Page 123 of War Queen
But she wasn’t sure he did.
Salara was asleep. Her breaths came deep and rhythmic as Mikael held her in his arms in the bed at the inn. But anger coursed through him. He shouldn’t have brought her here. The plan had been to make camp at the Fork, that’s where the army was now. Yes, it was cold, but they could have made do with a tent.
He cursed himself again. He’d been lax with her safety, knowing the happiness it would bring her to walk through the markets of the Free Cities, and how she’d enjoy a bath and bed as a break from the travel. He’d wanted to take her mind from the pressures that weighted her spirit.
But they were so close to the North; they could have waited. She hadn’t even asked him to stop in the Free Cities. He’d done it simply for her enjoyment. As much as it killed him to admit it, he shouldn’t have stopped here.
He couldn’t shake the doubt that lingered. She’d said she hadn’t called the Bear. Everything in him wanted to believe that, was desperate to believe it… Why couldn’t he?
She’d had no blood on her, no vial. So why couldn’t he believe?
Because the Bear could take her from him. She’d lied for the Bear before, had kept things from Mikael. Given a worthy enough cause, Mikael knew, she’d do it again. He didn’t doubt her heart; he knew she loved him. But they both had drastically different ideas on the best way to handle things.
If the Bear was in her mind, he would have needed the blood—she had to have called him.
Suddenly, Mikael stiffened.Ifthe Bear was in her mind.If.
If he wasn’t in her mind, it meant he had come in person. And she wouldn’t have called his person…
Carefully, he slipped his arm out from underneath Salara and rose. He pulled on his boots and jacket and quietly opened the door to Bhastian, who stood right outside. Mikael waved the Crest captain in. He wouldn’t risk leaving her alone again while he went to find Soren.
Bhastian took his post just inside the door, and Mikael closed it behind him as he stepped into the hall.
His anger built—for Salara, not at her. He’d long since accepted the Bear’s place in her heart, understood it even, but continuing to see him wasn’t allowing her the space to heal. With her grandmother now dying, could she handle both?
Mikael tried not to think about what the Bear’s continued presence meant for his own fate, although the thought haunted him still. The Bear would bring his end. From the dead, apparently.
No—this man wasn’t the Bear. He couldn’t be. And if this wasn’t a ghost in her mind, someone was toying with her, and doing it by getting dangerously close to her.
Mikael strode outside, toward a few of the Crest standing together with Soren. They hadn’t captured anyone, as he’d hoped. Perhaps no one had truly been there.
Mikael had thought the worst case would be her calling the Bear back to her mind. That would have hurt the most. But even so, he found himself wishing it were what had happened. For if she didn’t call him, this man now had the power to visit her without the blood, which was alarming. Worse yet, if he came in person, he had the ability to hurt her. Mikael prayed to gods he didn’t believe in that she’d called him.
“We even swept the tavern,” Soren said as he approached.
“So, he’s in her mind.”
“I thought the same,” Soren replied. “But come here.” He led Mikael to the wall of the castle, under the window of the room in which Salara slept on the second story. Soren crouched down, holding out the lantern in his hand. “What do you make of these?” he asked as he motioned to the ground in front of him, and Mikael shifted his eyes to boot prints in the dirt.
Chapter thirty-two
Merciastoodexactlyasit had the day she’d left it, but it seemed a little darker now. The white of the castle seemed more gray, and even the stained glass windows didn’t hold the same shine. Maybe it was the winter skies, or maybe it was the darkness hanging over her heart.
She tried not to think about the journey, or Alexander, but the memory of the night before kept creeping back into her mind. Why had he come to her? How had he come?
And just when she thought things were settling with Mikael, this brought back the distance between them. She’d seen it—the doubt in his eyes when she’d told him she hadn’t called Alexander. She couldn’t be angry with him; she hadn’t been entirely honest with him in the past when it had come to Alexander. But his doubt still hurt.
When they crossed the bridge to the castle isle and reached the courtyard, Catherine was waiting for them. She sat in a wheeled chair with a fur draped over her lap. Her cheekbones seemed a little higher on her face, or perhaps the recesses of her eyes had dipped farther, making them look that way. She was so thin.
Norah stopped, then slowly slid down from Sephir.
Catherine stood shakily, but steadied and reached out her hand.
Norah wavered. Caspian had told her Catherine had a terminal sickness, but that she was still active and somewhat herself. Norah hadn’t known it was this bad yet. Her eyes welled as she took Catherine’s hand.
“Took you long enough to get here,” her grandmother said, hiding her own emotion in jest.
Norah looked over her frail body and glanced at the wheeled chair. Hold it together, she told herself. But her lip trembled.
