The Blood Spell (Ravenspire, #4)(28)

They were good for potions that treated swelling. For hair loss or fatigue. They could even be used to season food if you sprinkled them with ginger and then dried them in the sun. Papa had shown her how.

Her throat closed, sending a sharp pain down her neck, and she hastily found the sea hawk again before tears could prick her eyes and the storm inside her could break free.

The priest finished. The bells fell silent. And then hands were reaching for her. Steering her away from the grave and into the crowd. Face after face.

“How are you?”

“I’m so sorry.”

“He was a good man.”

“Do you need anything?”

Blue couldn’t find the words to respond to any of them. She was standing in front of yet another well-meaning townswoman, listening to yet another stream of platitudes, when a person beside her said, “Have they caught the person who killed him?”

The question wasn’t aimed at Blue, but she turned toward it anyway and found the tall, sharp-nosed haberdasher talking to Normand.

Normand waved a hand to hush the woman, and said, “It was a lovely service, Blue. I’m sure your father would’ve liked it.”

A frown moved slowly across Blue’s brow, her muscles feeling ancient and unused.

“I think he would’ve much rather been alive,” she said, the words sounding brittle and sharp. There was cotton in her throat, a chain around her chest, and as the last word left her lips, her breath caught on something that felt suspiciously like a sob.

“Of course,” Normand said soothingly.

“But who killed him?” the haberdasher said. “Are we safe to walk the streets in our quarter?”

Blue felt something hot and sharp unfurl within her as she started shaking.

“I’m sure you don’t mean to cause more distress to Miss de la Cour with thoughtless questions she can’t possibly answer.” The voice came from behind Blue, and both Normand and the haberdasher blanched as Kellan stepped to Blue’s side.

Normand bowed, and the haberdasher flung herself into a curtsy while she babbled something that sounded like a cross between an apology and more questions.

Kellan simply wrapped his arm around Blue and led her away. He threaded them through the crowd, an easy feat when everyone was busy bowing and doing their best not to get in the crown prince’s way, and then walked her to the far side of the graves until they were at the top of the hill overlooking the orchard and the distant glittering gold ribbon of the sea.

For a long moment, they stood in silence, and Blue was surprised to find herself leaning on the warmth of his presence, the solid strength he offered holding her up while her knees trembled and the hot, sharp thing inside her coiled and churned.

“Remember that time I tried to climb to the top of one of your trees and the branch was too small to hold me?” he said finally.

Blue looked at the orchard, remembering the pale blue flowers on the shirella trees and the shouts of Kellan and his friends daring each other to leap from tree to tree while Blue and Nessa dug in the dirt for worms and interesting roots. “You broke your arm. Papa was furious.”

Kellan laughed quietly. “I’d never heard him raise his voice before. Told me he’d never forgive me if I broke my neck on his property and not to be cheeky when I asked if that meant I could break it somewhere else. I don’t think he actually minded me being cheeky, though, because he laughed after he was done yelling.”

Blue smiled a little, though her lips felt stiff. “He never could stay angry for long.”

“Usually he never bothered getting angry at all. He had better ways to make a lesson stick. Remember the cider?”

This time she was the one who laughed—a faint, breath of mirth that died nearly as soon as it left her lips. “I remember that I’d never seen anyone be that violently ill before. How many times did you vomit in our front yard?”

Kellan sniffed. “I was nine. He made me drink the entire jug of fermented cider I’d stolen from his supply. Anyone would’ve been as sick as I was. Maybe worse.”

“Ten times? Eleven?” Blue turned to look at him. “I remember thinking that we’d finally found the thing you’d be famous for.”

His brows rose. “I remember thinking I was going to die by puking up my internal organs. Never did steal again, though.”

“Did you ever drink fermented cider again?”

He shuddered. “Just the thought of it makes me feel sick. But he was right to make me drink it. I needed a father figure to step in and give me some limits. I can’t count how many times he did that for me after my own father died.”

She tried to smile, but the hot, sharp thing inside her was growing. Turning her face away, she gazed at the orchard again.

“I miss Pierre,” he said quietly.

She pressed her lips closed and tried to swallow, but the thing in her chest had spread to her throat. Her voice sounded choked when she asked, “Why are you being nice to me?”

“Because I’ve been in your shoes, and I know how it feels.”

She clenched her jaw as the hot, sharp thing surged, stinging her tongue with its bitterness.

“When my father died, everyone asked how I was. Told me things would be all right. Time would heal the wound, and it was lucky I had him for the time I did.” Kellan’s voice was steady. Every word felt like it was shredding a bit of her self-control.