I hope not.
But right now, none of that matters. What matters is stopping her before she does something that can’t be undone. Before she walks into a trap she doesn’t see coming.
I shift my weight, easing the stiffness in my legs, and scan the kitchen. The space is vast. Stone hearths line the far wall, most of them banked low for the night. Copper pots hang from iron hooks. The staff has thinned since dinner service ended, but a handful of workers remain, scrubbing pots, wiping down surfaces, sorting through stores for the morning.
I keep my eye on one of them.
A human male, slight of build, with sandy hair that sticks up at odd angles. He moves between the preparation tables.
By the sound of his voice, I know it’s my friend, Ferris. My throat tightens at the sight of him.
I watch him work, willing him to move closer to my side of the kitchen. He goes to the salt stores. Then to the hangingherbs. Then back to the preparation table, where he mixes something in a large bowl.
Come on, Ferris. Come this way.
He gathers a handful of dried rosemary and crosses toward the far pantry. My stomach drops because he’s moving in the wrong direction. Then he stops, going back to a pot, where he throws the rosemary inside.
He walks toward the flour stores.
Finally, he is coming toward me.
I wait until he’s close enough. Until his back is to the rest of the kitchen and his body blocks the gap between the sacks from view.
Then I reach out and grab him.
My hand clamps over his mouth before he can make a sound. My other arm locks around his chest, pinning his arms. He thrashes, a muffled cry dying against my palm. I drag him backward, away from the open kitchen and into the narrow corridor that leads to the curing room where the meats hang in long, salted rows.
The air in here is thick with brine and smoke. Haunches of venison and strings of cured sausage hang from hooks overhead. It’s dark and very private, exactly what I need for this conversation. The sounds from the kitchen are muffled.
“It’s me,” I whisper near his ear. “It’s Baldwin.”
He fights harder. His heel connects with my shin, and I grit my teeth against the pain but don’t let go.
“We know each other, Ferris. Please. I just want to talk to you. I’m not going to hurt you. If I meant you harm, you’d already be wounded or dead.”
He goes still. The kind of stillness that comes from fear, not calm.
“I’m going to let you go,” I tell him. “Please don’t scream, I beg of you, my friend. Hear me out, that’s all I ask of you.”
He nods. A small, tight motion against my palm.
I release him.
Ferris spins to face me. His eyes are wide and white in the dim light. His chest rises and falls in rapid bursts. He stares at me, at the face that is nothing like the one he knew, and I see the moment recognition gives way to something else entirely.
“You’renotBaldwin.” His voice is thin. “You lied to me then, and you’re lying to me now.”
So this is what it feels like to be accused of lying by someone you know…someone you like and respect. My mind goes to Isla. I feel worse for it.
“You’re the once-king,” he continues. “The deserter.” He swallows hard. “You’re dangerous. They say you killed a whole host of guards.”
The words land with a dull thud.
“I’m still the same person, Ferris. I’m still your friend. The man who helped you reorganize the kitchen stores. The man who bought you an ale or two at The Quails Tavern. The man who listened to you talk about bread for an entire evening and didn’t once complain.” I keep my voice quiet and steady. “Baldwin was me. I might have changed appearance somewhat, but it’s still me.”
Ferris shakes his head. He takes a step back and bumps into a hanging haunch of venison, which swings on its hook. “You look nothing like Baldwin.” He cocks his head. “Maybe the shape of your jaw and the way your hair…” He huffs out a breath. “You’re nothing like Baldwin.” His voice wavers. “Baldwin was blind. Baldwin was human. Baldwin didn’t…” He gestures at me, up and down. “Look at you. You’re…you’re not him.”
“I am. Everything that mattered about Baldwin is still here. The spell hid me, Ferris. It took my sight, my memories, my magic. But it didn’t take who I am underneath all of that. Please believe me.”
