Bennick stumbled. It looked as though the air had been punched from his lungs. “Clare.” Her name was a strangled gasp, and though she wanted to say something—anything—she couldn’t.
Vera came in behind Bennick, and her hands clapped over her mouth.
Bennick dropped to his knees beside Clare, ignoring the glass that crunched beneath him. His hands trembled as he touched her face, his fingertips brushing her tears. He was pale, and not just from the white cast of the moon. It seemed like all his blood had drained. “Clare?” Desperation and despair warred in his ragged voice, and somehow Clare knew he’d been the one roaring on the other side of the door. She didn’t know why he was here, but her stomach fluttered as he bent over her, fingers laid against the side of her neck, seeking a pulse.
“She’s dead,” Vera gasped, her hands still pressed over her mouth. Her shoulders shook with her tears. “Fates, no!”
Bennick’s fingers were hot against her skin. He held them there for a silent moment before stiffening. “She’s alive.” He threw a look over his shoulder. “Go for help. Now!”
Vera spun away and Bennick leaned back over Clare. His blue eyes swam with fear, grief, and anger. “Don’t you die,” he growled. “Stay with me, Clare.”
Practiced fingers explored the wound, fingering the edges of the glass. His jaw hardened and blood now coated his skin. He snatched one of the small blankets folded on the end of the bed and pressed it carefully around the glass, trying to stop the flow of blood.
A shudder wracked Clare and something about that involuntary movement broke through her stiffness and shock. She found her voice, though it cracked. “Take it out.”
“I can’t.” Bennick wasn’t looking at her—he was focused on the wound. “Don’t move.”
“It hurts,” she gasped.
His shoulders tensed. “I know. But I can’t take it out. It could cause more damage. The physician will be here soon.”
Tears dripped from her eyes, rolling into her ears. “I tried to fight, but I couldn’t stop him.” The haze of pain was making her words slur. “I—I did what you said, in our first lesson. I pretended I was dead.” She shifted her weight and pain flared all over her body. She fought a whimper.
A muscle in Bennick’s cheek jerked. “Easy,” he murmured, the gentleness in his voice at odds with the fire in his eyes. He tracked her tears and moved one bloody hand to cup the side of her face. “Don’t try to talk,” he whispered. “You’re going to be fine. I’ve got you.”
He continued to soothe her with gentle touches and quiet words until the physician arrived, with Vera and Venn at his heels. They were all pale and the physician trembled as he knelt beside Bennick. He thought Clare was Serene, and he knew what Newlan might do to him if she died under his care.
Time blurred. The physician spoke to Bennick more than Clare, and the only time she really focused was when pain sharpened. When the older man began to pull on the shard of glass,Clare’s body lifted too, and Bennick and Venn both pinned her down as the shard was gingerly extracted. Sweat slicked her body and beaded on her forehead and she couldn’t stop from crying out. Her breaths shuddered when the physician cleaned the wound and then meticulously stitched it. Vera held the lamp, the flame shaking in her hands.
Bennick and Venn helped to pluck the smaller pieces of glass from Clare’s arms and hands, and Bennick took one of the physician’s bandages and wrapped it around her bleeding palm—the one she’d hurt while wielding her own shard of glass.
When the physician was done, he asked Bennick and Venn to lift her onto the bed. Bennick scooped her up before Venn could even shift his weight, and he cradled her against his chest. Clare could feel his heartbeat, thumping madly against her cheek. The medicine the physician had given her dulled everything, but she was aware of how tense Bennick was. His jaw was locked as he laid her on the bed, every muscle pulled taut while he listened to the physician’s instructions for her care. She needed rest—no rough activity for a week. “Thank the fates she survived,” the physician concluded, patting a handkerchief over his sweating brow.
While Vera walked the physician out and went in search of a new nightgown for Clare, Venn turned to Bennick, his voice low. “Wilf went after him?”
“Yes.” Darkness lived in Bennick’s tone. Tension bled from him and his fists were tight at his sides.
Venn swallowed. He caught Clare watching him and eased out a wan smile. “You did well, Clare. Good job staying alive.”
“Thank you.” Her voice was soft, her eyes stuck on Bennick. Something was wrong. He was avoiding her gaze. Or maybe she was still in shock? Regardless, her heart tripped when he stalked away from the bed, moving for the window. He was nearly there when Wilf swung inside.
His large form dropped to the floor, his dark eyes narrowed on Clare. “She’s alive.” No inflection, no real emotion.
“Did you find him?” Bennick demanded.
Wilf straightened. “No. Lost him on the rooftops. He was fast. Covered himself well; he was average build and height, but I couldn’t tell anything beyond that.”
Clare watched Wilf. Her jumbled thoughts couldn’t help but wonder if the assassin had really escaped, or if Wilf had let him go.
Bennick’s nostrils flared and he grit his teeth, his focus on Wilf. “I already ordered the gates locked, but I want you to organize a search of the castle and grounds.”
Wilf tipped his head and strode from the room, not sparing Clare another glance.
Venn took Clare’s hand gently, drawing her attention. “Did you see him, Clare?”
“No, he . . . wore a hood.” She wet her dry lips, her eyelids growing
