Free Web NovelChapter 219: Chapter 219
He guided Gerard toward the small cabin tucked among the trees, leaving the footman and the carriage where they were. But they hadn’t even reached the steps when Gerard spotted the person Remin had been referring to.
A man stood waiting by the porch, still as a statue.
Remin stepped forward and bowed deeply. "Kingmaker."
Gerard’s breath hitched.
Stunned, he dropped into a bow as well, though his heart hammered violently against his ribs. freēwēbηovel.c૦m
He stiffened when Laheir spoke. The man’s voice was not loud, but there was something in its quiet resonance slithered down Gerard’s spine.
"I trust the carriage ride here wasn’t too stressful. Certainly better than your time in the prison, I imagine." Laheir’s voice held no scorn, yet his dispassionate tone made it clear he would not have cared either way.
"Yes," Gerard forced out, keeping his voice leveled. "It was quite comfortable. Thank you."
"Good," Laheir said simply. "I always take care of those loyal to me. And you, Gerard, have remained dutifully loyal, even when they tried to force your hand. I admire that in the people I choose to work with."
Gerard swallowed. "Thank you." He kept his head low, hardly daring to breathe.
"There is another rebel campsite farther east than the one you were stationed at. I will provide a map to its exact location. You and Remin are to remain here for a few days before heading out to join them. It is a smaller camp, they will welcome two additional members."
But something in Laheir’s tone gnawed at Gerard. No mention had been made of the other rebels still rotting in the dungeons.
Gerard was no fool. He knew precisely why he had been released. It was the same reason the king had poured all his fury and attention into torturing him. Only a handful of rebels knew of the Tavish family’s involvement in funding the rebellion. Gerard, Remin, and two other high-ranking members. Those two had died during the ambush and only Gerard and Remin remained.
So what of the others captured at the raid? The ordinary soldiers? The ones who trusted him?
Despite Remin’s subtle warning glance, the question tore out of him.
"What about the rest of my men still in the dungeon?" he asked quietly.
Laheir tilted his head in a slow, unnatural motion. The action itself was very uncanny. The sight made something cold coil in Gerard’s stomach.
"What about them?" Laheir replied, his voice dropping into a disturbingly soft timbre.
The question was so unsettling that Gerard felt himself go rigid. He opened his mouth again, but Remin’s fingers clamped painfully around his hand, a wordless warning to stay silent.
They were alone here. Completely isolated. Far from any province or town. If Laheir decided that keeping them alive wasn’t worth the hassle, he could end them right here in the clearing. Their bodies would never be found. Their secret—one Gerard had suffered agony to protect—would die with them, and the Tavish family’s involvement would be buried forever.
Laheir must have considered that already. And yet he had still chosen to spare them. For now.
He still had use for them, and Gerard knew they would have to remain useful if they wished to live or survive through the hell that awaited them.
***
Circe’s gaze flicked discreetly around the unfamiliar room, taking in every detail. She had never stepped inside Mina’s house before. The last time she had been here, she and the other guests had been mostly confined to the grounds and the garden pavilion for the luncheon, where the conversations had been mostly polite.
This was much different.
Mina had invited her again, this time for a smaller gathering with just Elara as the other guest to enjoy tea, pastries, and the usual polite chatter.
Except that the things they had discussed so far was anything but "polite". They were seated in the guest parlour now, sipping wine instead of tea, and the two women had launched into the most outrageous topic Circe had ever had the pleasure of listening to.
Somehow she had found herself wedged between Mina and Elara, who together formed a whirlwind of unfiltered commentary and startlingly loud laughter. The moment wine touched their lips, the restraint expected of noblewomen disintegrated entirely. Circe quickly realized that as long as she stayed close to them, she would never lack entertainment again.
After they had spent some time in the parlour, Mina rose from her chair with a flourish, declaring that she wanted to give Circe a tour of the library. Her sudden enthusiasm came only after Circe had casually mentioned that her favourite place back home had always been the library.
As they all drifted toward the door, Mina and Elara missed the wide-eyed look that flashed across Circe’s face. Somewhere between the wine and the women’s amusing chatter, she had made a careless slip, and she had referred to Ragnar’s manor as home.
She doubted either woman noticed. They were more likely to assume she meant her childhood home in Westeria, and not an estate that she had referred to as a prison only months ago.
That was how Circe ended up walking between the two friends, pressed on either side as they ushered her down the hallway. Their bickering had mellowed to soft snipes and playful nudges, and Circe found herself smiling again, fully aware that their truce wouldn’t last long. Sooner or later, they would be back at it again.
She accepted the invitation to come here because she desperately needed a distraction, anything to keep her mind from circling back to the life-altering possibility looming over her. There were only a few days left before she expected her monthlies, and the uncertainty tore at her relentlessly. She prided herself on hiding her torment well, keeping her spiraling thoughts tucked beneath polite smiles and measured breaths.
They reached the library, and Mina immediately drifted toward a nearby shelf, gesturing to it with the flourish of a proud curator.
"This is where I keep my numerous copies of novels and romantic poetry," she said, her voice thick with reverence. The shelf held beautifully preserved books, though a few bore softened corners and spines from frequent handling. "Some of these, I can recite from memory," she added, sweeping her hand over the section devoted to poetry.
Circe nodded, her gaze sweeping the spacious room with quiet awe. Rows upon rows of shelves stretched outward, each neatly arranged, the faint scent of old paper mixing with polished wood and something floral.
But as Circe admired the orderly beauty of the room, her eyes drifted to a desk tucked a short distance away. Unlike the rest of the pristine space, its surface was cluttered, papers strewn in disarray, inkpots left uncapped. It looked like the chaotic aftermath of someone deeply immersed in their work.
Before she fully realized what she was doing, Circe found herself drifting toward it, her curiosity tugging at her feet. One of the loose sheets lay half-curled at the edge. She reached for it, drawn in despite herself, and her eyes skimmed the first few lines.
She had barely begun reading when Mina released a strangled, choked sound, a noise Circe would only later understand as a mix of panic, embarrassment, and pure mortification.
