“Is that why you are still alive?” he says. “His Highness likes the sounds you make too much to do the sensible thing?”
He presses in closer, pushing against all the fresh welts on my back. Agony surges. Bright and fierce. I whimper pathetically. Iestyn chuckles. Dark and insidious.
“The tylwyth made pretty noises too, at the end. Begged so sweetly for his life, I nearly changed my mind.”
He is lying. He has to be. If he has murdered the tylwyth but made it look like a suicide, he must have his reasons. So why would he confess to me? Is it to scare me?
Or warn me that he knows that it was me that gave his pet the knife? A cold wave of terror washes over me.
But no, that can’t be right. He can’t know. Because if he did, surely he would understand that believing the tylwyth killed himself with the knife I gave him, is far more horrific than any threat.
“Don’t make a nuisance of yourself, Little Pet. Or I will get rid of you too.”
Ah. A simple threat and warning, then. He doesn’t know it was me.
He moves his weight off of me, shoves me roughly back against the wall and then is gone. I whirl around and face the empty room. The only sound is my ragged breathing. I wipe my face with my sleeve.
No one can know about this. No one.
Especially not Rhydian.
Chapter thirty-five
Ihave never seen a more wonderful sight than the door to Dyfri’s rooms. By some miracle, I’ve made it here while only passing two busy looking servants. I managed to walk normally whilst in sight of them. I don’t think they noticed anything wrong. In fact, I’m not sure they even noticed me at all.
I shove the door open and stagger through the maze of overflowing shelving units. I make it to the workbench and lean over it heavily. Please let my luck hold out a little longer and allow Dyfri to actually be here.
A clang catches my attention. Dyfri is at the far end of the room, standing by the white marble fireplace. There is something that looks for all the world like a cauldron, sitting on the flames. And judging by the ladle in Dyfri’s hands, he was just stirring it. Now he is staring at me.
“I need your help,” I say.
He places the ladle back into the cauldron and glides over to me. He goes straight to my back. His cold fingers prod gently through the cuts in my robes.
“Rhydian did this to you?” he asks quietly, and he sounds upset.
“No!” I reassure him.
Rhydian would never do this. Especially not after witnessing my reaction to being spanked.
“Then who?”
I grit my teeth. “Iestyn.”
Dyfri’s fingers pause in their prodding. “He caught you trying to kill him?”
“No. I forgot to curtsy to him.”
My voice sounds petulant and sulky. Dyfri sighs and I don’t blame him.
“Can you patch me up?” I plead.
“Yes,” he answers as he drifts over to some shelves and starts collecting bottles.
“Well enough that Rhydian will never know?” I clarify.
Dyfri freezes, turns around to face me, and tilts his head. “Why?”
I swallow. “Because it is clearly a trap. Iestyn is trying to rile Rhydian into doing something reckless.”
