (Catkin Trilogy #3)

Gareth

F or three days, I stayed away. Three long days that spun by painfully slow.

It felt like forever. Yet, I could not bring myself to visit the tower that Hugh had commandeered for Dorset’s safety…

and imprisonment. I could not go to see for myself how the handpicked guards treated the one that I loved.

Loved. The word felt like a stone about my neck even as I attempted to pretend that this was not the truth.

Yet, my heart could not deny my longings, my disappointments…

and my regret. Even worse, try as I might to bury my emotions and simply get on with the duties that I had to accomplish, I knew, from my friends’ knowing looks, that my pain was evident to them.

Matters only worsened when I caught Hugh giving Alan a quick kiss as he left the mage’s alchemical laboratory, and when Landis gave Corrin a goodnight embrace in the morning as was his wont.

Such simple touches. Did they take them for granted?

I thought not, but standing on the outside, looking in, I could not help but realize all over again what I was missing.

Dorset.

Even now, just thinking his name sent a dagger of cold to my heart.

What was Dorset thinking? Was anything that had happened between us real?

Hugh said that Dorset had asked for me on multiple occasions.

The beatings, he assured me, were light, intended only to scare the young tom.

When I finally arrived, after days of absence, I could only hope that Dorset would be… more amenable to telling the truth.

“I could dose him with a serum,” Alan said one afternoon when I popped by his laboratory. “It would save on all the other potions that I have to make for him…” Alan stopped, realizing the words that had come out of his mouth, and he winced. “He’ll be fine, though, Gareth. Honest.”

Forcing my expression to remain neutral, I said flatly, “We aren’t using that yet. We agreed to use it on Morne in front of a pack of witnesses when the time came.”

The White Tower’s compendium of potions included a Truth-Telling Serum which was capable of extracting the truth out of any who drank it.

Unfortunately, the potion, also known as Lily Veras, relied on the harvest of an exotic flower from the southern continent.

One had to, according to Alan, harvest it on a special harvest moon, attendant with specific rituals, which is why it was extremely difficult to brew.

I had, on more than one occasion, wished to slip it into Lord Morne’s wine glass at a court soiree, but Lord Morne had proven to be more cautious than I would like with his food and drink.

Furthermore, capturing him and forcing it on him would be viewed with suspicion if we didn’t attempt the interrogation with enough witnesses.

I mentally groaned.

“Well, never mind that then,” said Alan hastily. “I would also rather Dorset simply tell the truth of his own volition. I know he wants to. You should go to him.”

“I will. Tomorrow.”

When tomorrow came, the sun rose to a gloomy overcast sky and drizzling, miserable rain.

It matched my mood perfectly as I made my way down the lesser-known corridors of the castle to the remote tower that Hugh had chosen.

Here, the winter chill still seemed to clutch the castle in its grasp, setting in the bone.

An image of a shivering Dorset filled my mind’s eye.

He must be miserable. My pace quickened at the thought.

However, once I arrived at the door, where the guards waited for me, I hesitated. One of the guards, Rolf, nodded gruffly.

“He’s been quiet as a mouse,” he said. “No protests, nor mischief neither. We already woke him up and set up the table and chairs.”

I nodded in quiet thanks and entered the dimly lit room.

There was a single thick-paned slit for a window, a narrow wooden cot, a bucket, and little else.

The small table that had been set for me had two chairs facing each other on opposite sides.

Dorset sat slumped in one, hands cuffed before him.

He looked a sight—grubby and bruised. There was a cut on his lip, and I couldn’t help but notice the raw skin and scrapes around his wrists.

There was a pained hunch to his posture as well.

I winced internally but kept my face neutral.

I took a seat, while Rolf brought in two mugs of black tea.

The door shut behind him, and heavy silence lay between us filled with unasked questions on my part.

What were you thinking, Dorset? Why did you do this?

Why didn’t you talk to me first? So many questions.

I leaned forward and shoved the mug of tea toward him.

“Let’s talk.”

Those two words brought a host of memories.

The day we truly spoke together. The lies and obfuscations and games we played.

At my words, Dorset peered up at me through dirty red curls.

His green eyes were dull now, like beaten moss.

Empty. Pained. And also filled with sadness and regret.

Emotions that dulled and then disappeared.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said. “I… made a mistake.”

No. Shit. I thought, grinding my teeth. Tamping my anger down, I wrapped my hands around the mug.

“Explain yourself,” I said coldly.

Dorset flinched, winced, shook his head, and then hunched further into his seat. I waited to hear what tack he would take. Smooth words? Promises of loyalty? Glib confessions? None of that came. Dorset truly appeared to be devastated by the turn of events.

“Gareth.” His voice wobbled and then broke. “I-I’m truly… so s-sorry… I thought I could help—there was—I had no proof—I just wanted—“

Little Mouse’s head fell forward. His ears slumped back in contrition, and his tail hung limply off the edge of his chair. His dark, dirty red waves obscured his face, but I caught the glisten of falling tears. His hands clutched each other, turning over and over. Dorset was upset. He was… crying.

My instinct was to rush over, pull him into a tight embrace, cradle him against my shoulder, and wipe away his tears.

I wanted to tell him that everything would be alright, that I would stay by his side.

However, circumstances had now spun out of my control.

More than ever, protecting the king was now in direct opposition to my heart’s desire—protecting Dorset. Could I achieve both?

Before I could say something, Dorset pulled at his breeches’ waistband where he had secreted something in some secret pocket. The scrape of metal across the table resounded through the tiny cell. His trembling fingers withdrew, revealing my signet ring.

“Y-you’ll want this back, I suppose.”

Pain exploded through my chest. My vision blurred for a moment, but I blinked away any sign of weakness.

I could not speak. Something blocked my throat, thick and swollen with emotion.

Before I realized it, I had risen, taken the ring, and then knelt by Dorset’s chair.

Taking his limp hands in mine, I winced at the realization of how chilled he was.

Placing my ring in the palm of his left hand, I curled his unresisting fingers around them.

“I-I…” I had to stop as emotion overwhelmed me yet again. Then I managed to get out what I wished to say: “I gave it to you along with my word, Little Mouse.”

Dorset’s eyes, now smudged with dirt and tears, rose to meet mine. He stared at me numbly.

“This will be always and forever yours…” I added. “Like my heart.”

The edges of Dorset’s mouth wobbled as his gaze fell to our entwined hands and the now hidden signet ring. Another tear trailed down his thin cheek.

“Gareth… I—you—“

“Dorset. Why could you not have told me? Could we not work together?”

Dorset gave a half-sob, half-chuckle.

“You would have… burgled Lord Morne’s mansion with me?”

“Why not?”

Realizing my seriousness, he stared at me in shock.

“I have searched his estate so many times I see it in my nightmares,” I admitted.

“I always figured that the proof would be there, but we could never find a single letter incriminating the bastard. He must have some hidden nook… If we had gone together, who knows what you could have shown me? I would do more—and worse—to keep you and Landis safe,” I said. “That, I promise.”

“Oh.” He blinked, still processing my words. “I didn’t think…”

“That is your problem right there. Our problem, I should say,” I said grimly. “We have not been tackling this with rationality. Clearly.”

Dorset gave a soft huff of a pained chuckle.

“Ever since the day I met you, I’ve been questioning everything,” he admitted. “I should have… listened to the instincts that told me to stay.”

“Same thing,” I admitted. “I too have been struggling. And this will be the death of us—the death of you more precisely.”

I gave his hands another soft squeeze and then rose to retake my seat opposite him. Once again, I nudged the now cooling tea toward him.

“Drink. I need to hear everything. Why in the hells were you over there to begin with? We searched his house a few moons back, and the damn place was a clean as a whistle.”

“I just wanted to find the proof. I know it’s there. I’ve been there before… in his secret office with Mourn… and others.”

“Mourn.”

“He’s the one who… initiated me to the Night Blades.” Dorset winced a little, bit his lip, and glanced at me as though seeking forgiveness yet again. “He was my first… my only before you. On occasion. I suppose you might consider him my… master?”

“Not anymore he isn’t.”

“Finding him will be impossible,” Dorset said. “Both of them move in the shadows, live in the night.”

“You underestimate my determination and resources, Little Mouse,” I replied mildly. “Does Mourn answer to any master?”

“Sh-shade.” Dorset could barely get the name out.

His face looked even grayer. “He was the one who took Mourn to the mansion first. Then Mourn took me. We would meet with the lord there. Lord Morne. But this is not enough, is it? My word against his? Who would believe me? You need better witnesses, more proof.”

Dorset was right. His word and the few reports that we managed to collate would not be enough. Taking a noble like Lord Morne to the gallows would require more than some fancy scribblings and the word of a thief. Even should I trust Dorset, few others would.

“You are right,” I admitted. “We lack substantial proof, but there is a way. If we find Mourn or Shade, we can pry all of their secrets from them.”

“They will never break,” Dorset said matter-of-factly. “If Lord Morne could be called away from Rimefrost, we could try again—“

“There is no trying for you.” I shook my head.

“If I don’t find one of your masters, your future is…

uncertain. I can only protect you so much, Dorset.

Perhaps you will be placed in a labor camp.

But Lord Morne is on a rampage. He knows you are a liability, and he will use his considerable power to have you silenced. ”

“Silenced.”

“There are whispers of the gallows. Landis is trying to step in, but…” I winced.

“With the attempted assassination in the winter, everyone is on tenterhooks. News of your attempt has spread. The daggers. If you had entered without them, there might have been a case for leniency, but there has been talk of the gallows.”

Dorset flinched and glanced away.

“You don’t kill people, Dorset.”

“But I would have,” he whispered. “For you.”

I sighed and rubbed my face. Part of me felt happy to know that Dorset was willing to go so far for me, but on the other hand, I cursed the day that love had entered the equation. Love was driving us to madness. Where would it take us?

“Dammit, Dorset.”

“If I die—“

“You are not going to die.”

“But if the gallows are my future—“

“They are not.”

“Nevertheless,” Dorset continued on doggedly, “I don’t want you to be sad, Gareth. I need you to let me go. For your own good. If you get caught up in this, perhaps even your family name and history may not protect you.”

“I am not casting you off… or letting you go,” I said fiercely.

Dorset’s ears flicked back in dismay, but then a small smile flitted across his face. A sad smile. His tail flicked a little, no doubt recognizing the possessiveness in my voice.

“I will fix this, but until then, you will be on your own. I will turn over every stone in Sumarene to find the son of a—“ I stopped, inhaled, and exhaled my anger. Continuing more calmly, I continued, “Hugh will watch over you… and the others. It’s time that I meet your masters.”