Rise of a Fallen Man (A Look in the Mirror #2)

Chapter 15

Ari

I was confident that my father had the best team of experts to save his life, but I feared they wouldn’t act in his best interests on other issues, including keeping his body whole. I wanted to give him that option. He had to have a choice.

My carriage stopped at the gate of the gladiators’ quarters. After I stated my name and title, a servant let me in while another one ran off to fetch the games master.

Desperation led me here. Salas didn’t speak highly of the warlock who had performed the modifications to his body. That surgery had happened a long time ago, in a different town. Chances were my visit would prove useless, but he was my only hope, and I had to try.

“Your Highness,” the games master met me in the front hall. Dressed in a yellow frilly dress with a rose-shaped barrette in her short, dark curls, she shook my hand. “It’s always a pleasure to see you, as unexpected as this visit is...”

“My apologies for arriving unannounced. But I need to speak with one of your gladiators. The one you call Mountain Bear.”

“Our Mountain Bear? I’m afraid it isn’t possible today.” She smacked her lips with regret. “He only opens a handful of appointments a month, and this month is all booked already.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, and immediately regretted the question.

Did I need to know the activities filling Salas’s schedule, especially if they probably involved the court ladies?

The games master spread her arms apologetically.

“His popularity in the arena is growing every week, Your Highness. And as such, he’s become exceedingly popular with the ladies as well.”

An unpleasant feeling that I couldn’t immediately name scratched in my chest, sending a flush of heat to my face that I failed to control.

“Is he enjoying entertaining outside of the arena?” I asked. “Is that really what he wants to do?”

Catching the hard note in my tone, the games master raised an eyebrow indignantly.

“I do not run a brothel, Your Highness. Everything that happens under this roof happens with my boys’ full consent and to their utter enjoyment.”

“That’s a relief to know,” I replied, but the scratchy feeling in my chest didn’t ease.

“Well...” The games master’s expression relaxed. “You are such a rare visitor. It is a true honor to have you here, Your Highness. I may be able to shift the line in your favor and possibly arrange something for the end of this week. It’s against the rules, of course, but since it’s the first time you ever showed an interest in one of my boys—”

“Oh, I’m not interested in him,” I protested promptly. “Not in that way, anyway. I need to talk to him about an important matter. My father got injured this morning...” Despite my best effort to keep it together, my voice broke off. The image of my father lying in bed, unable to even utter his wife’s name and struggling to breathe, flashed through my mind with a stab of sharp pain through my heart.

The games master pressed her hands to her chest in alarm.

“The king is hurt?”

“Yes...” I swallowed a painful lump lodged in my throat. “Some of his injuries are of the kind that the royal witch can’t treat with the most desired outcome.” Now, I was the one beating around the bush when there wasn’t much time to lose. “Can I count on your confidentiality, Master?”

“Of course, Your Highness. In this place, we pride ourselves on our discretion. We know how to keep ladies’ secrets.”

“I need to find someone who is familiar with the biology and function of male reproductive organs. I hope your Mountain Bear might know a warlock who performs that kind of surgeries for a living.”

She gave me a cautious look.

“A warlock? We don’t employ them here, Your Highness.” She shook her head adamantly, sending her curls into a bounce. “But I know the boys find ways to have certain surgeries done, anyway. They’re so eager to please the ladies who show them affection and favor.”

“Yes, so...” I rubbed my forehead between my eyebrows where the tightness of worry was steadily building up into a headache. “Can I speak with Mountain Bear or Raeb, please? I’m hoping he can direct me to someone for help.”

“Why Raeb? Regit was the one who got the surgery done just a couple of days ago. Though Raeb met with the warlock who performed it, too, as I’ve learned. Regit is fully on the mend, by the way. I assure you his performance at the games will not be affected.”

Her mentioning a recent successful surgery gave me hope.

“I’m glad Regit is well, but I prefer to speak to Raeb, please.” I’d much rather discuss this with someone I knew and trusted than with a stranger. Also, I knew for sure that Salas would keep it a secret if I asked him. “My father needs help as soon as possible. I can’t delay.”

“Of course,” the games master finally conceded, turning to the main staircase that led up to the second floor. “We can certainly make an exception in this case. You can see Raeb right now. He has about thirty minutes before his appointment with Countess Ciryl.”

Countess Ciryl.

The name brought to mind the image of the smiling, chatty woman I’d met many times. The countess served on several committees as a supporter of the arts and was the major benefactor of the Theater of Opera and Drama in Egami. She also had an exceptionally lovely voice and was often asked to sing at the events in the royal palace.

She’d be a pleasant companion to spend an afternoon with. I couldn’t blame Salas for planning to do just that. Unlike me, the countess was also unmarried. There was absolutely no reason why a single woman and an unattached man shouldn’t enjoy an evening together... possibly a night, too, if they so chose...

By the time I reached the top of the stairs, I felt as winded as if I climbed the highest peak of Drazil Mountains. My chest felt tight, like I was wearing one of Father’s waistcoat corsets. And my hands turned cold and clammy like dead fish.

“Raeb.” The games master knocked on one of the several doors along the second floor’s hallway. “Princess Aniri is here to see you.”

There was a pause in his response, and the games master didn’t wait, pushing the door open.

“The crown needs your help, sweetie,” she said. “I’ll make sure the countess knows about a potential delay with your scheduled rendezvous.” With a polite bow to me, she left, leaving me standing on the threshold to Salas’s room.

Late summer air blew through the open balcony door, but I easily caught his scent in it, the scent I’d been hunting for in my dreams. I inhaled deeply and made a step in, closing the door behind me.

Holding a folded shirt, he stood by a tall chest of drawers painted with swirls of stars. A laundry basket was at his feet with a stack of clean linen in it.

“It is really you, Princess,” he said softly, as if afraid to scare away a dream.

Hearing his nickname for me knocked the air out of my lungs. The corset of longing tightened even more around my chest. Memories teased, both tantalizing and tormenting. Clutching handfuls of my skirts at my sides, I focused on every breath I took.

“Good day, Salas.” I licked my dry lips and cleared my throat. “It’s very nice to see you again.”

“Nice” was such an inadequate word. The weather outside was nice—warm and pleasant. Seeing Salas again felt like a salvation I didn’t search for and didn’t know I needed.

With his eyes on me, he poked with the shirt at a closed drawer above the open one. Realizing his mistake, he sighed and dropped the shirt back into the basket.

“You do your own laundry?” I asked, wrinkling my skirts in my hands.

“No. The laundry is done for us. I just have to put it away.”

“Sorry, I interrupted you. I just...” I felt suddenly so lost, like I’d been running tirelessly and resolutely along a predetermined path, only for it to disappear on me unexpectedly.

He frowned, taking a step toward me.

“What is it, Princess? What’s wrong?”

The kindness in his voice undid me. All the emotions of the past few weeks—the uncertainty, the anger, the guilt, the fear, the helplessness, everything I’d pushed down and held in—rushed out at once.

My cheeks flared with heat. My fists unclenched, releasing my skirts. Tears burned my eyes.

“I... Salas, my father...” I couldn’t bring myself to say the words, afraid the mentioning of my father’s broken body would break me too.

“Come here, sweetheart.” He opened his arms for me, and I ran into their shelter without a moment of doubt or hesitation.

“Father isn’t well, Salas,” I sobbed into his shirt.

It wasn’t the shirt that I gave him, I noted, but a much nicer one, from an expensive silk in a glossy satin weave with buttons carved from iridescent mother-of-pearl in a golden setting.

He stroked my back, holding me in a hug that felt like no evil could penetrate.

“How can I help?” he asked simply, his cheek pressed to the side of my head.

He was helping already, and he didn’t even know how much. Slowly, I could breathe again. I could talk.

“It happened this morning,” I muttered against his chest. “He fell from his horse. Then got trampled by its hooves. Internal bleeding. Broken ribs. A punctured lung...” Through tears and only in short, fragmented sentences, but I talked while he kept all my pieces together in his big, strong arms, preventing me from falling apart completely. “They’re fixing him. They know what they’re doing. The witches are smart.”

“They are.” He glided a reassuring hand over my hair. “The royal witch must be at least as good as the one we have here. And our witch did wonders when healing my wounds.”

“Are they healed?” I sniffled, looking up.

My glasses fogged up with my tears, and he moved them up to my head, allowing me to see his face.

“All healed.” He smiled. “As good as new, just with a couple of scars left that Lerrel says look amazing in the arena.” Reaching back, he took a freshly washed handkerchief from the pile of clean laundry in the basket, then wiped my tears off my cheeks. “The healing witches are women of high intelligence and stellar education. Your father is in good hands.”

“They are. And he is.” I nodded, clutching the shirt over his chest. I had no strength to leave the safety of his arms yet. “Only they don’t know everything, Salas. The horse kicked him in his groin, too, and all the witches can do is just amputate...” My voice broke off again.

I closed my eyes and pressed the side of my face to his chest, finding his heartbeat. Strong, measured beat seemed to come way too fast for his size, but its rhythm and the warmth of his body soothed me, anyway.

“Is amputation the only option?” he asked carefully.

“No. I mean, I don’t know... But they can’t just cut it off like that. Not without at least trying a reconstruction. Except that they don’t know how to do it. They wouldn’t admit it, but I know they haven’t been taught. Salas.” I looked up at him again. “Do you know someone who can help?”

Once again, the irony didn’t escape me. One of the most powerful women in the queendom was pleading for help with the man who had no right to even own a home in his name. But that was only what it looked like on the outside.

In reality, I felt helpless, not powerful. And Salas had always been the strongest person I knew. It wasn’t just his physical strength, but the strength of his character too. He was solid, honest, and real in every way. And I used him as my source of strength, again and again.

I didn’t even have it in me to feel guilty about taking his support, because the more I took, the more he seemed to have.

“You had a surgery done yourself,” I said.

“I had. But I would advise everyone to stay away from the charlatan warlock who treated me.”

“There must be someone better.” I held on to every shred of hope. “The games master said that Regit had a successful surgery just a few days ago.”

“Will you trust a warlock to treat the king?” he asked uncertainly.

“If you vouch for him.”

He shook his head.

“I don’t know this one well enough. He did perform a successful surgery that is healing well now. But I don’t know how skilled he is in anything more complex than inserting fish bladders or injecting liquid onyx.”

“The warlock wouldn’t be alone. The royal witch and her team are there. I’m not even sure if they actually would let him put a knife to the king. But I’d like to have someone with practical experience during the surgery, someone who could at least give a second opinion before they do something that can never be reversed.”

“All right.” He brushed a strand of my hair aside before returning my glasses to their usual position on my nose. His thumb stroked my cheek right below my glasses, and I wondered if he’d just connected my freckles into an arch on my skin. He blinked, his smile slipping away. “I know a warlock who might be able to help. He lives in the city. I’ll have to go there. There is no other way. He wouldn’t open his door to just anyone.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“It’s not the prettiest part of town, Princess. Noble folk avoid going that way.”

“Well, then I should visit it for sure.”

He gave me a penetrating look, but I held it steady.

“I’m not hiding from the sores of our society anymore, Salas. If I don’t know what the issues are, how can I ever attempt to fix them?”

“Do you really want to fix things? Do you think life in Rorrim can be good for everyone?”

“That’s the plan, to make it good for everyone. At least for when I get the crown.” I winced, thinking back to my unsuccessful arguments in the council. “As the queen, with a new council, I’ll have far fewer limitations to act than as the princess.”

“Are there limitations now?”

“Quite a few.” I sighed as he handed me a cloak. “Do I need to wear this?”

“Yes. There is no need to raise questions.” He draped the cloak around my shoulders, then put another one on himself too. “Also, it’s better for the peace and reputation of the man we’re going to visit.”

He opened the door for us to leave, and I took one last look at the place that he called home now.

It was a lovely room with a window, a balcony, and a large poster bed with green velvet curtains tied back with golden tussled cords. A writing desk stood by the window with a stack of sketch papers on it. The sharpened lead pencils lay in a small silver tray next to it. Pots of blooming rose bushes and colorful dahlias decorated the balcony, lending their sweet fragrance to the air.

It was a peaceful place, furnished with both function and joy in mind, filled with serenity and peace I only ever felt in his presence.

He waited for me, holding the door open.

“Is anything amiss, Princess?”

Everything in the world out there seemed to be “amiss” lately. I wished I could stay here, even if just to have some tea with Salas and take a nap in his four-poster bed with the green curtains.

“No.” I forced a smile. “But...how about Countess Ciryl?”

“Who?” He lifted an eyebrow.

“Your appointment this afternoon,” I reminded him.

“Oh. Don’t worry about it. I’ll tell Lerrel to cancel it on our way out.” He closed the door behind us.

“Will the countess be upset?” I asked as we walked toward the stairs then down to the main floor.

“She’ll reschedule.” He found a servant in the main hall downstairs and sent him to let the games master know about our departure and the change to his schedule. “Is your carriage still here, Princess? It’d be faster than walking.”

In the carriage, I expected Salas to take the seat across from mine, but he sat next to me instead. His arm pressed to mine. There simply wasn’t enough space to accommodate his bulk and leave a gap between us, and I didn’t mind it a bit.

As the carriage moved with a jolt, I struggled to resist the urge to lean into his warmth. I’d long lost the right to be this close to him. Every moment spent next to Salas now was stolen.

“I’m sorry I ruined your shirt,” I said, pointing at the sliver of the tear-stained satin showing between the ends of his cloak.

“It’ll dry.” He shrugged, then added with a barely there smile, “It’s not the first time you left me with a wet chest.”

His words burst the door open for the memories I tried so hard to contain. It was not the first time I’d cried on his chest. He’d comforted me before. And shamelessly, I kept coming for more.

“But it was a cotton shirt before. This one is silk.” I plastered a smile on my face to hide the persistent nagging of jealousy that I knew I had no right to feel. “Tears and satin aren’t good together. I’m afraid this shirt is truly ruined now.” I shifted in my seat, trying and miserably failing to hold back the next question. “Did the countess give this shirt to you?”

It made sense he’d wear her gift while waiting for her visit.

“Yes,” he admitted simply.

I had no business to feel jealous, not when I was the one who’d put a wedding ring on another man’s finger. But jealousy burned stronger in my chest, painful like a spill of acid.

“I’m sorry you had to cancel your date,” I said, feeling not sorry at all.

He tilted his head, staring at me in that way that only Salas did, like he could read through all my carefully practiced neutral expressions and calmly delivered words.

“It wasn’t a date, Ari. Just a lesson.”

“A lesson on what?”

The memories of all the delightful “lessons” he’d given me fluttered through my mind like a kaleidoscope of sweet, cherished, colorful butterflies.

He shook his head, a corner of his mouth lifting in that half-grin that still haunted me at night while I tossed and turned, trying to fall asleep in the sheets that no longer smelled like him.

“A music lesson, Ari. The countess insisted on teaching me to play a lute.”

“A lute?” I snorted a laugh in a very not-princess-like manner. “Why, by gods, would she teach you that?”

He leaned back in the cushioned seat. “She had a whim to become a teacher, I guess. She said it’d give her a chance to talk about music in a new way. And let me tell you, the countess loves to talk.” He chuckled. “We’ve had two lessons so far, but I’m yet to learn how to play a single chord. Though, I have learned a lot about the history of opera in Rorrim, the administrative challenges of the theater productions she’s been overseeing, and the many ways that music connects to our bodies.”

“How does it connect to our bodies?” I wondered.

Smile danced in his eyes, drawing me in like an undercurrent.

“According to the countess, every function of the body has a melody corresponding to it. Or resonating with it.”

“Every function?”

“Yes, from speech, to digestion, to even, pardon me, the bowel movement.”

“What? Really?” Laugh burst out of me, unconstrained. “What melody would that function have, I wonder?”

Salas watched me with a wide smile.

“Something involving drums, I gather. Or maybe a tuba?”

“Depending on what one ate!” I laughed harder, slapping his thigh. “What if it’s beans?”

“There’d definitely be a bass involved.” His deep, carefree laughter joined mine, momentarily banishing every shred of tension and worry that had been hanging over me lately.

From the pocket of the cloak, I grabbed the handkerchief he’d given me and dabbed at my eyes, wiping off the tears of laughter.

“This is so ridiculously good.” I grinned. “I should give the countess a hug next time when I see her. But have you ever really aspired to play a lute? Or any musical instrument, for that matter?”

“I don’t think I have the aptitude for it, to be honest. Even learning how to dance was a struggle. But I don’t mind the lessons. Countess Ciryl has a pleasant voice and loves to talk without expecting my input. I’ve been catching up on my chores during our lessons, watering the plants on the balcony, putting away the laundry, or drawing.”

I remembered the stack of sketch paper on his desk.

“What do you draw?”

“Weapons mostly. Swords. Noil, the games master’s husband, allowed me to help in the workshop where they make and fix the weapons for gladiators. I’ve been designing a couple of swords for me to use in the arena.”

I adored the enthusiasm that lit behind his eyes. He clearly loved going back to working at the forge. For once in his adult life, Salas did something for his own enjoyment, not just for survival or to please others.

“I’d love to see the swords you’ll make,” I said. “I should come to the games sometime soon if you promise me not to get hurt again.” I managed to keep my tone of voice light, despite the grave reminder of his injuries he’d sustained the last time I’d visited the arena.

He patted my hand on his thigh reassuringly. I hadn’t even realized I’d kept my hand in his lap all this time.

“I’m getting better at it, Princess. I don’t make it easy anymore, either for a man or a beast to hurt me,” he assured me.

I turned my hand with my palm up, and he curled his fingers around in, squeezing lightly. Despite all this time spent away from Salas, I realized that our connection hadn’t grown weaker.

It should’ve alarmed me. But at that very moment, I smiled, feeling lighter at heart. It felt like after a stormy, turbulent journey, I opened my travel chest to discover with relief that my most treasured possession remained intact.