The Key to Starveldt (37 page)

Paige and Harper showed them upstairs – guiltily, as though the offer of cleanliness and rest were somehow vulgar. Solace was moving slowly by then, as was Evan, pain and the relief of Jess’s burial having dulled any desire for conversation. Only Paige spoke, and even then, she kept her words to a minimum, softly describing what to expect while Harper took the lead.

As promised, Manx had found a place for them to wash and sleep. Indoor plumbing was the dullest possible mystery of Starveldt, Solace distantly suspected, but one for which she was overwhelmingly grateful.

Eventually, she and Evan were shown to the door of a single room. Harper looked like he wanted to say something, but in an unusual display of quietude and tact, Paige gave the tiniest shake of her head, squeezed his hand and led him away.

Inside, there were two single beds, both made of antique wood and covered with musty linen. Tapestries hung on the walls, their images faded, but still colourful. Most glorious of all, there was a bathroom attached, its white enamel furnishings eerily modern against the ancient stone. Trembling in every muscle, Solace wandered through. As she contemplated the prospect of rest, her last reserves of strength ran out. Before she knew it, she was sitting, slumped, with her back to the shower recess. Despair bubbled through her like black tar, choking the breath from her lungs. She didn’t know what to do.

Evan crouched opposite her, his blue eyes soft. ‘Hey, Lacey.’

‘Hey.’

‘You need some help?’

She stared dumbly at him. ‘Help with what?’

‘Getting fixed up.’

‘Oh.’

Evan sighed and rocked back on his heels. Solace watched as he pulled his shirt off. The fabric was sticky with blood, smeared through to his chest, and like her, he was covered in dirt. His bruises from their encounter with Mikhail had faded, yellowbrown roses marking his pale skin. She reached out and touched the largest one, a discolouration across his lower ribs.

Evan shivered and looked away. ‘Yours will be worse than mine. Grief didn’t go easy on you.’

Solace managed a nod. She tried to shrug out of her jacket, but her muscles had stiffened since digging the grave, and they’d been sore before then. Even small movements hurt. Blood from her brother’s bite had half-stuck the leather to her neck, and she winced as her efforts prised it away. Leaning forward, Evan helped her finish the job. His hands grazed her collarbone, brushed down her arms. The jacket fell aside, and it was Solace’s turn to shiver. Evan stared at her. He was right: her hands and arms were already mottled with purple bruises.

‘I should find Electra,’ he said roughly. ‘We’ll both need new clothes. And towels.’

And before she could answer, he stood and left the room, leaving her with a jumble of contradictory thoughts.

Jess is dead. My sister, Jess, is dead. My sister. Jessica. Jess.

Evan couldn’t think. His feet moved independently of any other process. He passed through the stone halls of Starveldt, but he barely saw it. Everything inside him felt numb. There were tears, but they seemed inadequate. He couldn’t even feel the surface of his skin.

Electra
, he told himself.
Find Electra.

He couldn’t tell how much time had passed before he stumbled into one of the other rooms and found the summoner crouched by a bedside, pushing something into the space beneath. At the sound of his footsteps, she whirled and stared. Her eyes were red. She was Jess’s best friend.
Had been. Was.
The past tense had become a cruelty. For a moment, they stared at each other.

‘Clean stuff,’ he said, unable to articulate the context of the question. But somehow, Electra understood. Evan closed his eyes against the brightness of her Trick. When he looked again, she was handing him an armful of soft, new towels and clothes for Solace and himself.

Lacey.

What should he feel, at a time like this? Jess was dead. He shouldn’t want anything. But as he turned towards the door, all he could think about was forgetting, of making the same mistake he’d made with Laine, the better to take him away from himself. Neither girl deserved it, and this time, he really had wanted more. But the pain was too much. He couldn’t bear to be sensible.

‘Evan?’

He swung back to face Electra.

There was a black bag in her hands. She trembled as she spoke. ‘We went shopping for it, and she wanted you to have – it was for you, she said to summon it when we got here, and I thought, with the blood, but I can’t hang onto it –’

Falling silent, Electra thrust the bag at him. Evan took it without thinking, then made the mistake of peering at the contents.

It was a coat. He didn’t need to do more than look to tell that it was beautiful. Doubtless it would fit him perfectly. The breath seemed to solidify in his throat, so that he was choking. He waved the bag at Electra, willing her to take it back, but she stepped away again.

‘For your birthday,’ she whispered.

Evan fled.

Solace stared at her hands. They were caked with dried blood – Duchess’s, Jess’s and her own – and layered with grave dust. Suddenly, the thought of being filthy was intolerable. Wincing at the effort, she bent to remove her boots, her fingers fumbling with the laces, tugging at her socks. Pulling her top off was even worse: like Evan’s had been, it was partially stuck to her skin, and raising her arms caused a fiery ache to shoot through both shoulders.

Swearing, she gave up and pressed her forehead against the cool glass of the shower door. This close, she could make out the reflection of Grief ’s bite. It didn’t look good and unlike the mark she’d made on her own wrist, the skin he’d bitten away would take a while to heal. She wished she could get the scent of blood out of her nostrils. Her senses had been shut down before, everything muted by the haze of loss, but now they clamoured at her. The salty aroma was omnipresent and awful, the promise of food to a starving man, and she loathed herself for it.

Slumping down again, she rested her hands on the stone floor of Starveldt. The key was in her jacket, tossed in the corner opposite, but even so, she tried to reach for Jeon Faraday.

Are you there?
she thought at him, and to her shock, an answer came.

Did you know this was going to happen
?

A horrible notion occurred to her.
Did Duchess
?

Did Jess
?

And just like that, the final piece of the puzzle clicked into place. As though the stone had burned her, Solace drew her hands into her lap. None of them had dwelt overly on Jess’s inability to read the future once they’d reached the Rookery, but like the words of the prophecy, it had been there all along, a clue that none of them had recognised. She wondered if Liluye, at least, had known who the Starkine was, or even if Duchess – Vivari – had, despite Jeon’s claim of the little cat’s ignorance. There was too much danger in such thoughts. Solace pushed them away.

She stood up, stepped into the shower and turned on the taps, crying out as an icy jet hit her wound. She forced herself to stand still, biting her lip as the temperature gradually warmed. The water dripping from her neck and arms turned red-brown. Solace braced her palms on the wall and closed her eyes, feeling the pressure drum against her, soaking into the fabric of her bra and pants. Minutes passed. She wanted to cry, but the tears were stuck in her throat, too small for such a loss.

Behind her, the door to the bedroom opened and closed. Startled, she whirled around, half afraid of attack. But it was only Evan, his arms laden with dry, clean things: a welcome luxury. They stared at each other through the foggy glass. The only sound was water falling. Her heart started to pound. Everything she felt was mixed up, care and anguish, regret and longing tangled together like clothes in a washing machine. Without speaking, Evan set down his bundle. Shedding only his shoes, he opened the shower door and stepped inside, pulling it closed behind him.

The shower drenched both of them. Neither spoke.

Solace closed her eyes. Suddenly, desperately, she wanted the comfort of physical contact, to take refuge in touch, but even thinking it felt like a betrayal. She dug her nails into her palms and waited. When she looked again, red lines snaked down Evan’s chest as Jess’s blood sloughed away. He stared at her, pain and naked hunger in his dark blue eyes. It was unbearable.

‘It’s my fault,’ she whispered. The weight of unshed tears tightened cruelly in her throat. ‘If I’d been faster … Harper was right, you should’ve all stayed in the Rookery. It’s me they want, and all I had to do was walk away, but I couldn’t –’

‘Solace –’

‘– it just got so tangled, you know? I’m such an idiot, all I had to do was read the signs –’

‘Solace –’

‘– and now she’s gone, and I don’t –’

‘Lacey?’ Evan’s voice was rough with emotion. ‘
Shut up
.’

‘ – understand,’ she finished, and then his mouth was on hers, warm and furious with need. The bond between them flared like wildfire. One hand cupped her jaw, the other folded against the curve of her hip. Evan pulled her close, and as the water poured down around them, Solace found there was no need to think at all.