It takesall my restraint not to burst out laughing when Carys unknowingly slaps Kilkenny’s face. I’m sure she intended to give him a gentle pat, but the assault is so satisfying that I want to thank the intoxicated woman.
“Thank you for the help,” Kilkenny says as he closes the door to Carys’s room.
I smile and shrug. It wasn’t a big deal. “May I ask… What did Carys mean when she called youthe knight who prefers Major?”
Kilkenny’s jaw works, then at last, he says, “I was a soldier in the Royal Brigade, and I worked hard for that title. I chose not to drop it in favor ofSirwhen I became a knight.”
I draw in a breath to ask about the arrow, but Kilkenny shakes his head.
“Nomore questions. Dawn is in a few hours and tomorrow is a big day. Get some rest.”
“Yes, Major Killjoy,” I mumble, the words slipping out as I turn to walk away.
I freeze, my pulse picking up. I force myself to face Kilkenny, ready to apologize.
A half smile tugs at one corner of his lips. “Did you just call me ‘Major Killjoy’?”
Should I lie? “Yes…” So much for that.
Kilkenny’s tongue trails over his lower lip, clearly trying to staunch the temptation to laugh. I catch myself staring as his tongue retreats and his lips form words… Words that don’t register in my head. Maybe I shouldn’t have had even that one goblet of wine.
His hand rests on my shoulder, and I fall back into my senses. “Sorry, what?”
“Go to sleep,” says Kilkenny. “I might be a killjoy, but if you don’t get some rest, the title will transfer to you come morning.”
I nod and press my lips together before retreating to my room as quickly as possible.
“I won’t ask again,” says a voice that grates against my senses, throwing my heart into a chaotic rhythm. I’m in a dark room with a single torch against the wall. There is no warmth, and below my bare feet is raw stone. Before me are two figures. It takes a while for the image to clear, but I soon recognize Kilkenny. He’s bound to a chair, a figure towering over him, their broad back partially blocking my view of Kilkenny’s face. But it’s Kilkenny in the chair, no doubt.
That scratchy voice reaches my ears again. “How long have you?—”
But therest of his words are garbled as Kilkenny’s focus snaps to mine from across the room. His face is bloody and bruised, his lip split and swollen. When he speaks, his voice comes out as a strangled whisper, hoarse and heavy. “Garrick.” It’s almost a growl.
The figure in front of him raises a hand, and something glints in the torchlight before the whole scene begins to tilt at unnatural angles, forcing me to close my eyes against the nauseating dizziness?—
I awake with a scream as searing pain travels from behind my left ear down to my collarbone.
The pain is so intense that bright light dances before my face for a moment. I clutch my neck as ragged breaths force their way through my clenched teeth.
The room materializes around me again as the pain slowly melts away. I release my neck and stare at my hands, expecting blood. Disoriented, I scramble out of bed, tripping over my feet and landing heavily on the ground, my hands taking the brunt of the fall. When everything is steadier, I launch myself to my feet, lighting a candle and bringing it to the mirror to stare at my reflection.
I search my neck desperately for signs of injury, but the pain is gone, and there is no wound. Sunlagh, spare me. These dreams… My nightgown is drenched again, and as I search for a new one, I mull over the dream.
Kilkenny.
I can’t make sense of what was happening. He was bound and someone was torturing him for reasons I don’t know. And the pain… The image of the scar on Kilkenny’s neck comes to my memory. It must be a coincidence.Must be. It’s just my mind trying to make sense of something I know nothing about.
Dressed in a fresh nightgown, I crawl back into bed and wait patiently for sleep to find me again.
My shoulder is jostled gently and, after a month in this place, it doesn’t startle me as much as it annoys me. I force my eyes open. Ellynne’s way-too-cheery grin and red hair is painfully bright in the sunlight that filters in through the windows.
My head is throbbing. I didn’t have much wine last night—I’m sure Carys had enough for all of us. The headache starts at the base of my skull and radiates to my ears, leaving them with that uncomfortable, full sensation that I haven’t experienced in a while. The headache has been building for days, but of course, on the day of the Feast it decides to up the ante.
I send up a prayer to Ehlach for the pain not to worsen—for the possibility of an episode to stay away. I just need to get through the day. Then I can go home. I can do this.
“Our darling daydreamer,” says Ellynne, using the same term that Carys has used before.
I groan and rub my head.
