Page 18 of The Empress
“My boyfr—ex-boyfriend always said that I need to do more yoga—increase my hip flexibility.” Embarrassment creeps up my neck. “Never mind. I should stop talking.”
He sets the onion down, his gaze never leaving mine. “Please, continue.”
My cheeks burn. “I’d be a terrible wife.”
He smiles now, a genuine, if small, expression that softens the sharp lines of his face. “All interesting facts, Fawn.”
“So you can take me back.”
“You think I’ve brought you here to serve me?” He leans back, crossing his arms over his broad chest, themovements stretching the thin white linen across his muscles.
My face is so hot, I wouldn’t be surprised if I spontaneously combusted. “Why else would you bring me here?”
“You have a job to do,” he says, turning back to the onion. “I knew that, and I want to help you. You may be able to help me too.”
“Help you?” My side aches, but I fight the pain and hug my arms against my chest. “If you mean what I think you mean—”
“No, not that kind of help. Unless that is what you want,” he adds, his voice dropping lower. “Is it, Fawn—what you want?” His gaze locks onto mine, and for a moment, the room feels charged with a different kind of tension. The kind that makes my pulse quicken and my breath hitch.
“N-no.” I swallow hard, regaining my composure. “I want to know why and how I got here.”
“Mine is not the only world. Neither is yours. There are many.” He holds the onion up as he speaks, its skin glinting dully in the firelight. “You and I live in separate layers and never see the others. But sometimes there’s rot within a layer.” He pinches the skin of the onion and pulls it back, revealing a dark, decayed spot beneath the surface. The rot is a sickly gray, speckled with mold. Its pungent smell wafts through the room. “It can spread through the layers, weakening them, and allows things andpeopleto pass through.”
The tip of his knife digs into the flesh, and he cuts the onion in half. The rot’s dark tendrils have crept through the white rings, poisoning everything in its path.
“So, something between my world and yours has rotted?”
“Not between worlds. In this world. There is rot within the Kingdom of Pentacles, within Towerfall.”
“And I’m connected to this how?”
“You’re the cure, Little Fawn. The thing that will stop the whole onion from rotting.”
“No.” I wrinkle my nose at the onion, at Kane, at whoever thought I could cure anything. “I can’t be.”
Kane sets the onion aside and moves with a purposeful grace, picking up a mug and dipping it into the pot resting within the hearth. He brings the tea to me, the aroma of herbs a nice change from rotted onion. I take the tea, my fingers brushing against his, and drink deeply. It’s still sharp and bitter like beer left out in the sun, but it will dull my pain and bring me peace. It’s harsh yet soothing—a bit like Kane.
He kneels beside the bed, and I’m acutely aware of his presence and the heat emanating from his body.
“May I?” Kane lifts the side of the blanket, only uncovering enough of my waist to examine the wound. “Does it still hurt?” His palm ghosts over the bandage, and his brow furrows with a concern at odds with the man who thundered through town on horseback and filleted two people.
“It’s better now. With the tea,” I say, watching him study my bandage. There’s a strange mix of vulnerability and safety under his scrutiny.
I take another drink, savoring the warmth that spreads through me and wraps around the ache in my side with soft fingers.
“The wound is healing well,” he says. “What you need now is rest.”
“What I need now is to get out of here. To get back to civilization and antibiotics.” I wedge the blanket more firmly under my arms and clench my teeth against the pain searing my side as I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and stand up.
For a moment, I’m fine. The ground is firmly beneath my feet, and my vision is just slightly wonky. The room around me has only blurred softly, like a photo filter, the golden sunlight mingling with the fire’s dancing shadows. But before I have a chance to take a step, the edges constrict like I’m looking through a paper telescope. A drunken heaviness spreads through my limbs, and I lose my grip on the blanket. It falls, and once again, I’m standing in front of a beautiful man in nothing but mismatched Target underwear.
“Whoops.” I tip forward, and Kane catches me against the hard muscle of his chest.
“Must you fight me on everything, Fawn?”
“You know, you’re not so scary,” I slur and let him lower me back to the bed. “I bet you’re just a big squishy daddy bear on the inside.”
“Rest,” he says, drawing the thick woolen blanket around me.
