“That’s a conversation for a different night,” Lord Calix says.
I turn to him, and it’s then I realize his pristine black boots have been smeared with mud. Not to mention his lapel completely disheveled.
He cradles his right hand to his chest, his soft eyes narrowed. “Sorin, Thaddeus, I think it’s time we leave.”
“What’s the rush?” Oletta chimes in. She swirls her finger in her drink before popping it into her mouth. “Thaddeus?” She points to him. “You insisted we come to this dreadful event. Don’t tell me you’re leaving so early.”
Thaddeus chuckles, but it’s nervous and stifled. He glances again at Calix, who nods.
“We’ll reconvene in a week,” Thaddeus says. He stands from the table, smoothing the lines from his green suit. “One week, ladies, at the Onyx Guild.”
Lady Mordona backs away, her dark skin shining with that iridescent, gold powder. “One week, Rudhek. And my price will be set.” She smiles and as she waltzes out of the room, the red bloodstones hanging from her ears catching the light.
I follow Thaddeus to the door, but Calix’s hand lands on my back, pushing me further. “Quickly,” he whispers.
“You’re pushing your luck with those two,” Thaddeus says to Calix. “It was difficult enough to get them to come and now we’re leaving just barely before we’ve spoken.”
“I have my reasons,” Calix says.
Outside the castle the rain falls in sheets. I place my mask back on just in case we run into anyone on our way to the caravan. Calix pushes ahead, practically jogging through the mud.
“I’m an old man, Calix Winterborn! What is the rush!” Thaddeus shouts, hobbling behind me.
Calix turns, his eyes finding mine. He hangs his head a moment before he takes a few steps forward so we’re face to face.
“She’s with us,” he whispers. “Elora’s with us.”
Twenty-Two
Samaria
It’s beena day since the people of Loxley arrived, and while Agnes and Ulric do their best to settle them, Jarek and Evren take it upon themselves to begin inventory of the Jade Guild. Food, weapons, medicines.
“Let me at least help with something,” I insist.
“We have it under control, Sam,” Jarek says as he glances up from the bags of flour he’s stacking. “Go be with them.”
Them.
The people of Loxley. Nerves flutter in my stomach. I’ve yet to truly talk to anyone other than Ulric and maybe it’s because a part of me is ashamed.
Ashamed I let this happen to our village.
Ashamed I left them to fend for themselves.
“Any and all supplies must be cataloged so we can ensure we’re not over using,” Evren says to Jarek, the two of them cramped together in the Jade Guilds small larder.
“I wish I could sketch this right now,” Tallulah says through a laugh. “Two giant men hunched over some flour and sugar.”
She laughs again when Evren grumbles something incoherent.
“I have to be going,” she says, a smile still on her lips. “I’ll be in the greenhouse, if you’d like to chat later.” She squeezes my arm before leaving, the bag of herbs on her hip swaying from side to side.
Leaving Jarek and Evren to topple over each other in the larder, I sit in the meeting room, feeling more useless than ever. My palms itch, the magick I know is stored beneath me begging to rise to the surface.
“In time,” I whisper to it. Not quite believing myself.
Lead sits on my shoulders and my mind races as I weave about the Jade Guild, thinking of all we must endure the next few days.
