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Kaz grunted, but allowed the physician to resume his stitches.
Clare asked Hanna to gather anything Imara might need, then she and Bennick left Imara’s suite and headed down the hall toward Serene’s room.
“Imara is more afraid than she’s showing,” Clare said, keeping her voice low so the guards stationed at the door wouldn’t hear. “I can’t imagine how it would feel to have one of your bodyguards turn against you.” She paused. “Actually, I thought Wilf was trying to kill me once. But to truly experience that . . . Fates, it would be so hard to feel safe after that.”
Bennick wanted to take her hand, but he resisted the urge; the guards could still see them. “We’ll keep her safe,” he assured her.
Clare glanced up at him, worry in her eyes. “This feels like what we went through in Iden, with Gavril. And again with the Rose.”
Bennick sighed, unable to argue. Gavril had tried to kill Serene to stop her marriage to Desfan, and Zilas had been hired to do the same. Both men had nearly succeeded in killing Clare—and his half-brother was still out there.
Bennick knew it was only a matter of time before Zilas re-entered their lives. And since he knew what Clare meant to Bennick, she was his target just as much as Serene was.
“They’re cowards,” Clare said quietly. “Targeting women who have no choice but to follow the orders they’ve been given. It’s terrible. I hate that Imara has to face this.”
“She’s not alone,” Bennick said. “You’ll be able to do more for her than any of us, because you’ve been where she is.”
They were nearly halfway down the corridor before Clare said quietly, “I don’t truly understand what it would be like to be forced to marry for political gain. But I do know some of her fear. I’ve been targeted, and I know how it feels to not be in control of your own life. To live, knowing your life isn’t truly your own.”
The words—so matter-of-factly spoken—made Bennick’s heart clench. He hated that Clare felt like her life wasn’t her own. He wanted to protest, but he couldn’t. Unfortunately, there was truth in what she said. King Newlan would never let her go; not when he could still use her.
But the fates would rot before Bennick allowed Clare to feel trapped for the rest of her life.
Chapter 22
Mia
Graysonwasnotfine.
It had been three days since their escape from the castle, and though Grayson kept insisting he was fine, he clearly wasn’t. He kept rubbing his head, his eyes were unfocused, and his skin was feverishly hot, even though the air was chill. They stopped to rest with increasing frequency, even though she now walked with an arm wrapped around Grayson’s back. As the day passed, he allowed her to take more of his weight, and his steps grew unsteady.
Panic tightened her lungs, but Mia didn’t let the emotion attack her. Somehow, she was holding it back, though she knew she would have a breaking point.
Her grief for Devon flared. She wished the physician was with them. Fates, she couldn’t believe he was dead. Had she ever truly thanked him for taking care of her for so many years? She couldn’t remember, and it made her heart ache.
She wished the Fletchers were here. She wished she wasn’t so alone, especially when Grayson suddenly staggered.
His weight was too much; they both hit the hard ground. Pain shot up from her knees, and she grunted as she fought to keep his head from knocking against the dirt.
He blinked blearily at her as she eased him onto his side. “Can’t—stop.”
Her eyes stung. “Grayson, you can’t keep going like this.”
His body was wracked by a terrible convulsion. The burned cut along his jaw was inflamed. Infected. Without help, he might die.
“Keep . . . going.”
“I can’t carry you,” she said, her voice coming out a little hoarse. “And you can’t keep walking.”
Fates, what could she do? Grayson had said there were villages nearby, but they hadn’t seen one yet. Surely they must be close.
Darkness was falling. Her heart pounded. She didn’t know if he’d survive another night without help.
“Powder,” Grayson said tersely, teeth clenched in pain. “Need. More.”
She immediately reached for his pack and dug inside for the small pouch. She worried he’d been taking too much. That maybe it was the thing allowing him to push his body too far. But if more powder would help him make a final push . . .
She found the powder. There was less than she’d expected. She took a pinch of it, as she’d seen Grayson do, and put the medicine under his tongue.
