Page 53 of Of Rime and Ruin
“I don’t want to scare her,” I grumble.
“Be yourself, minus all the…” She searches for the right word. “Growling.”
Footsteps approach, echoing through the hallway. A shuffle and a hop, then a scrape of wood.
I rise from my seat and fold my hands in front of me. But no, that’s too formal. I unlace them, then clench my hands into fists. Too stiff. I cross my arms. Too angry.
Dammit.
I clasp my hands behind my back and square my shoulders, ready.
Perrin enters the room, propped on a wooden crutch beneath his right armpit. He wears the Frost Guard uniform, the shirt rumpled and still damp. His pant leg ties in a knot beneath the amputation. His eyes dart, avoiding my gaze.
I take a steady breath, letting the guilt wash over me.
“Your Majesty,” he greets me, tipping his head.
The hallway behind him is dark and quiet. I wait for his companion to enter, but she does not come.
“Where is she?”
“She’s, uh—” His lip trembles. “She’s not coming.”
“Not coming?”
“Paddledrake flu?” It comes out as a question, like he’s not sure he gave the right answer.
I snort. “Is that so?”
“Deadly contagious, Sire. She wouldn’t want you to catch it. Boils on her cough. Bad face.” He coughs, as if to demonstrate.
“Pity. I’ll send the healer momentarily, and then she can join me for dinner. Shouldn’t take him long to fix a little…” My lips twitch. “Flu.”
Perrin’s throat bobs, and I hear him swallow. Hard.
“Sheissick, yes?” I say. “I’d hate to send Lucas for nothing.”
I step closer, hating that I have to resort to intimidation tactics with him. His eyes widen and he drops his gaze to my feet.
Perrin nods slowly, then he shakes his head. The tips of his ears darken.
“I thought not,” I grunt. “Bring her here, Perrin. By order of your king.”
He looks up, torn. “And if she doesn’t want to come with me?”
I close my eyes briefly and pinch the bridge of my nose. I’ve known he’s soft, butthissoft? He’s as bad as his aunt. “Then use a little force, Perrin. You can do that, no?”
He nods again, then turns to leave.
Next to me, Deirdre releases a heavy breath. “That went well,” she says in a strained tone.
“What was I supposed to do, believe him?” I slump into my seat and cross my arms to muffle the sinking feeling in my stomach. “Paddledrake flu? Right.”
She frowns, but otherwise lets it drop. “I’ll bring you something to snack on while you wait, Sire.” She hurries from the room, skirts hissing around her feet.
Silence settles in the dining hall, except for the crackle in the hearth as the flame licks logs to ash. The long table stretches before me, each chair empty but mine.
Alone.
