King Among the Dead - Lauren Gilley Page 0,23

bed. An art light was positioned above them, and she reached for the switch on the wall, and flipped it.

Beck stared back at her. Two Becks.

Kay’s voice sounded behind her. “You noticed those, huh? Hard to miss, I guess.”

“Who…” But she knew who. She just wondered why two.

“That’s Beck, and Beck’s twin, Arthur.”

“He has a twin?”

“Had.”

She knew a swift, sympathetic jolt of grief for him. She’d never had a sibling, at least not to her knowledge, but to have a brother on your wall beside you like this was a sign of love, and it was a brother he’d lost.

“What happened?” There was no need to whisper, but Rose felt there was, staring at that familiar face set down in oil – set down twice. The portraits showed the twins in three-quarter turns toward the eye of the painter; they would have faced one another if they’d been able to turn their heads. Same tawny hair, same golden eyes. They were younger, here, no older than she was now, but she could still pick which one was Beck. That particular set to his mouth; the artist was good, had captured the sparkle of his eyes.

“He was sick. Nothing the doctors could do – it wasn’t contagious. A kind of cancer. He passed about ten – no, eleven years ago, I think.”

“Poor Beck,” Rose murmured, taking a step closer. There were little brass plaques below each portrait: Arthur Augustus Becket, and Simon Walter Becket.

Walter. He didn’t look like a Walter…

Wait. Belatedly, she realized the painting labeled Arthur was the one she’d taken for Beck.

She looked at them again; took another step and a closer scrutiny. But, no: there was no mistaking the twins. She knew which one was Beck – and it wasn’t the one labeled Simon Walter.

“A sad story,” Kay said, and patted her shoulder. “Come help me with the fresh sheets.”

Why are the portraits mislabeled? she wanted to ask, but didn’t. Kay hadn’t mentioned that they were. Did she know? Maybe she’d thought it an unimportant detail. Maybe, given the state of the rest of the room, she’d thought it obvious that Beck didn’t hold any great care for his personal suite.

She glanced over the vast expanse of bed as she and Kay tucked the fitted sheet in up at the headboard, trying to gauge the other woman, to see if she could sense whether or not she was hiding something. But Kay looked as maternally disgruntled as she had the whole time, so that was–

Her hand bumped something hard and cool.

She squatted down on her haunches and managed to lift the corner of the mattress up a fraction; enough to slide her hand deeper, feel for the object, grip it and draw it out.

A gun. Matte black, heavy in her hand. Loaded.

“…Rose. Rose?”

She didn’t know how many times Kay had said her name, only that she’d zoned out. She snapped out of it as Kay’s slippered footfalls came around the end of the bed. Rose stood, gun still in her hand, wishing she’d just shoved it back where she’d found it, but caught now, uncertain.

“Oh.” Kay’s brows gave a big jump up above the rims of her glasses when she saw what she held. “It’s okay.” She closed the distance between them and held out her own hand. “He’s got all sorts of things tucked away. We’ll put it back.”

Rose…didn’t hand it over right away.

“It’s okay,” Kay said again. “You don’t need to be afraid.”

“I’m not.” And that was the funny thing: she wasn’t.

Rose didn’t hand over the gun. She knelt again and replaced it. When she stood, and faced Kay, she was surprised to find the woman giving her a strange look, her brow furrowed, mouth pressed flat. Worry.

“He wouldn’t – I mean, you know Beck’s not the sort to – he doesn’t–” She’d never struggled for her words, and Rose felt a swell of sympathy for her.

“I know.” It was her turn to say, “It’s okay.”

Kay huffed out a breath, looking frustrated with herself.

“I’ve seen the knife he keeps up his coat sleeve,” Rose said. Kay’s hand was still outstretched, trembling faintly, and Rose took it between both of hers, squeezing in what she hoped was a comforting way – she’d never done this for anyone before, but she liked when Beck did it for her. “I’ve seen his holsters. It’s not shocking that he has a gun.” Kay looked very small; her hand felt bony and fragile. “I’m not afraid of him,” Rose said, hearing