Page 120 of Blade of the Nightking

“There,” I said, brushing sand from my clothes as I pushed myself to my feet. “Go find your mother.”

The kitten simply looked up at me.

I pointed vaguely down the beach. “Shoo.” I turned and started trudging back toward the stairs leading to the castle.

I’d only made it a few steps before something brushed against my ankle. I looked down. The kitten was weaving determinedly around my legs as it followed me through the sand, its spindly legs working almost comically hard to keep pace beside me.

“No.”

It mewed loudly in response. I picked it up again—trying not to think about how shockingly little it weighed—and set it several feet away facing the opposite direction.

“Go.”

I turned and kept walking. Behind me came the frantic sound of tiny paws scrambling through sand. Then another insistent meow.

I closed my eyes briefly.

When I looked down again, the kitten had returned to wind stubbornly around my feet, staring up at me with those luminous eyes as though deeply offended by my attempts to abandon it.

“Go away.”

I tried walking again. It followed. Again.

An impatient breath escaped through my nose.

“Fine.” I bent and scooped the creature into my arms, and instantly that loud rattling purr erupted again, like I was carrying a swarming beehive against my chest.

When I reached the place I’d abandoned my boots, I awkwardly shoved them back on.

The kitten continued purring contentedly as I started back toward the castle.

I’d never seen cats as anything but pests. In Midland, there were strays everywhere, and no one minded them so long as they hunted the rats that swarmed the settlement and spread disease. But they were never tame. They certainly weren’t pets. I wondered what my father would’ve thought of me carrying one of the mangy creatures into my chambers now.

I noticed immediately upon entering that the little stack of books Levinica had brought yesterday—including The Little Moon Boat—was gone. The servants had undoubtedly moved them while cleaning and laying out breakfast, as they had every morning since I’d been brought to Rìan’s old rooms. The meal now stretched neatly across the far end of the dining table beneath polished silver lids.

The kitten still tucked awkwardly in the crook of my arm, I poured cream into a saucer and set it on the floor before depositing the little beast beside it. Instantly, it buried its face in the dish.

I lifted a few of the shining domes covering the breakfast spread and stole pieces of smoked fish from one of the platters, setting them onto a plate beside the saucer on the floor. The kitten attacked the food with such frantic enthusiasm that it kept bouncing between the fish and the cream as though terrified one might vanish before it could finish both. All the while, that purr rumbled steadily from its chest.

“Slow down before you make yourself sick.”

I sank into a chair and poured myself tea with milk and honey, sipping it while I watched the creature inhale enough food for three cats its size. I managed a few bites of scrambled eggs myself while it ignored me completely. Once it finished, it sat back on its haunches and let out a long plaintive yowl in my direction.

I leaned forward, bracing my elbows against my knees. “Now, if you’re going to stay here, you need to look less horrifying. Do you understand me?” I pointed accusingly at it. “At present, you could easily be mistaken for an oversized rat, and I wouldn’t put it past Veylan or Segolayne to put you down without hesitation.”

The kitten blinked at me.

“So prepare yourself,” I said grimly, lifting it back into my arms as I headed for the bathing chamber. “Because you are absolutely not going to enjoy this.”

I filled the sink with warm water and plugged the drain. The moment I lowered the kitten into it, the little thing reacted as though I’d attempted murder. It hissed and spat viciously, claws flying as it thrashed in the high-sided bowl trying to escape. After several scratches across my wrists that made me curse aloud, I finally lost patience and grabbed it firmly by the scruff.

Instantly, it went limp. One moment it had been a tiny demon trying to shred me alive; the next it hung there boneless and compliant, exactly like a kitten being carried by its mother.

“Well,” I muttered. “That’s useful.”

I scrubbed it mercilessly. The kitten yowled in outrage the entire time while I ignored its complaints and worked soap through the filthy mats in its fur. Wet, it looked even more pitiful than before—all ribs and oversized ears and dripping whiskers.

When I finally finished, I bundled it in a towel and rubbed it dry before carefully trimming the mats from its fur. Then I worked a comb through the rest. I found several fleas, which I immediately crushed between my nails, but thankfully the infestation wasn't too bad.