I let out a shaky smile. “You really were the only one I could ever trust in Highbell,” I tell him. “Even when I was just a snotty girl complaining about being bored, or all those hours of practicing the harp, you were always there. You were my steady.”
He swallows hard again like he’s digesting my vulnerable words. Then, “You were bad at playing that thing. Had to come in with bits of kerchief stuffed in my ears.”
A sad laugh creases the tears into my cheeks. “I remember.”
We fall into silence for a moment, but there’s so much I want to say to him, so much undone in the threads of this raw moment. But I don’t know if I’ll ever get another chance like this, which is why I clear my throat and say, “You were the closest thing I had to a father,” I admit, my voice small, eyes cast down as I twirl the ribbon around my finger. “I knew I drove you nuts sometimes, but you always made me feel safe. And I never thanked you enough.”
He makes a noise, like a shaken breath past a graveled throat. “It was always my pleasure to serve you, my lady.” Then, in quiet gruffness, he adds, “Any father would be damn lucky to have you for a daughter.”
A vapor of melancholy condenses in the air between us. Every breath I take in saturates my soul with its drizzling grief.
After a while, I let the ribbon drop from my fingers, let it land on the floor.
“Look at us now, Dig,” I say, trying to smile up at him, though my face pulls into a grimace instead. “I bet you wish you would’ve played that drinking game with me.”
A short, rasped chuckle escapes him. “Aye, my lady,” he breathes out with a sigh. “Aye.”
My lids droop, shivers covering my skin.
If I can rest for a bit, then hopefully I won’t be too drained once dawn comes, and I can fight back. I just need the sun. Once it rises, I will gold-touch every guard in my path if I have to in order to get Digby out of here.
Slade will be worrying. I was supposed to meet him in the library, so he’ll know something’s wrong since I didn’t show up. I just need to rest, to bide my time and pray for the day to come.
After a few quiet minutes tick by, the heaviness of my body drags me into an in-between place where pain doesn’t exist. I drift, like a boat without an anchor, lost in a shallow sea.
Yet I’m washed right back up to the rocky shore again, jerking against a collision of awareness when a noise clanks in the hall.
The door suddenly swings open, making me jerk upright, sending my back into snaps of torment again.
I barely have time to react before four guards rush in and grab me. Two of them hoist me up by my arms, another one blocks my feet when I try to kick out, and the last one is Scofield, who steps up and blocks my view of Digby.
I can hear Digby cursing and some kind of scuffle ensuing, but my eyes widen when Scofield holds up familiar white petals, freckled with blood-red dewdrops.
“No!” Through panic and frenzy, I struggle to fight off the guards, but the moment one of them grazes against my back, I cry out in agony, the fight pouring out from the wounds.
“Is that too much?” one of the other guards questions.
“King Midas’s orders,” Scofield replies, a look of guilt flashing past his eyes for a moment, though it does nothing to placate the hate I feel for him. “Just hold still, my lady,” he pleads, as if he wants me to make this easier for him.
“Fuck you!” I heave, vision bursting with circles of black that threaten to stain my consciousness.
“Don’t hurt her!” Digby shouts before hissing in a breath.
A snarl rips from my throat when Scofield moves just enough for me to see ginger-headed Lowe holding Digby down.
“Open, my lady.”
My gaze is ripped away from Digby as Scofield shoves the petals toward my mouth, but I snap at him, teeth as vicious as a timberwing, hard and quick enough that I draw blood.
He curses and flinches his hand back, looking at me with a flash of anger. Using his other hand, he grips my cheeks and then squeezes hard on my jaw, forcing my lips to part. Before I can so much as curse him, he shoves three petals inside my mouth, clamps my jaw shut, and then covers both of his hands over my mouth and nose.
I feel the saccharine liquid coating my tongue, feel the petals dissolving in my mouth. I try to spit, but Scofield presses my lips hard against my teeth, not letting me open. The inside of my lip slices open as I struggle, but I can’t breathe with his hand clamped over my face.
My body panics at the lack of air, and then it betrays me by swallowing. The second I do, horror fills my eyes.