14. Royal

Chapter 14

Royal

His turn. A rash of goose bumps spread down Royal's arms, and his palms grew clammy. He didn't fancy a turn, but he had to—not because he agreed to it but because he'd spent the last fifteen minutes trying to hear what the witch—yes, witch—was saying to Easton. His intentions weren't to be disrespectful, but he knew what she was. And she knew he knew. He'd sensed it the instance he'd crossed the threshold, even before he saw the otherworldly shadows reflecting in her eyes or the apotropaic hexafoil-shaped birthmark peeking from beneath the tumble-tangle of long curls that once had a luster.

While Easton had been inside, Royal had lingered at the second entrance and strained to hear the conversation. However, a persistent low tinnitus—perhaps from a radio, but it had sounded eerily like keening—rendered their words incomprehensible. Even after kicking his companions out of the tent so he could better eavesdrop, he hadn't been able to decipher a single word. He'd heard the muffled voices but nothing distinct. He needed answers.

No use wasting time. He slipped between the part in the canvas and marched to the vacant chair across from the witch, his shuffling and stealthy steps scuffing the matted tall fescue. The succulent smell of earth mingled with other scents, and an odd sense of déjà vu erupted. In response, a warm tingling sensation fizzled across his skin like a fine sheen of sweat as his eyes settled on her. Folding his arms across his chest, he sat. He'd neither the inclination nor the patience for idle chat.

"All right," he demanded. "Tell me."

The witch's lips twitched and curled slightly at the corners.

* * *

He wandered out of the inner area—the witch's lair—swimming in an ocean of dark emotions and massaged the rear of his neck where tension had roosted. Not that her words had comforted him—in truth he could argue that they'd been troublesome—but at least he now knew, had affirmation. However, had he needed confirmation? And at what cost? His energy felt drained. He shouldn't have allowed her to touch him, permitted her ring-spangled fingers to rub over his palms. That was a gateway opening, how one allowed iniquitousness to absorb into the skin like a disease and became a vessel to?—

Or maybe none of it was true. Practiced witches could conjure false images and cause people to see, hear, and believe things that weren't real. They could, when it suited them, employ a more flexible approach to reality with a gaslit justification. Disgust flickered across his face.

"Hey," Wade said, drawing Royal out of his thoughts. "Why such a forlorn face? She tell you how ugly your wife is going to be or something?"

His companions laughed, and Royal attempted to muster a smile. However, his facial muscles felt too tired to expand or contract, and he managed what he presupposed was an emotionally detached expression. His entire body sagged, drained and fatigued. He longed to curl onto a mattress and sleep, to recuperate.

"Naw, he looks spooked to me," Maddox chirped, accompanied with a glib smirk and a condescending gleam. "Did the little old lady who lives in a shoe tent scare you?"

Burrowing maggot!

Royal parted his lips to give Maddox a piece of his mind, but his ringing cell phone preempted it. He wasn't in a talking mood and would have ignored it. However, he'd reserved that ringtone for his mother, and she rarely called. Screw him. He grimaced, stepped away from the group, and swiped his screen.

" Que se passe-t-il? " he answered as a greeting.

" Pas rien, sweet pea. I'm calling to ask you."

"Nothing's wrong, Duchess."

"Are you sure?" she asked in a motherly voice that reminded him how much he missed her. "I was in the garden, finally getting around to planting some okra, when suddenly there was a gust of wind. In with it rolled a smell sort of like but not quite the cherry tobacco you and Easton used to sneak out back and smoke that you thought I didn't know about." She chuckled softly. "It was sweet but not exactly pleasant. Familiar in a way. The more I walked, the stronger the smell got. I followed it down the path toward the bayou. Did you know half of the stepping stones have sunk?" She didn't pause long enough for him to answer. "And the broom sedge has taken over. But anyway, I followed the scent to the bench you built in woodshop, and my heart nearly stopped. A pair of your riding gloves was lying on top, unmoving by the breeze. Why, I was out there yesterday, and I didn't see anything on that bench. But there they were, folded nice and neat. I figured there had to be a reason I'd see them now."

Every pore on Royal's skin twinged as if they'd been debrided with steel wool, and his entire body tightened. Spooked? Yep. His mother wouldn't fabricate such a story if it wasn't true. Words rolled and stuck to the edge of his tongue with the spiky sensation of an unpeeled kiwi. He couldn't speak them—not those words.

"Naw, I'm fine. Everyone's fine."

He didn't consider this a lie—merely a skirting around an abbreviated dissemination of all factors. Physically, he was healthy. Fact. His mental state, on the other hand, was sketch, but he needn't include it to answer a broad open-to-interpretation question. His mother hadn't specified that she meant mental health too. Plus, Easton wasn't fine. Royal knew this, but Easton had proclaimed to be. Therefore, Royal needed—at this moment, at least—to accept Easton's statement at face value. Oh, these tangled damn webs. The bottom line was, Royal couldn't worry his mother. He wouldn't.

"Maybe a bit anxious about riding tomorrow night," he continued. That part was 100 percent true. "But it's always like that. Marcel always says a little bit of nerves is a good thing. It keeps us aware, allows us not to become complacent or overconfident. It keeps us safe."

"Marcel still taking good care of you, then?"

"Oh, yes, ma'am. He rations us processed food and water barely needing iodine tablets and sometimes even beats us with a belt instead of the horsewhip."

His mother laughed. "You cheeky thing. I don't know where you get it from. Certainly not me."

Rolling in his lower lip, he sighed. "Perhaps the other half of my DNA." A nervousness churned in his stomach as a beat of silence passed.

She emitted a noncommittal "Hmm" before speaking in a polite and creamy tone that masked a slight coolness. "Perhaps. Back in my day, we didn't learn a lot about genetics in biology, but from what I remember, DNA is like a church collection plate. Each of your relatives puts something in. By the time it gets to the end of the row, it's full and it doesn't matter who added what. It all goes to pay for the church."

That was his cue to drop the subject and move on. This wasn't a hill he was willing to die on—at least not today. His eyes smoldered with regret. " Oui , Duchess. You said you were planting okra. Planning a big garden this year?"

"Not much. Just some cabbage and collards, and maybe some tomatoes and corn. The peppers look like they're trying to come back from last year. Food is so expensive these days, and you never know what they're putting in it. This garden gives me a small peace of mind."

"Well, I'm happy you have something to keep you busy. I know how much you enjoy yardwork."

"You know what I enjoy more?"

"What's that?"

"Hearing my baby's voice."

Royal smiled. " Je t'aime, aussi , Duchess." He concluded his conversation with his mother and returned to the group.

"How's Salethia?" Easton's inquired. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah. Sure."

"You don't sound sure. She's not worse, is she?"

"No, nothing like that. She?—"

"Hey, what's that?" Upton interrupted.

Fucking rude. "What's what?" Royal replied.

"That in your hand."

Royal glanced at the folded pages that had been shoved into his hand by the witch as he'd exited her tent, and a hot flush splintered from his chest to his face, neck, shoulders, and back. He'd forgotten about that. Well, not so much forgotten as had been distracted.

"Uh… nothing."

"Aw, did your girlfriend write you a love letter?" Upton sang as he attempted to snatch the papers from Royal. "Let's have a look."

" J'ai dit que ce n'était rien ," Royal growled, his voice deeper than usual and tone infused with wrath.

"Whoa, dude." Upton took a step back and threw his hands up in surrender. "It's not that serious. Simmer down."

Easton raised a brow. "Roy, are you sure everything's okay?"

Of course it isn't.

" Oui , I'm just tired. Sorry, Upton." He stuffed the pages in his pocket. Out of sight, out of mind, right?

"No probs."

Only, there were probs, starting with the way Easton was staring at him. Royal needed to smooth this over.

"By the way, Cody," Royal stated, changing the subject, "it's your turn. But don't take all day. We need to get moving if Easton's going to make it to the pavilion on time."

Cody shook his head but stalked toward the tent. "You better be glad that blood is thicker than water. I swear, East, if we weren't related and I didn't think I was in your will, there's no way in hell I'd do this."

Dude, you have no idea.