Oh my gods…
She wouldn’t hurt herself, would she?
“She’s fine,” Penn reassured, placing a hand on my upper arm, squeezing when I didn’t stop searching for injuries, for some sort of self-harm.
I willed back the panic and cleared my mind, thinking through rationally. My senses sharpened, and when I heard Nelle’s almost imperceptible shallow breaths and saw the towel slowly move up and down with the rise and fall of her chest, I let out a puff of air in relief.
Penn suddenly realized her hand lingered on my arm. She jerked her hand away as if she’d accidentally touched something red-hot, a flicker of unease crossing her expression. I wondered if she thought she’d overstepped her place. Other Houses might have reprimanded her for the overly familiar touch, butthat wasn’t how we treated our staff. Another distinction that separated us from other Houses. They had servants, we had staff, and it was a distinction that united us as one. Penn had been a valuable member of our household for several years now, an unusual and rare addition.
She tucked the towel around Nelle’s body and sat back on her heels. “I found her here, asleep. She must have been exhausted with everything that’s happened…” The words drifted apart as she glanced away, her long lashes fluttering as she fell into thought, pondering, more than likely, the knowledge that would have already been passed along our staff—that Nelle was a wyrm.
Nelle would have reached near-burnout by unleashing her wyrm and the ensuing battle that went on down on our estate. She had probably existed on pure loathing just to keep standing during that fucked-up meeting in the family room afterward.
Penn rose, bending down to swipe droplets from her skirt. “Thank goodness we have unlimited hot water. I’d hate to think if we’d run out and she’d slept through a dousing of an icy-cold shower.”
I gently scooped up Nelle. Long locks of wet hair spilled in a sweeping curtain. Asleep, she looked vulnerable and so much younger than her age. Lashes fanned against the swell of her freckled cheeks, and plump lips parted on a soft purr of a snore.
Penn stole an armload of towels and held open the bathroom door as I eased us both out. She hurried ahead to pull back the blankets on my bed and spread towels over the sheets and pillows. Nelle would be spitting venom when she awoke and found herself in my bed. I knew that. Yet, I laid her down in a fluffy nest. She stiffened, then relaxed as the mattress dipped when I sat beside her. Penn handed me a towel, and I gently squeezed the moisture from Nelle’s hair as best I could, and then covered her up with the blankets, tucking them beneath herchin. Rising, I backed away. She looked tiny, lost in my oversized bed.
Just as lost as I felt.
I ran my palm over my face.
What was I going to do?
I twisted around and sank onto the floor, leaning back against the side of the bed. My hands trembled as I bowed my head and kneaded my temples. I could barely push my way through all those messy, churning thoughts spinning in my head. All the things that had happened and all the things that now had to be done. The list was endless. Everything was charging onward, and there hadn’t been even the barest moment to think. After confronting Byron, it all caught up with me.
Penn shifted her feet, and the movement drew my attention back to her. I’d forgotten she was even in the room. “Is there anything else I can help with?”
I don’t fucking know.
Pushing up, I headed for my walk-in closet, grabbed my luggage from an overhead shelf, and started to pack. I’d only be gone for a few days, two at the most. I’d make sure of it.
Penn remained nearby. “I need you to look after Wychthorn while I’m away.”
She nodded. “Of course.”
A brusque knock rapped on my bedroom door.
Penn and I shared a look, both of us wondering who it might be.
She hastened to the door and opened it while I stood within the threshold of the closet. My hand hovered above the hilt of the blade strapped to my thigh. More instinctive reflexes than the suspicion of a true threat.
Caidan stood there, anguish carving deep lines around his mouth. The dimples in his cheeks showed themselves faintly as he sawed his jaw, angling his face downward, hiding from mebehind a crown of dirty hair. His hand rested on the tops of two shovels standing on end, and his fingers tightened about the wooden handles. “We need to bury our dead…and clean up the battle site,” he whispered, his voice breaking.
We did, and with everything that had happened, were still in motion around me, spinning me forward, pulling me in different directions, I hadn’t even had time to think about those that had fallen tonight. I hadn’t had time to grieve for my cousins, the soldiers and guards, more family than staff, who had died in the battle to capture Nelle.
Sorrow sank heavily within me.
My Uncle Zander had lost his sons—Collens and Hollis. We’d grown up with the rambunctious brothers, who were close in age to Jett. I couldn’t imagine what it would be like at the Keep without them around. Even harder to think how this loss would utterly destroy my uncle. We lived with peril every single day as enforcers, and though we accepted death, it still brought heartbreak. It still wrought devastation.
Caidan glanced up, and in his gaze shone everything that I’d been thinking.
He offered me a wretched smile. Raising a shovel, he went to hand it to me, but I shook my head.
There was one important thing I needed to deal with first. I scanned the rows of hanging suits and dress shirts, the shoes, and the sets of drawers with folded clothes.
It could work…
