Page 119 of Crown of the Courtesan

A muted sunrise peeks in as a scream of agony comes from the manor’s kitchen. Thrak grips the edges of the wooden table with his white fingertips while Verity sews a bloody gash along his ribs. The needle shines in the morning rays from the window before it again plunges into his green skin. He squirms and moans for his mother, causing Verity to pull the thread taut. She barks, “Hold him down! Don’t let him move!”

Rett braces him on one side while I do the same on the other. Our eyes meet in the middle, but we refrain from interrupting the work. The soldiers’ severe wounds have stopped us from leaving as planned—two battles in such a short amount of time have been devastating to the orc warriors.

Verity finishes as he lies limply on the table. I imagine the pain is too great for him to talk. All I can do is thank the Spirit Goddess that he’s still alive.

As she stows her tools away, she orders, “Take him into the parlor and lay him down with the others.”

Rett heaves him upward, bracing him to prevent further damage to his wound. Verity shoves a wad of linens at my chest, and I follow Rett with a nauseated, sinking feeling in my stomach.

Once pristine, the beautiful mahogany parlor is now covered with bandaged orcs sprawled out anywhere they can find space. Rett eases Thrak down onto a pallet of wool blankets by the paneled wall.

The elderly cook wipes her hands on her apron. “If they don’t stay and tend to their wounds, half of them will be dead before they reach the border.” Yellow and orange eyes shoot worried glances around the room at Verity’s words.

“You heard the woman. Everyone is to remain here. Heal—and protect your hosts from future attacks if it comes to it.” He nods to me. “I’ll take Queen Tabitha to the Beast Realm as planned. Once we’re there, we’ll bring back more horses and aid.”

Gorrash and the others give their agreement while Verity douses wounds in a salve that emits an atrocious stench.

* * *

While everyone is grateful that I’ve killed Metalla’s soldiers, there is a rippling fear they can’t hide. It’s a tangible unease hanging in the air when they see me. It suffocates me, pressing down on my conscience.

I try not to focus on the sounds of the girls scrubbing the walls of the hallway as I bathe. My water turns a filthy, reddish-brown color, resembling mud.

The scrub, scrub, scrubbing grows louder and louder until I plunge under. Sooner or later, I’ll have to accept the fact that I’m responsible for more deaths.

That a pattern is starting to form.

After dressing in a new instructor gown, I leave the manor and step into the yard to finish loading the horses with provisions. Across the lawn, Alisse helps Robert bury the dead soldier’s bones under the wilting rosebushes. Their foreheads glisten with beads of sweat with each shovelful of soil.

Alisse’s glow dims, flickering with the stress from last night. Dropping to my knees, I try to help dig the hole, dirtying my freshly cleaned hands. She elbows me out of the way, sharp and hard, before curling her lip and muttering under her breath, “I reckon you’ve done enough, don’t you think?”

Wincing, I back away. “I kept them from stealing more girls—from stealing you. I’m not sure what else you want from me.”

“Do you plan on stopping General Metalla’s revenge when he finds out his missing soldiers were last seen here? When he sends new soldiers to replace these?” She gestures toward the scattered bones piled behind her.

“Should I let them have their way next time?” I rub my temples, my headache pounding into my eardrums. Every muscle in my body hurts, especially my arms, thighs, and back.

“I didn’t say that. But—but your witchcraft will haunt this place; mark my words.” She lowers her voice so only I can hear her. “You might have everyone else fooled, but Vennisa warned me about what you did.” Her eyes glare at me accusingly. “And now you leave us to clean your mess!”

I stumble further away, tripping on a fallen branch, not knowing how to defend myself.

Near the packed horses, Rett gives Beatrix the Achlys Dagger. With a glance and a quick nod of thanks, she tucks it into her apron pocket and puts a supportive hand on his red-armored shoulder.

With tears welling in my eyes, I reach to hug Beatrix, but she flinches as she embraces me—something I’ll never forget for as long as I live. It leaves me speechless and wounded. She turns quickly, hiding her face. I’m only left with the waves of honey hair and amethyst skirts as she returns to the shadowed front door.

We mount our horses, and they take us away, the manor growing smaller and smaller until it’s only a little pinprick in the hilly distance.

My spotted mare trots behind Rett’s charcoal-gray stallion. Relieved he’s ahead, I let the tears fall free as shame floods my heart.

I’m a killer.

They deserved it—the reasoning pounds through my mind over and over again until my jaw aches from grinding my teeth.

I remember the girl with corn-yellow hair on the prison wagon.

A racking sob shakes my ribs. Rett twists his head and looks over his shoulder. He leaps from atop his horse in an instant, vanishes, and reappears at my side.

He pulls me gently from the saddle and into the open field.