Mist Rising by Eve Langlais
Chapter Thirty-Three
The doorswung open on the first rap of her closed fist. Agathe blinked at the sight of Maric’s bare chest. She couldn’t exactly avoid its width. It had no hair, which meant his scars stood out against his skin. The ridges of healed wounds crisscrossed his torso. One sat very close to his heart. A miracle he’d survived. She almost lifted her fingertips to touch.
“What’s wrong?” A gruff query.
Wrong? Other than the fact that she wanted to put her hands on his flesh?
Agathe thrust out the note. “I found this tucked under a cake meant for Belle. I can’t find the woman who gave me the tray. And no one in the kitchen could recall seeing her.”
It took him but a moment to read. He whirled and stalked for a chair where some clothes were draped. “Did you ask Belle about it?”
“No.”
“Why not? She might know who sent it.” He slewed a gaze in her direction as he tugged on his shirt, covering his body.
Good, maybe she’d be less distracted. She glanced away from him as he tugged on his sheath as well, buckling it around his hips.
“Who would be sending her a note? She’s been living in the Abbae most of her life,” Agathe exclaimed.
“Exactly. She’s a nubile young lady currently surrounded by people—men, women, whatever she prefers—flattering her. Giving her a taste of life without the cloister of your Goddess’s rules.”
“You think she’d meet with a stranger, given what happened to the others? She’s not that stupid.” Then again…
“Would you like to wager on it?”
No, because Maric might be right. She remembered how hard Belle argued about wanting to go for a walk in the garden. How had it never occurred the note might be for a tryst? “Maybe I should ask her.”
“Don’t bother. She’ll lie and start her caterwauling again. That girl needs a muzzle.”
She chomped her lip lest she laugh at his woebegone expression. To think she’d almost been jealous of the polite attention he paid Belle.
“I’m sorry I bothered you.”
“I’m not. Your trust is appreciated. Now, shall we?”
“Shall we what?” she asked, noticing he’d not only put on a shirt and sword belt while they spoke but also his boots.
“Find out who’s trying to meet the girl in the garden.”
She might have argued she didn’t need his help to spy, but he had said “we.” Plus, she did trust him if they happened to run into trouble.
“It’s probably just a rendezvous with a boy.” The more Agathe thought of it, the more it made sense. Still, she didn’t argue as she kept pace with the general.
He wound through the keep as if he knew every hallway and room. Eventually, they ended up in a sitting room one floor above ground, chosen, she soon realized, not for the rickety table and chairs and the fragile knickknacks on every surface but the balcony overlooking the garden in the courtyard.
They lay flat on the floor, half in the room, upper torsos outside and peering through the metal-hammered vine railing. The need for silence wasn’t pressing yet, as the garden still showed much movement from a couple sitting on a bench shyly holding hands to a more intimate pair doing things under a tree that warmed her cheeks. She turned to look away and caught Maric eyeing her.
She thought he might speak, but instead, he looked away.
And so, they waited in silence as the garden quieted and the lights in the windows overlooking went out until only the glow of solarus orbs lining the paths illuminated the area.
Only as the third moon rose did they see the shadowy figure that emerged into the garden, wearing dark clothes, sliding through the shadows.
“There’s our culprit,” Maric whispered before rising silently. In a single smooth motion, he vaulted over the railing and landed with barely a thud.
Whereas Agathe eyed the drop with an inwardly held sigh. Her body wouldn’t thank her for it. She should have asked him about his plan before.
It took her a little longer to climb over the railing, and she wasted time lowering herself so that by the time she let go the fall was only a few feet. Her knees took the impact, jarringly so. Once she stopped wobbling, she sprinted, aiming for the sudden fracas.
“Unhand me!” The shriek was familiar.
“I should go.” A more tremulous voice.
Agathe came onto the scene of a young man, hands held high, eyes wide, and a very irate Belle, who railed, “Let me go! How dare you lay hands on me. Wait until I tell the King.”
“Tell him what? That you were having an illicit rendezvous?” Maric drawled.
“Jealous?” Belle tossed her head, convinced of her superiority.
Maric’s lip curled. “I prefer women to children.”
The insult brought a mean squint to Belle’s eyes. “You’ll regret being rude to me.”
“I highly doubt that. Back to your room.”
“You—”
Agathe had heard enough. The ear she grabbed had the chit screaming, “Ouch. You cow. Unhand me!”
“You heard the general knight. Enough.”
“You can’t—ah!”
Pulling Belle by the ear, Agathe ignored the screeching as she marched her back to the room. She met Hiix as she dragged the yodeling girl up the stairs.
“There you are! We thought you’d been kidnapped.” Hiix looked disheveled, her lips swollen. Baer glowered more fiercely than usual.
“She was off making questionable choices,” Agathe said.
“I only wanted to have some fun.” Belle sulked.
“Two of your Soraers are missing. Now is not the time for levity.”
“Don’t do this. Don’t do that. Is it any wonder they wanted to escape?” The young woman mulishly stuck out her lower lip.
“And you think the Citadel will somehow be better?”
“What makes you think it won’t?”
Given all that happened, Belle might have a point. What if she was safer behind those walls as a prisoner of the King? At least then she’d be doing something positive for the people.
Agathe wearied of it all. Her shoulders slumped. “You’ll be there soon enough. Go to bed, and don’t you dare leave it. If I catch you outside this room—” She wagged a finger.
“You’ll what?” taunted Belle.
For some reason, an old expression came to mind. Spare the hand, spoil the child. “Test me and find out.”
