38. Chapter 38

thirty-eight

T hey rode out of the inn at eight o’clock that night, flanked by four soldiers. Nevander had dispatched a letter to Ciana, explaining the situation. The soldiers rode ahead, torches blazing, while he took up the rear with Dovina between them.

The girl had been subdued since learning about Kallessa. Fear clouded her eyes - whether of her father or for her cousin, Nevander couldn’t tell. Living so far north in Dracia, he’d never paid much attention to the minor lords of the southern provinces. Now, he was about to get intimately acquainted with Lord Wynlar. The thought made his jaw clench.

They rode for hours through the shadowy woods, the silence broken by only by a wolf’s mournful howl. Fatigue clawed at Nevander, but he ignored it, willing himself to stay alert.

Dovina began to nod off, nearly falling from her mount. Sighing, Nevander pulled her onto his horse, bracing her with his arms. As she dozed against him, his resolve to dislike her weakened. She was just a young girl, after all. Did he even want to recall all the stupid things he’d done as a teenager? If Castien were here, he would have been happy to list them off, even though he’d been involved with most of them.

King Graynor had probably made it to Ravenbluff Estate by now. Honestly, Nevander was glad not to be there. Castien’s father was brutally hard to reason with in a crisis, and with queen Lyra missing, he would be impossible. Thankfully, two of the most level headed people he knew, Castien and Ciana, were left behind to handle things.

He caught a whiff of salty ocean air. They were nearing Teansong, the coastal town where Kallessa had grown up. What had her life been like in those early years, before tragedy struck? The thought of her made his chest tighten.

As they rode into the barrack headquarters, the stars fading from the predawn sky, Nevander wasted no time sending word to Lord Talos Wynlar that his daughter had been found.

He really wanted to rip into this odious man who would dare lock up his own niece, but seeing Kallessa again was his priority. Would she be glad to see him? Could she forgive his deception?

Nevander gripped Dovina’s arm gently before leaving her with the soldiers. “Remember who I am,” he said, his tone firm yet reassuring.

Dovina swallowed hard and nodded, her expression still laced with worry. Nevander gave her arm a gentle squeeze. “The princess already promised she wouldn’t let your father marry you off without your consent, but you need to go home and get things sorted out.”

Her eyes filled with grateful tears. “Thank you, my prince. I mean it. And tell Kallessa I’m sorry.”

A small smile tugged at Nevander’s lips. “You can tell her yourself.”

Following another soldier, they stalked toward the jail on the other side of town. The predawn chill seeped into Nevander’s bones, rooftops glistening with early frost under the fading moonlight.

The squat stone building loomed before them, its thick wooden door and small barred windows exuding misery. Rage crashed over Nevander again. Kallessa, locked up in this dismal place for trying to help her ungrateful cousin? He clenched his fists and shoved past the soldier, yanking open the heavy door.

Inside, the air was even colder, shadows lurking in every corner. The soldier fumbled with a set of large, rusty keys, his breath clouding the miserable confines. Nevander snatched the lantern from him impatiently, holding it closer to illuminate the stubborn lock.

“Dammit, man! Get it open already,” Nevander growled.

The lock finally gave way with a loud crunching click that clanked against the damp stone walls. The soldier shoved the door open, the hinges screeching in protest. Nevander stepped into the shadowy chamber, his eyes quickly scanning the dimly lit space. A dank, musty odor permeated the air, along with a mixture of vomit and sweat. This place was abhorrent. He wouldn’t even subject criminals to these circumstances.

“Kallessa?” he called, his voice echoing dully against the damp stone.

No sound. No movement.

He stepped in further, and the flickering lantern light revealed a motionless form on the floor. Kallessa lay in a filthy heap, like a pile of refuse. He dropped the lantern and stumbled to her before gathering her into his arms. An icy chill shot through him at her deathly coldness. He brushed the tangled strands from her ashen face, his fingers trembling. Her lips were parted slightly, cracked and gray. Each shallow breath seemed a struggle.

“No, no, no…” The words tumbled from his lips as panic gripped him. Her head lolled back like a rag doll, exposing the pallid hollows of her cheeks. If she died... No, he couldn’t bear to finish that thought. He had to get her somewhere warm, safe.

Turning on the soldier with a thunderous expression, he barked, “Get a carriage and blankets immediately! I don’t care if you have to steal them. This is in the name of the crown. If this young woman dies, I’m holding you personally responsible.”

The soldier’s face drained of color and he sprinted away. Nevander swiftly wrapped Kallessa in his heavy cloak, desperately trying to warm her. How could a man treat his own kin this way? He stroked her cheek, remembering how it had blushed with pleasure at his touch. Now, there was no response, only the faintest rasp of labored breathing.

A stagecoach came barreling around the corner, the horses’ hooves thundering against the cobblestones. A frantic-looking soldier clung to the reins while a disheveled man, one hand clutching his trousers and the other waving wildly, gave chase. The stagecoach ground to a halt before Nevander, the soldier’s eyes wide at the sight of Kallessa’s still form.

Cradling Kallessa, Nevander jumped into the stagecoach, his heart pounding. His shoulder shot through with pain that he ignored.

The disheveled man yanked the door open, face flushed. “Where do ya think you’re going with my coach? I have to deliver the mail tomorrow! ”

“I’ll have it back by morning,” Nevander ground out. “Please, a lady’s life hangs in the balance.”

He couldn’t let her die, not like the others whose faces still haunted his nightmares.

The man’s eyes widened as he took in Kallessa’s still form. “Godspeed, sir. But please have my coach back by morning.” He slammed the door shut, and the carriage lurched forward.

“Where to, my lord?” the soldier shouted over the clatter of hooves.

“Wynlar Estate,” Nevander rasped.

Kallessa would live, even if he had to move heaven and earth to make it so. As the carriage raced through the gray dawn, Nevander held her close, willing his warmth into her frigid body.

The sun cracked the horizon, rimming the streets in glittering frost. Nevander’s heart pounded as the carriage thundered to a halt before Wynlar Estate, a grand two-story sandstone structure that emerged from the hillside, as if nature itself had willed it into existence. The wide entrance swarmed with frantic activity. Lord Wynlar himself stood rigidly on the steps, his face contorted in a dark scowl, his wool overcoat buttoned up against the chill. He had the frame of a scarecrow, all harsh angles and sharp edges.

Lady Wynlar cowered beside him, clutching a fur cloak tightly to her narrow chest, her expression pinched with fright. Nevander would give them something to be frightened about .

Nevander’s voice cracked like a whip as he issued orders to the soldier. “I want every able-bodied sentry here within the hour. Summon the swiftest rider to carry a dispatch to the capital at once. And find me a skilled healer, immediately.”

The soldier’s crisp bow and swift departure barely registered as Nevander turned his focus to the unconscious woman in his arms.

Pain lanced through his shoulder, threatening to loosen his grip on Kallessa. Gritting his teeth, he clutched her tighter. He inhaled deeply, the dank scent of her matted hair filling his nostrils as he refocused on Lord and Lady Wynlar. They dare stand before him, bundled in their furs while Kallessa had been caged like a beast in a frigid cell for two days?

Anger propelled each step up the dark granite staircase, Kallessa’s slight weight growing heavier with every movement. This estate should have been Kallessa’s rightful home, her sanctuary.

Lord Wynlar spoke loudly, his nasal voice carrying across the courtyard. “What is the meaning of this? You bring that girl to my house? The one who kidnapped my daughter?”

The blood rushing in Nevander’s ears felt glorious, dulling all pain and fatigue he’d felt only moments ago. How easy it would be to end this man’s miserable life. And oh, how he wanted to.

But the precious bundle in his arms deserved more. She had shown him peace. He would not repay her with bloodshed. It took every shred of self control he had left to contain his simmering rage.

“Remove yourself,” Nevander spoke with deadly calm, “or I cannot guarantee your safety.”

“I will do no such-” Lord Wynlar began, but his wife, who seemed to have a tiny bit more sense than him, yanked his arm, her beady eyes bulging from her face. He glanced at her, then back to Nevander, his eyes narrowing, then growing wide as recognition lit them.

Wynlar bowed stiffly. “Pardon, my lord.”

Nevander shouldered past them, the warmth of the foyer a stark contrast to the ice in his veins. A wide-eyed maid stood frozen by the door, her palms raised to her cheeks.

“You, get Lady Dovina and start heating a bath,” he ordered, gently laying Kallessa on a nearby divan upholstered in rich green silk and stuffed a gilt-edged pillow beneath her head.

A massive fireplace dominated one wall, its mantle adorned with ornate carvings and flanked by stern-looking ancestral portraits. The firelight cast harsh shadows across Kallessa’s features. Purplish circles surrounded her sunken eyes, her cheeks hollow and gaunt. Her clothes were torn and caked with grime, her long mahogany curls a tangled, matted mess.

Lady Wynlar’s fretful mumbling about ruined fabrics sparked a fresh wave of fury in Nevander’s chest.

Nevander pierced her with a glare. “Bring me a glass of water and a damp washcloth.”

She froze.

“Now.” His tone brooked no argument, sending Lady Wynlar scurrying towards the kitchen. Lord Wynlar was nowhere to be seen, which was good because now that his hands were free, he wanted to rip the man in half.

Lady Wynlar made it back in record time, handing the washcloth and a glass of water over with shaky hands before quickly retreating .

Alone with Kallessa, Nevander’s composure cracked. He tenderly wiped her face, every stroke revealing cuts and scratches across her skin. “I’m so sorry, Kallessa,” he whispered.

He cradled her head and pressed the glass to her parched lips. “Can you take a sip for me, sweetheart?”

Water dribbled down her chin, leaving a dirty trail into the neckline of her dress. Her throat never moved. He gently squeezed her cheeks, parting her lips just enough to pour a small trickle of water into her mouth. Relief washed over him when he saw her throat muscles contract in a swallow. He stroked her forehead tenderly, brushing back stray strands of her disheveled hair.

“That’s right,” he murmured, stroking her forehead. “We’ll have you up in no time. I still haven’t shown you the telescope, remember?”

The memory of her vibrant laughter in the observatory twisted like a knife in his chest. How bitterly ironic that tonight would be a full moon. One that he couldn’t share with her. “Just take another sip for me, sweetheart.”

A loud gasp jerked him from his reverie. Dovina stood beside him, her face a mask of horror. She’d changed into a simple gown, her curls in a long braid down her back.

“Oh my goodness, Kallessa,” Dovina wailed, grabbing one of Kallessa’s limp hands before quickly dropping it with a grimace. “What’s wrong with her?” She scrunched her nose. “And why does she smell bad?”

Nevander’s hand shook, water sloshing onto the floor. “Go ask your father,” he bit out .

Her eyes widened and she backed away, a hand to her mouth as if to hold back the urge to retch. She bumped into the maid coming back downstairs with an empty bucket.

“The bath is ready, my lord.”

He studied the maid for a moment. She had kind eyes that were drawn with concern and she’d readied the bath in record time. Good. One less person he’d have to worry about.

Nevander rose, cradling Kallessa against his chest. A searing pain ripped down his left arm, sharp as a dagger’s edge, causing sparks to dance before his eyes. He tightened his grip, refusing to let her go.

“Dovina,” he managed through gritted teeth, “come with me. Your cousin needs your help.”

As he followed the maid up the richly carpeted stairs, he swore he would make this right. For Kallessa. For the peace she’d shown him, he would make this right.

Ahh, warmth. Through the flickering darkness and pain, Kallessa felt her body warming for the first time in what seemed like an eternity. But with the warmth came new stabs of pains that raked through her tender flesh, so she sunk back into that blissful oblivion, where there was no pain. But she could have sworn she heard Nevander’s voice.

No, that could only be a dream. Nevander was gone.