Of Caverns and Casters ✓ [TLRQ #1]

Chapter 40 - Sean

The boy is in my bed. I understand why it's necessary, but I have the sinking feeling that Leavi's going to continue to expect me to let him stay in here. He's barely conscious, and Leavi's trying by candlelight to drip chicken broth she nabbed from downstairs past his chapped lips. Snow flurries outside, the moonlight reflecting off the falling flakes.

"Leavi." I lean against the windowsill, a smile slipping onto my face.

She looks up.

"We're not dead."

She laughs, in that giddy, not-quite-thinking way that she gets when she's tired or excited. "Yeah," she says, breathless. "We made it."

"What now?"

A shadow falls over her face. "I'm not sure. I don't know if it's safe to go back."

I somber as well. "Do you think the guards saw us?"

"It was dark... I don't know. They could have. And," she pauses, setting down the bowl, "someone else might have seen me."

"That spook behind the stage fire? He couldn't see through that stuff any more than we could."

"No, but..."

My fingers jitter at my side. "What, Leavi?"

"When I was coming back from getting his cloak, he was there, in the hallway. In the fire." Her voice trails off, an unnerved look in her eyes.

There's something in the way she says he that sets me on edge—like she knows him, and knows him so little yet so well that he is a full enough concept without a name. It's like the way I think of—

I shake my head. "He who, Leavi?"

Her eyes refocus. "The Man from the East."

The stage name shakes loose the chains of fear trying to wrap around me. Just because she's scared doesn't mean I have to be—or that she should either. "Okay. Please, I ask, quit with the theatrics." Indignation flashes across her face, and I hold up a hand. "I know you're probably not doing it on purpose, but I need you to speak clearly, Leavi."

The anger in her expression hardens into remote, scientific interest. "Alright, Sean. What, precisely, would you like to know?"

An unconscious sigh forces its way from my lips. I wasn't trying to offend her. "Who is this person, why are they important, and how much influence do they have?"

"A guest of Lady Veradeaux. She listens to him—has to, it seems. I hypothesize that whoever he's working for is paying her to keep him"—she gestures to the boy—"locked up."

"Okay. Thank you." I pause. "And why did you sound so scared of him?"

"I'm not scared, Sean." She bustles around, dishes clinking together as she puts up the soup. The boy has drifted back into unconsciousness.