She waited until breakfast was announced before she got up to wake Asherton. She didn’t want him to know she had slept beside him — didn’t want to distract him with confusing emotions.
“Ash,” she whispered. He rolled his head on his pillow, his eyes clamped shut, like he was having a bad dream. “Asherton,” she said, louder, gripping his arm. He started awake with a sharp inhale and pulled away from her, then looked around the room frantically.
“Mags?” he sat up. “Is it the day?”
“Yes,” she replied.
He leaned against the headboard, his eyes bright, almost wild. He studied her, the muscle at the hinge of his jaw working, the way it did when he was angry. “Would you stay here, if I asked you to?” he asked quietly.
Magdala shook her head. “I would not.”
He nodded. “I didn’t expect you would. What if I dismissed you from my service?”
“I would follow you anyway. I will follow you anywhere.”
His gaze rested on her face, then her lips. “You’re so lovely,” he said. “Has anyone else ever told you that?”
“No,” she replied, straightening and tucking a wayward lock of hair behind her ear. “And neither should you.”
“I know, but it’s true.”
“What’s this?” she asked. “Are you losing confidence in me?”
“You’re very good at your job, Mags,” he said. “But even you can’t stand against the best-laid plans. Whatever happens today, know that it’s not your fault.”
“Nothing is going to happen today,” she assured him, but her chest was lead-heavy. “And if it does, it would be your fault, actually, for ignoring Zephyr’s and my advice and making everyone hate you.”
He smiled. “That’s the Mags I want to see.”
“Come and dress,” she said stoically, holding out her hand. “We’ll face the day together.”
Asherton grasped her hand and she drew him out of bed, then pushed him to the mirror where Zephyr set to dressing him. Asherton’s face was pale and placid, except for a slight ticking in his cheek. A horrible calm settled over Magdala as she watched the little spasm. Or, worse than calm, a settled despair. It was too late now, and she hadn’t done enough.
Zephyr was alight with anxiety, brushing Asherton’s jacket threadbare and fussing over his boots. He bumped a table, jarring a china tea set. It crashed to the floor, spilling hot tea on the carpet. Zephyr barked out a string of curses and hurled the brush against the wall.
“It’s alright, Zeph,” Asherton said, straightening his long green cloak and stepping out of sight of the mirror. “Let’s just get through …”
“Why didn’t you listen to me?” Zephyr cried. “We had a plan, and it was working! What was the point of all those years, looking after you, if this is how it is to end?”
“Nothing is ending.” Asherton slid his ceremonial cutlass into the scabbard. “Gracious, you’re both so dramatic! No one is bold enough to shoot me in front of the whole city. Besides, it’s raining, and visibility will be terrible.”
His face paste-white, his lips tight, Zephyr gripped Asherton’s shoulder and exhaled, like he meant to speak, but the words must have died because he only shook his head.
After a long summer getting used to Asherton in his loose cotton shirts, his curls disordered, no shoes on his feet, seeing him dressed in state stole Magdala’s breath. He looked taller, his shoulders broader. The cloak brought out the green in his eyes. He was beautiful and regal and all wrong. She liked him much better with dirt on his hands, his jaw unshaven.
Magdala beckoned for them to come toward the door. “It’s time.”
“Perk up, both of you,” Asherton said. “Everything is going to be fine.”
He was lying. Magdala knew him well enough to know when he lied. But she appreciated that he wasn’t trembling and cowing. That he was putting on a brave face for Zephyr, at least.
Chapter 37
As they left the palace, rainwater ran down the front steps, the sky overhead an undulating sheet of gray. Thunder clattered between lightning flashes.
Magdala fell into step beside Zephyr and he leaned toward her. “Take no risks,” he said. “Ride close to him, blocking any potential shotfire balls. Do not fall behind. A sniper could be in any window, any door, among the crowd. In the rain, the powder will get wet, so perhaps they’ll have to be under cover.”
“I can’t go up the stairs with him,” Magdala whispered. “They won’t let me.”
