Chapter 42: Proof of Intent
I woke up in a much firmer bed than the one in which I’d become used to waking. I opened my eyes. The bed was a single and not a queen or a king. The bed was a beautiful, though simple affair. The room was as well. White plaster walls with wood beams exposed and reaching to the ceiling. A single wardrobe. A grandfather clock. A writing desk. And a weapons rack filled to overflowing with swords and similar tools of death.
“Where am I?” I asked the room. I was certain though, that I knew the answer.
“You are in my bed, beloved.” Fiona said from where she sat in the corner.
“Where’s Quincy?” I asked.
Fiona pointed. Quincy lay curled up on my feet at the end of the bed. I relaxed. Then a thought occurred to men.
“Where did you sleep?” I asked.
“Beside you. Body warmth was necessary. You were in shock.”
Thank you,” I said.
“Now I know you are not doing well. Under any other circumstances, you would have turned that into an innuendo.”
“I am doing well,” I said, “As long as Brianna is safe. As long as we still have the letters I found.”
“She is safe. Yes. And yes, we have them. They are fascinating reading.” Fiona said, “I have sent for Amy. I believe she would like to see them as well.”
“She doesn’t want to see me.” I said.
“I very much doubt that. In any case, I have advised her of your presence. If it bothers her, she is free not to accept my invitation.”
“How long do we have?” I asked.
“You have been asleep for days. The wedding is today.”
“Today?”
Somebody knocked on the door to Fiona’s room.
“Yes?” Fiona said.
I heard Wentworth’s voice, “You have a guest in the drawing room: Miss Amy Boulanger.”
“And I am proven right. Let us get you dressed. And then we will meet the first of your loves.”
* * *
I limped into the drawing room; Amy was sitting in a wing back chair. She jolted to her feet at the sight of me.
“Ren! You look terrible. What happened?”
“She made her way through the catacombs alone.” Fiona said. “She rescued the enemy seer and obtained these letters as evidence.”
“Alone? What were you thinking?”
“I wasn’t alone, I had Quincy.” I pointed to the little dog.
“Ren!”
“Okay. Okay. I was thinking that I wasn’t risking anyone else.”
Amy shook her head, “I want to smack you then you kiss you. You are infuriating.”
“This time, though,” Fiona said, “She has succeeded beyond our wildest expectations. Read the letters.”
Amy looked at the letters. We waited as she read them. When she finished them, she looked up at Fiona and then at me.
“Doesn’t this prove that the marriage was a smokescreen?” She asked, “Part of the conspiracy to sneak an invasion force into Ys?”
I nodded, “Yeah.”
She grimaced, “So, are you going to go chasing after Lynn? Try to convince her to do something?”
I shook my head, “Everyone knows you’re my mistress now. If I get caught, that puts you and Fiona at risk of reprisals. Fiona has soldiers and she’s a warrior. We’re not. We're out in the open. I couldn’t forgive myself if something happened to you. Lynn chose this path.”
“Yes. She did,” Amy said.
“And I’ll- I’ll let her walk it.”
I felt myself crying. I ignored the tears.
Amy said, “I’m sorry. I know this hurts.”
I didn’t answer.
Amy picked a letter back up, “What are you going to do with these then?”
“I’m going to turn them over to Duke Leon. This is his duchy. He should know. He can deal with this, and how to handle it. And somebody needs to help the seer I rescued get back to Tech-Duinn.”
“I will help the seer return home.” Fiona said.
“Thank you,” I said.
“You don’t think Lynn would like to see these letters?”
“I’m sure she would. But I have no idea how to find her without endangering you. And I am not doing that anymore. I promise that, regardless of whether we make things work, I will never stop loving you. And I promise that I will never put you behind anyone else.”
“Does that apply to Fiona too?”
“It does.”
Fiona smiled, “In fairness, beloved, I knew you meant that.”
They left me alone to recover. I would leave Quincy with Fiona. I couldn’t take care of him in my state. I needed to get the documents to Leon immediately. And my thoughts turned back to Lynn. I felt guilty, thinking of Lynn instead of Fiona or Amy. Then a thought struck me like the lightning that had sent us here.
This wasn’t about Lynn. It was about me.
I’d accused Lynn of martyring herself. Well pot, meet kettle. I was such a martyr that they would sell my bones as reliquaries when I died.
And it wasn’t about Fiona or Amy. It was about me. I wanted Amy. I wanted Fiona. And they were happy to have me. I was the only one standing in my own way. I was harming them to martyr myself.
“It’s time to get off the cross,” I said to the empty room.
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