him in, she shouldn’t be here. You wouldn’t understand, neither of you. You aren’t racks.” The sneer in that last was palpable.
“Tallia?”
“I didn’t, I swear I didn’t.” Her hand was on him again, her eyes searching his, pleading with him. He couldn’t bear it, the thought of her locked up any longer than needs be. Yet the wanting, the nearness of her made thought hard. What would Van Gast do? He had absolutely no idea. He was on his own, and captain.
“Thing is, Gilda, I think it was you who tried it. You’re the one seen asking for Rillen, being let into the palace. You made a mistake coming back. You’re staying down here a while. Tallia, lock her in.”
“What about her?” Gilda burst out, making doubt sprout in Holden’s mind at her earnestness. “What if she really did—”
“I’ll deal with that, and not with a knife in the dark. Tallia, leave her the lamp, and I’ll get you patched up.”
Gilda made a last effort, a grab for the gun, but he whipped it away and stepped back, out of her reach.
“Tallia, up the stairs, come on.”
She stumbled on the stairs, and blood spotted the wood. The wound was worse than she’d let on. This was getting more complicated by the moment, and Holden’s head spun. The cool sea breeze out on deck revived him, and he caught Tallia just as she was about to fall.
Her weight was soft against him, a tantalizing promise, and her hair smelled of sunlight. He pulled himself together and helped her toward his quarters. Ilsa could help with the wound and, if she was there, he wouldn’t be tempted, could concentrate on what to do.
The door to his quarters was shut still, and he steeled himself for Ilsa’s ice, for the shame in knowing he’d let her down somehow, failed in his duty to her.
Only when he wrenched open the door he found a guttering candle lighting the dim room. Clothes were scattered across the bed as though she’d got changed in a fevered rush, a chest left open and spilling the few things they had managed to scrounge since they’d left their home in a hurry. No Ilsa. Just the sad hint of perfume lingering by the table, a few strands of hair in her brush.
He couldn’t seem to think for long moments, but Tallia stood up on her own and looked around. She turned a speculative eye on Holden. “Where’s Ilsa?”
He clamped down on his own thoughts on that. “Let’s get you patched up. And while we’re doing that, you can tell me what in Kyr’s name is going on, because you know more than you’re telling.”
He sat her down on a stool and peered at the cut. It was bleeding freely, but he didn’t think it was serious. Dressing it with one hand might be tricky. For other reasons too—she was too close, both in body and in his head. And where was Ilsa?
“Gilda wanted you to think it was me. Wanted me dead so I couldn’t deny it, so you wouldn’t suspect her. But I didn’t,” Tallia said. “I swear, I didn’t. I told you the truth.”
“Didn’t what?” Holden couldn’t seem to take his eyes from hers, from where they watched him, wide and nervous. He busied himself with making a bandage from one of the spare sheets, ripping it with his one hand and teeth.
“I didn’t tell Rillen who Van Gast was.” Her lips trembled and she hastily covered them with a hand.
Holden resisted the urge to comfort her, and handed her the bandage. “No, that was Gilda. Van saw her going to Rillen, recognized her voice. But you’re hiding something, and I’d like to know what. It’s about time you started telling the truth. Start at the beginning, and go from there.”
“I can’t—I mean, I—”
He gave in, covered her hands with his one, held them till they stopped shaking. He shouldn’t be doing this, thinking the stray thoughts that kept popping into his mind, like how he wanted to see her smile again. How uncomplicated she made life feel for him despite everything—a straight line for him to anchor himself on, a point of calm order in a world of chaos. Or she had been.
Once she stopped trembling, she reached out with hesitant fingers to stroke his hand. “I don’t want to tell you. I don’t want to be the one. I don’t want you to hate me because it was me that said it.”