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Stavros’s grip on my shoulder tightens. “Is there any immediate danger to the royal family or the city?”
“It didn’t seem like it. But I don’t know. If they have a lot of clay—and they threw the dummy in the fire.”
I’m aware that I’m not making a great deal of sense, but I can’t seem to keep my thoughts in coherent order.
Stavros nudges me toward the sofa, keeping his hand firmly in place until I’ve sat down. “I don’t think you’re in the best condition to explain what happened at the moment. You must be exhausted. Get a few hours’ sleep, and then you can tell us everything.”
I’m abruptly aware of how heavy my eyelids have gotten. I swipe at my eyes and peer up at the former general.
All the confusion I’ve felt in the past week swims to the surface, straight past my internal filter.
“Why are you being nice to me now?” I demand. “You should want the scourge sorcerers to murder me. Then you wouldn’t need to worry anymore.”
Stavros’s expression tightens with what might be horror—or guilt. “Ivy, I’d never want that.”
I scoff. “You hated me. My soul’s still broken. I give you nightmares.”
His mouth twists. “I didn’t—I didn’t hate you. I was afraid of what you might be capable of, but I know I was wrong. I shouldn’t have needed to test you to figure it out.”
I wave my hand vaguely. “You don’t need to feel guilty about it. I’d have wanted to strangle me too. I’m afraid of me—how can I blame you?”
Stavros pauses with an audible swallow. He rests his hand on my shoulder again, gentler now. “You don’t have to worry aboutmeanymore. Lie down and get some rest. I’ll be right here if you need anything.”
I have the ridiculous urge to grasp his hand and pull him down on the sofa with me, so he really will be “right here.” To sink into the heat of his body and his peppery scent, wrap myself in all the strength that emanates from his massive frame.
Of course, he wouldn’t fit lying down on the sofa with me because of that massive frame. I doubt he’d want to bethatclose anyway, no matter what Casimir says.
I shouldn’t want him to be either. He probably does still hate me somewhere underneath. He might decide to put another rope around my neck, and even if I can’t totally blame him, I do generally prefer being alive.
Stavros lifts his hand to stroke his fingers over my hair—a fleeting caress, but it makes my pulse skip a beat. “If you want to have that meeting, then sleep. We’re not going anywhere until you’ve rested.”
I let out a disgruntled huff, but I oblige him by lying down. My eyes close automatically. I’m not sure anything has ever felt as wonderful as these sofa cushions.
I think Stavros is still standing there, watching me—standing guard, like he thinks I might run off again if he doesn’t. I can’t find the wherewithal to care.
The fog rolls over my mind, and I drift away.
* * *
I wake up to a bitter taste in my mouth and a dull ache in the back of my head. But when I sit up, blinking in the bright daylight now streaming through the window at the other end of the room, my head doesn’t reel. My body remains steady.
Stavros stands up where he was seated behind his desk. I don’t know if he slept more, but he’s wearing a new, unwrinkled shirt with an embroidered jacket over it, and he’s put on his hand-shaped prosthetic over the stump of his left wrist.
He speaks in a familiar wry drawl, but his gaze fixes on me intently with a twitch of his head. “You’ve returned to consciousness. Do you have a story that makes a little more sense now?”
I can’t remember exactly what I said to him when I first arrived this morning, but enough of our conversation—especially the last part of it—comes back to me that my face flushes.
I glance away with the excuse of grabbing a new dress. “I’ll get changed, and then we should signal Alek and Casimir to come to the meeting room. Assuming they’re around. It’ll be easier to tell all of you at once, and they might know things that’ll fill in the missing pieces.”
Stavros nods, his tone darkening. “I have a little news of my own.”
With that ominous statement hanging over me, I duck into the latrine and hastily swap my grass-stained gown for one more befitting the lady I’m pretending to be. As I fumble with the laces, it occurs to me that I’m going to need Casimir to bring me yet another replacement.
I seem to go through dresses like most people go through dinner.
I bustle back out to find Stavros waiting for me with his cord already looped on the floor and a plate of bread, cheese, and sliced meat in his hand. “I picked you up a little food when I went down to breakfast earlier. Nothing meant to be hot since I didn’t know how long you’d sleep.”
He’s matter-of-fact about his generosity, but a fresh prickle of heat still creeps up my neck as I accept the plate. My stomach lets out an approving grumble. “Thank you.”
