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Dreams of Dust

Page 22

by Isabella Stofka

And in that moment, that meant everything.

She nodded, and took his hand.

Chapter Nine

They trekked back to Bilya in silence, leaving only Bayo’s cheerful pants and the crunch of their footsteps to distract Thicket from her thoughts. By the time they arrived, only the smallest wisps of pinkish light stroked the outline of the wall, casting the opening with a murky sheet of gray.

One of the guards spotted them. “Fadley!” He called, running forward. Marcellus dumped his cloak over Thicket’s head, shielding her matted hair and drenched dress from view. “Did you find her?”

Thicket tensed, clutching Marcellus’ cloak tighter around her face.

“I did.”

There was a pause, the guards finally spotting her figure shielded behind Marcellus’ broad frame. Questions the guards weren’t brave enough to ask drifted awkwardly around them.

Marcellus broke the silence. “We received a report that some of the Soumort Princess’ soldiers were lurking in the forest.” He said it so matter of factly even Thicket almost believed him. “Her Highness wanted to resolve it before anyone got hurt and forgot to inform us of her whereabouts.”

The guards chuckled, as though they weren’t surprised in the slightest. “It seems Her Highness hasn’t changed that much, even with her memories gone.”

Thicket flinched, recalling what Bern had said about her being a wild child when she was younger. The vestiges of her past self lingered in the holes her memories weren’t there to fill. How had she gone from such a chaotic spirit to someone they deemed worthy enough to become queen?

She wondered if she would ever know the answers or if her past self was someone she would only know through the memories of others.

“Unfortunately, the altercation left her in quite the state,” Marcellus said. “We should really head back and let her maid tend to her before she collapses from worry.”

“Yes, Sir. We will inform Mr. Lazare of your return.”

“There is no need. I already sent word ahead.”

Thicket peered through Marcellus’ coat in time to see the guards salute and resume their posts, allowing them to pass without interference. Once they were out of the guards’ line of sight, Thicket pulled the cloak from her head, letting it fall to her shoulders. “You lied to them.”

“Would you rather I told them the truth?”

She opened her mouth then clamped it shut as it occurred to her that Marcellus had not only preserved her reputation by covering for the fact that she had run away, but somehow made her appeal more to the guards who were once skeptical.

“How did you know where I was?”

“You are a creature of habit, Princess,” Marcellus said. “Once I ruled out the clock tower,” she rolled her eyes, “and the training building, I figured the only other place you knew was the Sculptor’s dam. And, you were just the right amount of desperate to try something rash.”

Desperate. She had been desperate.

And it had almost cost her…

“The guards informed me they thought they spotted someone run into the woods and I knew my hunch was correct. Bayo helped me find you quickly once we were inside the forest.”

Thicket wrapped the coat tighter around her shoulders, wishing she could bury herself beneath the dark fabric right along with the embarrassment of just how terribly her plan had gone. “I don’t know if I should be insulted that you keep thinking I will always be at the clock tower,” she said.

Marcellus shrugged. “You did seem pretty adamant about returning back to your so-called world. Maybe one day you’ll decide that whatever horrors you went through there are better than what you are dealing with here. Or perhaps you thought returning to the Dream World would make the Soumort Princess leave Bilya alone.”

Thicket’s cheeks heated. She couldn’t deny the thought had crossed her mind.

They kept walking. The remnants of grayish light had vanished, leeching the warmth right along with it. Thicket gritted her teeth against the biting cold seeping through her skin. She glanced over at Marcellus, whose bare arms were exposed with the absence of his coat. Thicket pulled it from around her shoulders and handed it to him.

“What’s that for?” he asked.

“It’s yours,” she said.

“And?”