Forever and a Thousand Times

Chapter Fifteen

After snaking through the cramped streets of the outer ward, Kendric finally dragged a shivering Ismene to the door of a little tavern. He released her hand and gave her a slight shove in ahead of him. The half-full, smoky room danced with shadows created by a cheerily crackling fire and a rough-hewn wooden chandelier of tallow candles.

Kendric walked to the counter at the far end and motioned Ismene to join him. She moved with the weariness of a ghost who'd lost their haunt and barely registered the patrons' stares let alone the chill creeping into her bones. Kendric glanced once more at her before he slid a single coin across the counter to the tall, pale woman on the other side. "Lillith."

Ismene scrutinized how the solemn woman barely raised an eyebrow before placing the coin under her cleaning cloth and pulling it to the edge. She moved on down the bar.

"Come." Kendric's command woke Ismene from the disembodied pull of her mind. He led her behind the counter and down a short, cramped hall, entering a dingy, poorly lit space that smelled of burnt animal fat and stew. A long work table took up the center of the room, and a black pot hung over the low-burning orange coals of the hearth. Bundles of herbs dangled from the rafters, and stacks of trenchers and pots haphazardly balanced on a table against the wall opposite barrels of who-knew-what.

"Why are we here?" She lifted her hands, gesturing to the kitchen, and then struck the folds of material at her thighs. "We need to go back."

"No," Kendric said, walking around the table to look into the pot. "Lillith will fetch my . . . what we need. We have to plan while we wait."

Ismene glared at the back of his head as she moved to stand beside him. She dismissed the uncomfortable feeling of cold still hanging over her body and ignored the welcome warmth emanating from the hearth. "Now is not the time for food."

Kendric spun around, surprise etched on his face. "I wasn't even—your shivering." He glanced around and moved with haste to grab a cloak hung by the fireplace. Without a word, he wrapped it around Ismene and buckled it, and she couldn't deny the immediate relief it brought. Softly, and with his hands on her shoulders, he said, "We must wait for word."

Ismene shook her head, tamping down a growl of frustration, and stepped back from his light grasp. "I don't understand you. Why are you a part of this? How could I have ever trusted you?"

Kendric's nostrils flared but he met her eyes. "You can trust me, Isme—my lady. I've made mistakes, but I've made promises that I intend to keep. To you. To the prince, and to—"

"Kendric!"

Helein burst through the door followed closely by Bimala; Othniel's man, Finn; and three other servants Ismene recognized from the kitchens. One was a tall man, the other two were women. The blacksmith crowded in behind them.

Helein's eyes were wide and one arm outstretched. Ismene watched her in stunned silence, relieved to see her, but the familiar way she spoke to Lord Kendric . . .?

"Helein," Kendric said her name with a breathless rush of air, "are you unharmed?" He moved around the table and gripped Helein's upper arms, visually searching her face and upper body.

Ismene's breath caught, her eyes wide and words robbed from her mind.

"I am well. But you promised you'd keep her safe tonight." Helein spared a brief glance for Ismene. "What is going on? I did as you asked, but—"

"There's no time to explain, my love." Kendric pulled Helein close for another embrace while Ismene tried to process the words he said . . . my love?

He spoke with his face pressed close to Helein, his words muffled by her hair. "I'm sorry things haven't worked as I planned. I discovered the true extent of their scheme only this morning and have been looking for a way to stop it, since I have no idea if help will—"