Sheets covered the bed haphazardly, even trailing onto the floor. Sharp dread constricted her heart. The scene looked as though Lionel’s body had been dragged from the bed. Which could only mean–
Her ragged sob pierced the air. Clarysa had trouble drawing her next breath. Her knees wobbled and she stumbled on her way to the bed. Kneeling before it, she fisted the sheets. They felt cold to the touch.
“Oh no. Oh no, oh no.” It was horrible. Unimaginable. How could Lionel have died so suddenly? And why had no one told her? Or perhaps they were looking for her now. She should leave the room, find the person who had the unwelcome task of delivering the bitter news. But her grief paralyzed her. She couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t speak. The Duke of Belleressort–dead. Was this the kind of macabre sacrifice true love demanded? Now she regretted having involved Lionel in her mad schemes. Oh, my darling cousin, can you ever forgive me?
Clarysa felt too numb even to cry. A nightmarish thought came–what if death befell Stellan as well?
An urge to be with him took over her body. Clarysa pushed herself to her feet. As she rose, she detected voices coming down the corridor. Two men were talking. Their footsteps slowed and she speculated they were heading toward the chamber in which she stood. Clarysa shut her eyes, as if blindness could stave off the next moment in time.
The door flew open. “And at the risk of sounding vain–which I admit is already a lost cause–if you could please send for my tailor. Keeping up appearances is important if we are too– Clarysa! What are you doing up at this late hour?”
At the sound of her name, she opened her eyes. Ghyslain stood in the doorway, a concerned expression on his face.
A man stood next to him, dressed in a plain linen shirt and dark breeches.
Lionel.
Alive.
“My dear cousin, are you all right? You’ve gone dastardly pale.” Lionel rushed forward.
Clarysa clutched his hand as he eased her into a sitting position on the bed. Her breath came in short, rapid gasps.
“Easy, now. It’s all right. I’m here.” Lionel glanced up. “My good man, would you kindly fetch her some water or tea?”
Ghyslain nodded and sprinted away.
Clarysa leaned hard against her cousin’s chest as he draped his free arm across her shoulders. “I thought you were dead!” she cried. “I couldn’t bear it!” She held his hand between hers, digging into his flesh for the reassurance it provided. Her flood of tears quickly soaked the front of his shirt.
“Clarysa, I didn’t mean for you to enter and find me gone–I’m sorry to have frightened you so.” His hold upon her shoulders tightened. “Stellan’s medicine worked wonders. I awoke refreshed and with little pain.”
“I’m so relieved,” she whispered. “But where had you gone?”
“Ghyslain came by soon after I awoke. I insisted he take me to Stellan.” Lionel’s voice caught. “I can’t believe the state he’s in. Are you sure the healers have done all they can?”
Clarysa nodded. “They say we must wait, and be strong.”
Ghyslain entered the room, bearing a tray filled with a pot of tea, mugs, bread, bowls of jam and dried meat. He set it down on a nearby table. “Tea for the Lady and Mum said you should have a bite or three to regain your strength, sir.”
Lionel kissed her forehead. “Come join me. We’re no use to Stellan if we starve to death.”
Clarysa nodded. She joined Lionel at the table. Ghyslain served them despite her protestations, hovering like a mother hen. She sipped sparingly at her tea, her stomach in knots.
Lionel pestered her and Ghyslain with questions. He wanted to know every minute detail of the final battle. Clarysa let Ghyslain do most of the talking.
Halfway through Ghyslain’s second recount of Patrulha’s heroics, Clarysa heard a murmuring in the corridor. And it wasn’t the sound of a wailing ghost. She sat up straighter. “Hush! Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?” Ghsylain asked.
“That sound. Listen.”
She strained her ears. The muffled sound came again. A voice.
Clarysa shot Lionel a look.
“Hurry,” Lionel told her. “He might be in pain. Go to him!”
Her heart pounding, Clarysa raced from the room.
Chapter 42
Stellan awoke to the sound of a fire crackling. Turning, he saw a hearty fire burning in the hearth. Where was he? His bleary gaze registered only stone walls and shadows.
He tried to stand, but discovered his muscles lacked the required strength. Collapsing back, he rubbed his eyes. The sound of muffled voices drifted through the walls, which meant they were close.
“A-any…” The words caught in his dry, raw throat, but he forced them out regardless. “A-anyone…there?” He repeated his question two more times.
The clopping of running feet down the passageway was his answer. Clarysa burst into the room. A relieved expression lit up her face as her gaze met his. “Oh, thank heavens!” She ran forward and threw herself against him.
Stellan groaned in pain as she made contact, but he welcomed the feeling. It meant he was alive. Gazing into Clarysa’s shining eyes, he gently stroked her hair back from her face. Her cheeks were smudged with dirt and she was dressed in rags, but she was still the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen. “What happened? Is everyone–”
Clarysa put her hand to his mouth. “Shhh. It’s over. Sada…is no more. The Pestilence army is gone.” Tears flowed down her cheeks. “It’s over, it’s truly over.”
Stellan leaned back against the pillow. He wanted to believe those words, but they were premature. News of this battle would inevitably reach his father. But by defeating Sada, he’d created a significant dent in his father’s plans. In time, he’d find a way to stop the threat for good.
He would cross that bridge later. Right now, he just wanted to drink in the moment of being alive and reunited with his one true love. “How
