Chapter 44
Jane
The return trip back to the camp was silent and solemn.
“Should we track the Jill?” Roarke had asked when they’d first set out.
“She’ll find us if she wants to,” Caradoc said. “We’re not a running a prison. She’s out. Good enough.”
“I’m sorry,” Roarke grimaced, clutching his wounded arm. “It all went to shit.”
“They usually do,” Caradoc replied. “Anyway, you freed her, which was the objective.”
“And she’s a peach,” Saffron said grimly. “She wasn’t worth Kristoff.”
“No one is.”
And then two hours passed with nothing but the clomping of the horse hooves and the dripping of water from pine boughs. Jane would have walked but when she shifted to slide to the ground, Caradoc’s hand closed over hers where they were clasped around him. He didn’t speak or turn to look at her, and she stayed where she was.
They reached camp as dawn broke through the clouds. The birds sang a cheerful song in contrast to their stark procession. Most of the Greencoats were awake and waiting. Jane heard Kristoff’s name being whispered and flinched. Livia was the first to break through the crowd, fury staining her cheeks red. “You!” she snarled at Jane. “This is your fault. If you were as good an Oracle as everyone says you are, Kristoff would still be alive.” She choked on the last word.
Jane paled. “I know.” She had nothing to say in her defense. She’d replayed the night in her head for the last two hours. She’d known Saffron needed help, known Nico had to stay behind—why hadn’t she been able to see Kristoff? She slapped at her numen, wishing it could explain. Instead, her spine burned.
Caradoc scrubbed a hand roughly over his face. “We are not doing this right now.”
“But—.”
“No.” His weariness sharpened to a weapon. “Kristoff is to be honoured and remembered. And this is not the way to do it. He made his choice.” He motioned to a woman with a shaved head. “Can you see to Augusta’s eye and Roarke’s shoulder?”
“It’s fine,” Roarke said.
The healer just jabbed her finger into his wound until he staggered back, ashen-faced and swearing. “You’ll come with me then?” she asked blandly.
They walked away but Livia stayed where she was, glowering. Jane just wanted to close her eyes and sleep for a week. Her head spun. She didn’t even realize she’d passed out until she came to again, stretched out on Caradoc’s saggy couch.
Thirst and hunger and fatigue hit her in waves---but she mostly felt mortification. Why did she have to keep falling apart around him? She must have made some sound of frustration, something animal and harsh, because he turned around in his chair. “You’re awake.”
She rubbed her eyes. “If you say so.”
His smile was fleeting. She might have imagined it. “What happened?” she asked when she couldn’t bear the silence any longer.
“My guess? Numen burnout. You have to be careful. I’ve seen people burned inside out to a shell. You’re not an ocean,” he elaborated. “You’re a cup. You need to be filled up so you don’t run dry.” At least he hadn’t compared her to a silver goblet or a glass chalice, something pretty but useless. Something from the Enclave.
“This never used to happen.”
“Your numina tattoo was different then,” Caradoc reminded her. “They use powder from leaf masks mixed with charcoal and iron dust. Iron stops magic. Or at least interferes with it.”
“But doesn’t the Directorate want more numen?”
“Sure but they want numen they can control.”
“Is that what’s in the new Directorate tattoos too?”
“That’s my guess,” Caradoc said. “They want to see who reacts and how. And if they’re tagging everyone, they’re getting desperate.”
“There is no numen poisoning, is there?”
He smiled a little. “Not that I can see. It’s just another early-warning system for the Directorate to keep an eye on everyone.”
“So they get everyone paranoid to turn each other in as well.” She tried to sit up but when everything swam out of focus, she lay back down.
“What did I just say about resting?” he sighed.
“I can sleep in my cabin,” she mumbled. “Out of your way.”
“I’d rather you stay where I can keep an eye on you. Livia is less likely to try her hand at murder in my cabin.”
Kristoff. Jane turned her head away towards the cushions, blinking back tears.
“Hey.” She heard Caradoc’s chair creak when he stood up but she didn’t move. He crouched beside her and she concentrated on the pattern of the stupendously ugly cushions instead of his scent of soap and cedar. “This wasn’t your fault any more than it was Roarke’s.”
She didn’t want to be comforted. But she didn’t want him to leave either. “I should have been able to save him.”
He brushed a strand of hair off her neck. “You saved my nephew. And Nico. And if we’d gone tonight as planned, maybe Kristoff would have made it. Or maybe none of us would have.” He bent closer, his breath soft on her ear. “You did good.”
She turned to face him then, something new blazing through her.
“I can do better.”