Page 12 of The King's Queen

“She’ll be fine,” she finally deduces, gently plopping a wet rag against her forehead with such a motherly tender that I know what thoughts are crossing her mind. “Where did you find her?”

“The hit went south. She intervened of her own accord.”

“Where was it?”

Silence.

“Where was it?” she asks again, her blue eyes blazing with the ferocity of a tigress. Her tiny hands pause from their work as she turns to face me.

“Belam. We started in Adil and worked our way to Belam.”

I don’t have time to duck as a dirty wet rag slaps against my face. It’s tempting to leave it plastered across my face just so I don’t have to face Aiko. However, not tempting enough when I recall what it’s used for. I peel it from my face and drop it in that same ceramic pot, Aiko now only a few feet away. Despite standing at a solid five feet tall and all of her soft features, Aiko is probably the most terrifying woman I know. No -personI know. She grips a fistful of my torn shirt and uses it to drag me to her eye level. I wince the whole way.

“Have you lost your mind?” She seethes. Her hot breath fans my face, warming it as if to say, ‘have the dignity to be ashamed.’

“Belam. That’s Mavis’ territory, and before it was hers, it was her father’s. And his father’s. There is nothing for you in Belam, why don’t you-“

“I learned who my father is tonight.”

Aiko stills, her face draining of color. “Oh.”

Oh? So she knew too. After all these years of watching us, letting me watch my mother struggle, she has the nerve to show she’s known.

“You won’t find him in Belam.” Is all she says as she moves to wet another rag. Her nimble fingers begin unbuttoning the blouse of the girl. I pay no mind. Golden blood seeps through the cream rag as she presses it to her neck. The older woman’s eyes widen, but she says nothing.

“No, but my informant was there with a way in. Until we were ambushed.” Her throat visibly constricts at my words, but I don’t bother to rein in the sharp anger whetting my tongue. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It wasn’t mine to tell.”

“But Mother-“

“It was your mother who told me not to tell you,” she snaps, tossing the bloody rag into the pot while grabbing yet another. That wound on her neck won’t stop bleeding, it’ll need stitches or a healer. I don’t bother to answer again, my head spinning.

My father. Those words send a chill through my body, the hot type that comes with fever. All this time, he should’ve been there. None of this would happen, Mother would’ve never-

Cold and concrete resolution stiffens my features. The very beat of my heart is lead inside of my chest. I’ll kill him. I will kill him for all he’s done to us, to her.

“Clean yourself up before she wakes up. Finneas should be here any second with the needle and salve.” I hadn’t noticed she’d left the room until she lay her petite hand across my shoulder. In her other hand is a clean rag, her eyes probing the deep cut near my shoulder. When did they get me?

Wordlessly, I accept it, hissing as soon as the towel makes contact with my open flesh. I note thankfully that she chose a black cloth, perfect for hiding my blood. The last thing I need is for tonight to blow up in my face even more.

Finneas enters the room as if on cue. The burly man’s shadow coats most of the basement as he lumbers down to meet us. The stairs creak under his weight, but he pays no mind. The light glints off of his squared jaw and the faint semblance of an auburn mustache above his lip. He places the needle and ointment container in Aiko’s hand with a gentleness that no one ever expects from the large man.

Aiko only steps closer to me, beckoning for me to push the collar of my shirt down to expose the wound.

“Shouldn’t you tend to her first?” She shakes her head.

“I need her body to fight off the poison first, it’ll start leaking from the wound soon enough.”Leaking? I stifle a gag at the thought.

“Oh, how delightful,” I say with a grimace. Aiko only rolls her eyes before dabbing the alcohol and ointment-soaked rag directly onto my wound. Finneas whistles while I grit my teeth, Weevil’s cruel dagger sliced deeper than I had expected.

“Quit whining, it’s just a scratch,” he jokes, his broad chest rumbling with laughter. I make to retort when another dab from Aiko sends me hissing.

“Your wife has cold fingers.”

“Then do it yourself.” The damp and bloody rag squelches as it slides against my leather pants, causing Finneas to cringe. His wife pays no mind as she saunters back over to the girl from earlier. What once was a pinprick of golden blood on her calf is now a large and raised lump, mottled in hues of purple and red. It is indeed oozing something unnaturally green. Aiko cleans it away with the utmost care and gentleness, her gaze lingering on the girl’s face.

“Where was that carefulness when you were helping me?”

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