Page 223 of Frost and Death
I slump back, almost wishing I was dead rather than dealing with the three women who are, by the anger on their faces, clearly no longer my friends.
Dorit steps toward the bedside table, pouring something into a goblet and rudely shoving the glass to me. “Drink,” she orders.
I nervously reach for the glass, bringing it to my lips, and am pleased when I taste water. I gulp it down, the liquid coating my throat and soothing the scratchiness that lingers through each breath.
Once the contents are empty, Dorit snatches it away and then shoves a roll at me.
I study her angered movements, glancing briefly to Ophelia and Cordelia, unsure who to watch, who might try to throttle me or slap me.
My jaw works, savoring the bread before deciding to speak first. As soon as I swallow, though, each of us interrupts the others.
“Explain.”
“How could you!?”
“I-I can’t believe you!”
“How long have I been out?”
We all pause.
I cough lightly and hold the bedsheet still wrapped around me as I sit up. I take them in, relieved to find them uninjured. A blessing from the Makers.
If only the same can be said for Jerrick, Jonas, and even Niko.
Sweet Makers, I need to stop Jerrick. Even if he thinks Niko deserves it, Niko is a royal advisor to Axidoria and was my proxy while I was here.
I am furious with Niko, but I don’t want him killed.
Jerrick won’t listen to me, but maybe I can still save Niko. Maybe with my own life forfeit at the hands of Jerrick, he will leave Axidoria to Niko.
Sweet Makers, I need to get Niko out of here.
I brace my fatigued body up, ignoring the three women as I hurry to Jerrick’s wardrobe, finding clothing to change into. Screw trying to run down the stairs in a gown I could trip over. I reach for a black tunic and trousers, wanting to smell them, but immediately dress, tightening the laces around them so they won’t fall.
“What do you think you are doing?” Dorit asks, placing her arms on her hips.
I look around for shoes to wear, stopping on each of them wearing boots and not slippers. I point to their feet, and their heads drop to their footwear.
“What size are each of you?” I demand.
Dorit meets my gaze with fury in her eyes. “If you think we are going to let you out of here, you are crazy, Tove.”
A defensive reflex snaps into place, knowing the longer I am here, the less time I have to stop all of this. I drop my hand.
I square off with her. “You know what, Dorit? I don’t fucking care what you think of me. I don’t fucking care because, when I realized how much I care about all of you, I ordered an end to this to prevent anything from even happening in the first place. And since Jerrick didn’t kill me, I am going out there and finding a way to stop this. With or without your help. Now, one of you is going to give me a pair of boots or not, but as your queen, I order you to let me out of here so I can save my husband and prevent anyone else from getting hurt.”
Dorit’s anger simmers into shock as Cordelia and Ophelia look at each other.
Dorit is about to say something when Ophelia steps forward. “Here, take my boots.” She bends over, unlacing her boots and sliding them across the floor, skipping of their own accord to me.
I offer her a tight smile, hurriedly lacing up each shoe.
“Do you love us?” Dorit asks.
I meet her stare, responding without any hesitation. “Yes.”
“Do you love Jerrick?” she presses.
