Page 84 of Insolence
My body eventually evens out. When my eyesight clears, the visitor’s nowhere to be found.
Calm down. Everything’s in order. The kestrel set your teeth on edge.
Almost convinced my apprehension is nothing more than paranoia, I take off toward our residence. Only to be stopped by Delia.
She’s talking before she reaches me, excitement shining in her brown eyes. “Someone’s here to see you, High Priestess.” A breeze lifts her veil off one side of her head, and she gropes for it.“Lady Itissa of Clan Madoc is asking to speak to you.Onlyyou, your holiness.”
Lady Madoc?I nearly choke. Why the fuck is shehere?
“What’s the matter?” Delia eyes me, fingers working to re-pin the sheer gauze.
“Nothing. Feeling a little light-headed.” I glance at my empty hands, absently realizing I left the spade at the Orrery Tower. “Does she know me?”
“Says she does.”
For fuck’s sake. “Do you know what she wants?”
Veil re-pinned, Delia’s hands land on her hips. “You’re the one she wants. She won’t divulge much to any of the rest of us. You had best come along now.”
Chapter 26
Itissa
Due to the extent of my injury, Fiona insisted that I keep the arm in a sling and my wrist fastened above my heart for the swelling—a directive I’ve been trying to follow. Well, for the most part.
New emotions are surfacing now that I’ve had most of the day to get over my initial shock and rage at the information I extracted from Elodie.
Emotions like theshameandembarrassmentthat won’t stop cramping my gut long enough to let me eat my dinner. It’s even worse when I get back to my rooms.
Regret hits like a punch to the solar plexus every time I walk past spots of Elodie’s blood on my floor. I grab a hand towel from my washstand and dunk a corner into the pitcher the handmaidens refilled when I was at dinner.
Cleaning her blood away, I can’t help but think about pressing the letter opener to Elodie’s throat. The white-hot rage that took over. The feeling of floating above my own body while the truth gradually trickled out.
Why wasn’t it enough? Willanythingbe enough for me?
Tears well while I scrub long past the point of cleanliness. The thought that I actuallystabbedher, the memory of ramming the blade through flesh and muscle, and the satisfyingsquelchwhen it hit home have me feeling sick to my stomach.
I’m starting to spiral into panic when a soft knock lands on my door.
“Just me.” Sadrie gives a little wave when I crack it open. “Are you all right, songbird? You didn’t seem yourself at dinner. Barely touched your food. You haven’t been yourself for quite some time now, actually. I can leave if you need to be alone, but I didn’t want to go to bed without checking on you first.” Her words spill out in a rush, the earnest wobble in her voice utterly melting me.
“Come on.” I step aside, holding the door open.
“Besides,” she says, raising a familiar medical kit I’m only now noticing, “it’s time to wash and rebandage that nasty cut. Can’t have it getting infected, now can we?”
“No.” I smile despite myself. “I suppose not.”
She has me sit on the edge of the bed while she pulls my washstand with its painted porcelain basin and matching jug to the bedside. I untie my sling, my arm throbbing with renewed vigor as soon as I lower it below my heart.
Water splashes softly as Sadrie fills the basin. She grabs a stack of clean washcloths, then lays out scissors and a roll of fresh bandages from the med kit.
From her skirt pocket she produces a small jar of what looks like ointment.
“Arm,” she orders, holding out her hand.
I comply, laying my wrist into her warm palm.
She wets a washcloth. “When I asked Fiona how to clean it, she said the first step is not ripping off any scabs that may be forming.” She presses the damp cloth lightly over the bandage on top of my stitches, moistening the area and loosening any part of the dressing that might be sticking.
