Page 50 of Peculiar Engagements

In the meantime, houses needed to be rebuilt. The people who’d been taken from Lord Marteau’s brothels were supposed to receive care from the crown, but crown soldiers were being turned back at the border of the harbor. A former whore from Diabolos had opened up her house to them, but there wasn’t enough room for healers, nurses, and anxious familymembers, so Charon had quietly joined the workers building new structures on the property.

It was good to work. It kept his mind occupied, dragging it away from the expression on Yves’ face as Charon left him, and the deep, aching pain that always followed. All Charon had wanted to do in that moment was to stay—to kiss Yves again, to bring him to Gerakia and Thalassa, to ignore the dark, bitter creature that had dragged its way to the surface that night. But he couldn’t do that to Yves. It would be better for Yves to find someone who would be strong enough not to kill for him.

In the end, when the time came for Charon’s will to be tested, he’d been nothing but an interrogator.

He dug into the earth so the stonemasons could lay a foundation for a new infirmary. He set up tents for people wounded by the smoke and fire. He brought distilled water across the harbor by the barrel, and when people asked for his name, he shook his head and moved on. He thought of Yves, and he walked the docks to try and shake the restlessness from his bones. When one of the children taken from the brothels died, the harbor burned again, and Charon got to work digging graves at the edge of town. He kicked his spade through the rough roots of the red flowers that grew there, and he gently lowered the sacks holding the people who had died in fires too fierce for the rain to douse.

Charon thought of Yves again, and his chest ached so deeply that he had to stop to catch his breath. He helped two older women nail support beams into a shelter for Lord Marteau’s victims, and let their quiet chatter drown out his thoughts. He moved automatically, pushing his mind into the far distance, so engrossed in his work that he didn’t notice the voices had quieted until it was too late.

Someone tapped Charon on the shoulder, and he turned.

“All right,” Laurent de Rue said, and punched Charon square in the jaw.

It wasn’t the strongest blow in Charon’s memory. Laurent’s knuckles glanced off Charon’s cheek, and Laurent hissed in pain and clutched his hand.

“Why are you here?” Charon asked. “Is Sabre here as well?” He didn’t mention the crown. The people of Red Harbor were still wary of the nobility at the moment, and it wouldn’t do to implicate that Laurent and Sabre were part of it.

“I’m not here for that.” Laurent drew himself up. His violet hair was disheveled, and he had dirt on his boots and his fine blue jacket. “I’m here because of you.”

Charon frowned slightly. “You agreed that I should leave.”

“That was Sabre, and I didn’t suggest shattering Yves’ heart to pieces in my house, did I?”

Charon took a step back. “Yves and Raul were already engaged.”

“Yves,” Laurent said, and paused when he saw the two women watching from behind the unfinished wall. He lowered his voice. “I have spent years watching you two dance around each other. I’ve seen Yves follow you around like a puppy, and you’re no better than he is. You’re so tied up in each other’s lives that I might as well strap you both together and ship you off to Lukos until you work this out. Yveslovesyou, youidiot.You know that. I know that. Most of Staria knows that, and where are you? Whereareyou, Charon?”

“Yves said that people in the brothels would need help,” Charon said, staring at Laurent numbly.

“He’s a mess, Charon.” Laurent stepped closer, “and so are you. Do you think I would sneak into a city on fire for you if I didn’t think you were making a mistake?” Laurent smoothed his hair out of his face. “Were you lying when you told me you loved him?”

“I wasn’t lying,” Charon said. “But you don’t understand what I’ve done, Laurent. Who I am.”

“Of course I know who you are,” Laurent said. “Sabre told me what they found in that house. You did it for Yves.”

“Which is why I have to stay away.”

“No,” Laurent snapped. “If you’re going to be a coward, admit it. Or,” he added, pointing to the wreckage of the harbor city, “you can get out of here, go back to Duciel, and tell Yves the truth before he marries a man he doesn’t love.”

Charon stared out over the harbor. There were still small fires spouting up in the embers of the lighthouse, and several ships had run aground rather than wait for the harbor to open again. He thought of the coast of Thalassa, where they danced in the waves on the equinox, and thought of taking Yves there. The aching loneliness in his chest throbbed like a wound.

Laurent was right. Charon had been a coward. He’d come too close to the darkness that roared to life in the wake of his fury that night. Yves had seen it, and he hadn’t turned away. It was Charon who hadn’t been able to face it. If he returned to Duciel, that meant he would need to accept that it could come back to him one day. Yves could be hurt, or someone could accost them in the street, and that empty horror lurking in Charon’s mind could claw its way to the surface. He couldn’t trust himself to accept it, but Yves had.

Charon turned back to find Laurent watching him.

“It may be too late.”

“Then find out.” Laurent adjusted his coat. “If you go now, you might make it in time. And if you don’t, then I sincerely hope you never come back to Duciel again.”

Charon’s heartbeat quickened, and his gaze swept past the harbor to the fields that stretched toward Duciel. “How long do I have?”

“Four days,” Laurent said.

“It takes six to get there.”

Laurent smiled. “I’m sure you’ll find a way. Youmightfind a peculiarly fast horse stabled with my carriage horses at the Last Willow Inn, but he’s reserved forCharon, not whoever decided to leave his luggage in my house.”

“Yves won’t be happy to hear you call him that,” Charon said.

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