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Chapter 45 - Stillness Before (POV: Selwyn)

  The scent of hay and horse sweat was oddly comforting. I leaned against the stable wall, letting the warm breath of the mare in the closest stall brush over my bandaged shoulder. She snorted softly, turning her head to nudge my ribs as if she could sense the way I was favoring one side.

  "Easy, girl," I murmured, reaching up to stroke the velvet-soft patch between her eyes. My fingers were stiff, my arm sore from disuse and overuse in equal measure. The wound throbbed with dull regularity, but I'd refused more pain medicine. My thoughts were cloudy enough without numbing the edges.

  The stable sounds wrapped around me like a familiar blanket. Horses shifting their weight, the occasional snort, the rustle of hay beneath hooves. I'd sought refuge here after breakfast, needing space from the watchful eyes that followed me through the house. Even Jacobi had been hovering more than usual, attempting casual conversation that revealed his concern.

  Three days had passed since Joy's knife had found its way into my shoulder. Three days of careful movements and sympathy. Three nights of fitful sleep, dreams tangled with memories of Joy's clouded eyes as she straddled me, knife raised high, her face locked in determination that wasn't meant for me.

  The chores had piled up in my absence. I'd tried lifting the grain sack earlier but had to give up halfway through, my pride bruised worse than my shoulder. Even the pitchfork felt unbalanced in my grip. I'd managed to refill a few water troughs and check the feed bins, but every movement reminded me of my limitations. Worse still, Leonard had caught me struggling and wordlessly moved to help. Always with that maddeningly patient smile.

  So now I was here, brushing down a horse I'd already brushed twice.

  Joy hadn't come to visit today. I told myself she was resting, that Jacobi was keeping her company, but the absence of her presence felt sharper than I expected. She'd visited yesterday, her movements careful and precise as she helped change my bandages, her fingers barely touching my skin. Her eyes had been clear but guarded, watching me for any sign of fear or resentment.

  Maybe it was guilt keeping her away. Maybe it was the fear in her eyes when she realized what she'd done. Or maybe it was the memory of her hands, trembling and warm, pressing against my chest while she whispered desperate apologies that tore through me more than the knife ever could.

  I turned to fetch the grooming box, careful not to twist too quickly. As I bent to pick up a cloth, a familiar scent hit me like a slap. Spicy. Medicinal. Wrong.

  I froze.

  It was the liniment. The one from Ross's mansion. The same one that had sent Joy into a panic.

  The memory crashed over me. Joy's face contorting in terror, her nails digging into her own skin, trying to scrape away more than just the ointment. The way her body had gone rigid before she'd started clawing at herself. The white film that had covered her eyes as she'd retreated into whatever safe place her mind had constructed.

  I followed the scent and found the bottle tucked beside a stack of old brushes. A half-used vial, the stopper crusted from disuse.

  I didn't think. I grabbed it with my good hand and hurled it toward the waste barrel outside the stall. It hit the rim with a hollow clatter and tumbled in. The bottle didn't break, but the gesture still felt like exorcising a ghost.

  The mare beside me flinched at the sudden movement.

  "Sorry," I muttered, brushing her neck again to soothe her. My own breath was shaky. Just the smell had brought back the way Joy's hands had dug at her skin, the way she'd looked at me, terrified, like I was someone else.

  The mare nickered softly, pressing her nose against my chest as if offering comfort. I stroked her mane, grateful for the simple contact without expectation, without history. Animals understood pain without requiring explanations.

  I had almost finished brushing down her flanks when the sound of hoofbeats pulled my attention toward the stable doors. Sunlight streamed in, momentarily blinding me with its intensity. I raised my hand, squinting against the glare as two silhouettes on horseback emerged from the light.

  Delia rode in front, her posture unmistakably smug. The girl behind her rode bareback and gripped the reins with unpracticed hands.

  Nalah.

  She looked different, more solid in her skin than the last time I saw her. Her eyes, wide and curious, scanned the estate as Delia dismounted and offered a hand to steady her. Nalah slid from the horse with more grace than I expected and looked around, her gaze pausing on me.

  I stepped out of the stall, carefully closing the gate behind me. My shoulder protested at the movement, and I couldn't quite hide the wince.

  "There he is," Delia said, flicking imaginary dust off her jacket. "Still pretending to work."

  I smirked. "You brought back trouble."

  "The worst kind," she said brightly. "House-trained, mostly."

  Delia's tone was light, but I caught the protective glance she cast toward Nalah. She'd been the one to accompany Dr. Susan when they took the girl to Wynford's for recovery. Her presence was familiar to Nalah in a way few others here would be.

  Nalah stepped forward, examining me with surprising intensity. "Delia told me all about everyone while we stayed with Wynford. She said you take care of the horses and that Jacobi owns everything but he's not as scary as he looks."

  The directness of her gaze reminded me of Joy. Not the physical similarities, but something in the way she assessed me, taking my measure without flinching.

  A small smile tugged at my lips. "That's a fair assessment."

  "She also said you got hurt protecting Joy."

  I glanced at Delia, who shrugged innocently. Not entirely accurate, but perhaps easier than explaining the truth. I settled for a noncommittal nod.

  "Is it bad?" Nalah's eyes fixed on my bandaged shoulder.

  "Not so bad." The lie came easily. "I've had worse."

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  She nodded, satisfied with the answer. "When I was hurt, Joy helped me too. She gave me the silk. She's nice, but scary."

  "That's Joy," I agreed, unable to keep the fondness from my voice.

  "Is Jacobi here? I want to thank him properly for letting me stay." Her small fingers played with the edge of her sleeve.

  I glanced at Delia, who nodded in confirmation.

  "He's probably in his study," I said, straightening up with a slight wince. "The big room with all the books on the east side of the house. Do you know how to find it?"

  Nalah nodded solemnly. She took a step toward the door, then paused. "Will Joy be with him?"

  "I'm not sure. She might be resting."

  The girl seemed to consider this, then gave a determined nod before slipping out of the barn, her footsteps fading across the courtyard.

  Delia waited until Nalah was out of earshot before turning back to me. "She's been asking about Jacobi for days. Wanted to see him since the moment Dr. Susan cleared her."

  I began helping her unsaddle the horse, though my movements were slower than I would have liked. The leather felt heavier than usual, the buckles more stubborn.

  "What about you?" I asked. "How was staying with Wynford?"

  She shrugged. "He asked a lot of questions about Joy."

  That didn't surprise me. Joy had said he was like a brother to her. "Did you answer them?"

  "Some. The ones that seemed harmless." Delia removed the saddle and heaved it onto the nearby rack. "He knows about her training. About the Blades."

  I nodded slowly. "And Nalah? How much does she know?"

  "She knows Marcelo hurt her badly." Delia's voice dropped lower. "Dr. Susan said there are gaps in her memory. Which is probably a blessing. She remembers enough to have nightmares." Delia's expression hardened. "The rest might be better left buried."

  Silence stretched between us, filled with the rustle of hay and the shifting weight of horses in their stalls. I thought about how similar Nalah's experience was to Joy's, both victims of the same monster, both carrying scars visible and invisible.

  Delia cleared her throat. "Joy's doing better, right?"

  I nodded, then winced as the movement pulled at the stitches in my shoulder. "She's... recovering. Bit by bit. Some days are harder."

  "And you?" Her eyes scanned my face. "Are you two... are you dating?"

  That caught me off guard. I let out a breathless laugh. "I don't know if I'd call it that. But... yes. Sort of."

  Delia tilted her head. "Sort of?"

  "It's complicated." I busied myself with checking the water trough, not meeting her eyes.

  "Because of Jacobi?"

  I stilled. "How did you know?"

  "I'm not blind. I've seen how they look at each other. And I've seen how you look at her." Delia leaned against the stall door. "So is it... all three of you?"

  "I don't know what it is yet." The truth was easier than trying to explain something I didn't fully understand myself. "We're figuring it out."

  Delia tilted her head, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "And how exactly does that work with you two being brothers? Do you just... not make eye contact while you’re all tangled in bed?"

  A startled laugh burst from my throat, and I nearly dropped the brush I was holding.

  "It's not..." I shook my head, feeling heat rise to my face despite my amusement. "We've been focused on her recovery. The rest is... complicated."

  "Well when you do figure it out, I want details." Delia grinned. "For research purposes, of course."

  I shook my head, still chuckling despite my embarrassment. "You're terrible."

  "So I've been told." She looked entirely too pleased with herself.

  Delia and I worked together to unsaddle Nalah's horse.

  "You're babying that shoulder," she observed, taking the saddle from me when I winced. "You should let me do the heavy lifting."

  "I'm fine."

  "So stubborn." She hefted the saddle onto the rack with practiced ease. "You men are all the same, acting like admitting pain is some kind of weakness."

  I smiled faintly. "This coming from the woman who once sprained her ankle and refused to tell anyone for three days."

  "That was different."

  "How?"

  "It just was." She busied herself with checking the horse's hooves. "Besides, I had my reasons."

  "You wanted to impress Jacobi."

  Color rose to her cheeks, though she tried to hide it by ducking lower. "Gods, that’s ancient history."

  We fell into companionable silence as we continued tending to the horses. Here, at least, nothing had changed.

  Delia broke the silence. "Remember when we used to meet out here? When Jacobi thought you were just teaching me to ride?"

  The memory brought unexpected warmth to my face. "Not one of our more dignified moments."

  "I don't know," she mused, a playful glint in her eyes. "That time in the hayloft was rather... inventive."

  I chuckled despite myself. "You nearly broke my arm."

  "Worth it, though." Her grin faded slightly. "I suppose those days are over now."

  "I suppose they are."

  She nodded.

  "Joy's good for you," she said suddenly. "She makes you more... present."

  I looked up, surprised by her observation.

  "Before, you were always half somewhere else," Delia continued, brushing straw from her riding clothes. "Watching, listening, but never fully here. Since Joy came, you've changed."

  "Is that good or bad?"

  "Good." She smiled genuinely. "Definitely good. Even if it means I've lost my hayloft companion."

  "We had a good run."

  "The best." She reached out to pat my uninjured shoulder. "Now you go have awkward three-way romance drama with your brother and his demon bodyguard. Much more exciting."

  I laughed outright at that, the sound echoing in the stable. "When you put it that way..."

  "I'm just saying," she continued, leaning against the stall door, "the gossip potential is extraordinary."

  "You wouldn't."

  "Of course not." She looked wounded at the suggestion. "But seriously, Selwyn..." Her expression softened. "Are you happy? With whatever this arrangement is becoming?"

  I considered the question, truly considered it. The answer surprised me. "Yes. I think I am."

  "That's what matters then." She nodded firmly. "Though I reserve the right to tease you mercilessly about it in private."

  "I'd expect nothing less."

  As we prepared to leave the stables, Delia paused, turning back to me with unusual hesitation. "Selwyn? Can I ask you something?"

  "Of course."

  "Do you think we'll find Ellah? Truly?"

  The question caught me off guard. In all our concerns about Joy's recovery, the threat of Marcelo, and the shifting dynamics in the house, Ellah's continued absence had become an uncomfortable constant.

  "I don't know," I admitted. "But Joy won't stop looking. And neither will I."

  Delia nodded, seemingly satisfied with the answer. "Good. Because that girl in there—" she gestured toward the main house where Nalah had gone "—she needs to know that we don't give up on our people."

  Something in her voice suggested she wasn't only talking about Nalah.

  We stepped out into the courtyard together, the morning sun bright overhead. I found myself watching Delia as she walked slightly ahead, her stride confident and purposeful.

  "You know," I said as we approached the main house, "I'm glad you're back too."

  She glanced over her shoulder, surprise briefly crossing her features before she masked it with a smirk. "Getting sentimental in your old age, Selwyn?"

  "Must be the blood loss."

  She laughed, the sound bright in the quiet courtyard. "Blame it on the knife wound. Very convenient."

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