Page 82 of Lake of Sorrow
“You only need to obey your superior officers when they order you to face it.”
“So… no courting is involved?”
“No.” Vlerion reached for the gauntlet. “I need to show this to Targon.”
Kaylina resisted his attempt to take it away. “I need to show it to the Virts—specifically their journalist. If they’re not aligned, it might convince him to retract the story without the need for intimidation.”
“I’ll return it after we compare the prongs to those found on the body. And I will assist you in searching for the press and journalist, though I suggest you prioritize?—”
“Clearing my name. Yeah, yeah, I know.”
“You know, but you’re not striving to do it.”
“I will. Trust me. I want to open my meadery—I’m aching to make a batch using honey from the preserve—and I need people to stop trying to arrest, imprison, and execute me to achieve that goal. But first…” Kaylina tilted her thumb over her shoulder toward the root cellar. “Assuming the Virts got tired of looking for me and left, I’m going to have a chat with the plant while drizzling honey over its roots.”
“You shouldn’t chat with that plant alone.”
“Frayvar is waiting for me outside. And the castle doesn’t hate him the way it does rangers, so he can pull me out of harm’s way if it attacks again.”
“That boy would be hard-pressed to pull a carrot out of a garden.”
“Carrots can have long roots and be tough. I’m much easier to deal with.”
“Really.” Vlerion looked pointedly at the gauntlet she hadn’t yet released.
Kaylina made herself let it go and clasped her hands behind her back. “Really. I won’t even court danger while I’m in the castle.”
Vlerion grumbled under his breath—she caught the words vexing woman—but followed her when she headed toward the root cellar. Only after they climbed the ladder, entered the kitchen, and didn’t see or hear anyone did he let her push him out the door.
“Don’t forget to bring that back to me.” Kaylina waved at the bladed gauntlet.
“The ranger trainee is giving the experienced ranger orders now? Targon will not be pleased by my lack of progress with instilling reverence in you.”
“He’s not pleased by much that I’ve noticed.” She made a shooing motion toward the gate.
In truth, she wouldn’t have minded Vlerion’s company—and his sword arm. The plant’s presumptuous branding had scared her. Even though the mark had helped her in the preserve, she had no confidence that it was for her benefit. The plant might be using her to some end that only it knew. By now, she couldn’t dismiss the idea that it was intelligent and could be enacting a plan for its ancient masters.
But having Vlerion at her side, when the plant loathed rangers, was more of a risk than visiting it alone. For both of them. She would go out and find Frayvar before climbing to the tower. If something happened, he could run for help.
Despite her attempts to shoo Vlerion away, it wasn’t until a moan drifted through the castle and a ceiling beam creaked that he stepped into the courtyard.
“Be careful,” he murmured, giving her a long look over his shoulder as he walked toward the gate.
“Same to you. Watch out for Kar’ruk springing out of the sewers with fake claws.”
“It was the catacombs.” His eyes glinted with humor. “Civilized people don’t traipse about in sewers.”
“Listen, pirate.” Kaylina pointed at the gauntlet. “Don’t make me hope you fall and prong yourself on that.”
“Such irreverence.” He lifted a hand before passing through the gatehouse and disappearing into the night.
Even though she’d urged him to leave, Kaylina felt a pang of emptiness at his departure.
“It’s for his own good,” she told herself.
Lantern in hand, she headed through the bottom level of the keep, wanting to make sure the Virts had left before she looked for Frayvar. She’d no sooner stepped into the dining hall than a creak and bump came from the front of the keep. It sounded like the door blowing against the wall in the wind. The Virts must have gone out that way and left it open.
She crept into the great hall and reached the vestibule, spotting the open door at the same time as a dark lump on the floor. A person.