My heart stopped. “Don’t say that. Don’t you ever say that. You won’t die.”
“But I will die someday. I may get lucky, and the god Rhain will come for me in my sleep, but it may be by the sword or by the arrow.” His eyes met mine, even through the veil, and a knot lodged in my throat. “No matter how or when it happens, it will not be your fault, Poppy. And you will not waste one moment on guilt.”
Tears blurred his features. I couldn’t even think of something happening to Vikter. Losing Hannes and now Rylan, both who weren’t nearly as close to me as Vikter, was hard enough. Other than Tawny, Vikter was the only person in my life who knew what kept me up at night and why I needed to feel like I could protect myself. He knew more than my own brother did. It would be like losing my parents all over again, but worse, because the memories of my mother and father, their faces and the sound of their voices, had faded with the passing of time. They were forever captured in the past, mere ghosts of who they once were, and Vikter was in the now, bright and in vivid detail.
“Tell me you understand that.” His voice had softened.
I didn’t, but I nodded nonetheless because that was what he needed to see.
“Rylan was a good man.” His voice thickened, and for a moment, grief filled his gaze, proving that he wasn’t unaffected by Rylan’s death. He was just too skilled to show it. “I know it didn’t sound like I thought so when we were with Her Grace. I stand by what I said. Rylan grew too complacent, but that can happen to the best of us. He was a good guard, and he cared for you. He would not want you to feel guilt.” He squeezed my shoulder once more. “Come. You need to clean up.”
The moment we reached my room, Vikter checked the space, assuring that the access to the old servants’ stairs was locked. It was more than just a little unsettling to think that he felt the need to check my suite, but I figured he was operating on the better-safe-than-sorry mindset.
Before he left us, I recalled a part of what the Duchess had said. “The group the Duchess spoke about… Do you know who they are?”
“I wasn’t aware of any group.” Vikter glanced at where Tawny was carrying an armful of fresh towels into the bathing chamber. He often spoke openly in front of her, but this…all of this felt different. “But I’m not kept up to date on the comings and goings, so it’s not exactly surprising.”
“So, the Duke was just trying to avoid panic,” I surmised.
“The Duchess has always been more forthcoming, but I imagine that he probably told the Commander the truth.” His jaw hardened. “I should’ve been told immediately.”
He should’ve been, and it didn’t matter that he’d already suspected the truth.
“Try to get some rest.” He placed his hand on my shoulder. “I’ll be right outside if you need anything.”
I nodded.
A hot bath was quickly drawn, placed near the fireplace, and then Tawny took the soiled gown. I never wanted to see it again. I sank into the steaming water and set about scrubbing my hands and arms until they were pink with heat and friction. Without any warning, the image of Rylan appeared in my mind, the look of shock on his face as he stared down at his chest.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I lowered myself more and let the water slip over my head. I stayed there until my lungs burned and I no longer saw Rylan’s face. Only then did I allow myself to resurface. There I stayed, bruised knees tucked to my chest, until my skin puckered, and the water began to cool.
I rose from the soaking tub, pulling on a thick robe that Tawny had left on a nearby stool and padded on bare feet across the fire-warmed stone to the lone mirror. Using my palm to wipe away a bit of steam, I stared into my green eyes. My father had passed that color onto Ian and me. Our mother had brown eyes. I remembered that. The Queen had told me once that except for my eyes, I was a replica of my mother when she was my age. I had her strong brow and her oval-shaped face, angular cheekbones, and full mouth.
I tilted my cheek. The faintly red and bruised skin along my temple and the corner of my mouth were barely noticeable. Whatever the Healer had rubbed onto the skin had greatly sped up the healing process.
It had to be the same mixture I’d used to heal the welts that too often marked my back.
I pushed that thought from my head as I looked at my left cheek. That too had healed but had left a mark behind.
I didn’t look at the scars often, but I did now. I studied the jagged streak of skin, a pink paler than my skin tone, that started below the hairline and sliced across my temple, narrowly missing my left eye. The healed injury ended by my nose. Another shorter wound was higher up, cutting across my forehead and through my eyebrow.