Free Counting Shadows (Duplicity) by Olivia Rivers Page B

Guardian.
    “So,” I say, despite knowing he’s unconscious. “I guess you’re stuck with me now. How fitting. You lie to me, and now you get to deal with me.”
    He lets out another moan.
    Glancing around the room, I look for somewhere to sit. There’s nothing. No chairs, no benches, not even a wardrobe or a nightstand.
    Ashe and I both didn’t like this room, so we never used it. He said the room was too big and the windows too small. For me, it was the smell–this place used to store ingredients for the bakery, and the pungent scent of baking yeast strikes me every time I walk in. It’s just another reason I loathe my ability to see—and smell—the past.
    I bite my lip and consider the bed for a moment—Lor only takes up one side of it, and there’s plenty of room at the bottom.
    I sit on the floor.
    Jesel, the healer, should be here any moment. She’s looked after me since I was born, and has a gift for taking away my pain. The physical kind, at least.
    “You’ll like her,” I say to Lor. I’m not sure why I’m talking to him, but I need to fill the silence
somehow
. "She’s probably the only good-hearted person in this entire castle. Well, her and Farren.”
    Lor doesn’t even stir.
    I stare at him for a long moment, taking him in. He reminds me a little of a draft horse: large and brawny, but somehow elegantly beautiful.
    Lor lets out a long breath, and I hold mine, half expecting him not to breathe in again. But he does, taking a shallow gulp into his lungs. It’s a little pitiful to see someone as regal as him laid flat on a bed, dressed in prisoners’ garb, and covered in blood.
    I shake away the thought and take a step toward Lor. Then another. I have no idea what I’m doing, and my heart quickens. I breathe deeply as I reach the edge of the bed. In and out. Slowly. Calming my nerves, just like Jackal taught me.
    Lor lies on the right side of the bed, but there’s a little room between him and the edge. I sit on the open space, smoothing my dress.
    “How did you end up here?” I murmur, unsure if I’m talking to him or myself.
    He doesn’t answer. The question hangs in the air, waiting for an answer, receiving none.
    I reach out and place my hand on his chest. My fingers tremble as I touch his shirt, pulling away the collar and exposing his neck. The tattoo wraps around his shoulder there, reaching back down toward his chest. I brush my finger across the ink, half expecting to feel heat from the flames. But all I feel is Lor’s clammy skin.
    Closing my eyes, I trace a finger across the tattoo, remembering the contours of the flames. The swirls and the bold lines and the blackness, all so stark against Ashe’s pale skin.
    Then I open my eyes and see Lor. The tattoo doesn’t look as stark on him; his skin is darker than Ashe’s, a tan color that makes his blond hair stand out.
    “You remind me of him,” I murmur to Lor. “You look nothing alike, but… You both carry yourself the same way.”
    I shake my head and jerk my hand away. I
won’t
do this. I won’t compare Ashe to someone like Lor, an obnoxious thief and a liar.
    A knock comes at the door. I stand from the bed and rush toward it faster than I need to, but the door bursts open before I reach it.
    Jesel stands in the doorway, lips pursed in her eternal frown. I used to wonder what happened to make her frown like that, but now I understand: She’s a healer who sees death every day. And death destroys people, especially the ones left alive.
    Jesel ignores me, not bothering with any type of greeting, and strides over to Lor’s side. I frown, wondering what has her in such a bad mood. She always asks how I’m doing before she gets to work, demanding to know every detail of my life and health. Sometimes she’ll even give me a hug, and her ghostly-thin arms will cling to me like she’s afraid she’ll never see me again.
    Jesel places her medical bag on the end of the bed and examines the Angel. “He’s not in good