Chapter 242: Wards Do Not End Up In Their Guardians’ Beds

She had not been in her right mind. She told herself that again now, the way she had told herself on the walk back. Fever had burned the edges off the world. A potion had tasted like iron and old leaves. She had been burning, and he had been cold, and....

And you wanted him, said a quiet voice in her head. You were not so far gone you didn’t know it.

She pressed her palm flat against the water and watched it ripple.

Behind her, Rowan set down the cloth.

It made a wet sound against the tub’s rim. Then there was only the drip of water and the small noise of Rowan breathing through her nose, which Morgana also recognized. It was the sound of a woman gathering herself.

"Rowan?" Morgana called out.

"I want to say a thing," Rowan said, "and I want you to let me say it all before you open your mouth."

"All right." Morgana said and shook her head.

"I mean it, Morgana." Rowan said.

"I said all right."

Rowan came around the side of the tub. She had pushed her sleeves to the elbow, and her auburn braid had half come loose over one shoulder. Her cheeks were red from steam or temper, and her eyes were bright.

"I don’t understand you anymore," she said.

Morgana opened her mouth.

"Ah. No." Rowan said, raising her finger to signal that she want’t done talking.

Morgana shook her head and Rowan continued.

"A fortnight ago you were scrubbing floors and ducking Mistress Calla. Then you were in the cells in chains, and I thought I would die. I did think it, Morgana. I stood outside that door and thought they will hang her and I will have to write to your Ma." Rowan’s voice cracked on the name and she pushed past it. "Then the kings pulled you out. They named you ward. Fine. I could carry that. A strange thing, a frightening thing, but I could carry it because it meant you were safe."

She snatched the cloth up again, as though she needed something to hold.

"And then I find you." Her free hand swept out. "Two nights. Two. Two of the three most powerful men in this entire kingdom, and I don’t know what day of the week it is, but I know that not four days ago you were in King Kaelen’s rooms and now I walk in at dawn and find you across the sheets in King Thorne’s, with...." She stopped. Her mouth worked. She gestured at the water, at the hip, at the shoulder, and could not say it. "With that."

"Rowan..." Morgana started saying.

"I’m not finished." She snapped.

"You said you were."

"I lied."

Morgana bit her lip hard to keep from laughing. It was not a good moment to laugh. Rowan saw it anyway and glared, and for a heartbeat the two of them might have been back in their little village again, arguing over a stolen biscuit in Rowan’s father’s bakery.

Then Rowan’s face crumpled a little.

"Wards do not end up in their guardians’ beds," she said, quieter. "They don’t. I have being hearing stories about fairy tails and palaces since we got to the palace, and I have heard about kings’ wards and lords’ wards and I have heard about mistresses, too, and I know the difference. You are not that. I know you aren’t. You’d sooner eat the sheet than be that." Her chin trembled. "So what are you? What is happening to you? And why will you not tell me?"

The water lapped against the tub.

Morgana looked at her friend, at the damp collar and the flushed cheeks and the fear underneath all the temper, and something in her softened until it hurt.

"You sound exactly like my Ma," she said.

Rowan blinked.

"When she wants me to do a thing and I won’t. She gets that same look, with her hands on her hips. And she says the same thing. I do not understand you anymore, Morgana." She smiled. It wobbled a little. "And do you know what I say?"

"Don’t you dare." Rowan warned.

"I say, Give me time, Ma. I’ll tell you when I’ve worked it out myself."

"That is not an answer." She snapped.

"No," Morgana agreed. "It isn’t."

She reached out of the water. Her wet hand left drops on Rowan’s cheek as she cupped it. Rowan’s skin was warm and slightly damp, and her eyes did not leave Morgana’s face.

"Trust me, Rowan."

"Morgana....."

"I’m not asking you to like it. I don’t like it half the time myself." She held the gaze. "I don’t think I’m in danger. Not now. Not from them. I need you to believe that, because it’s true, and because I need to figure out what is happening before I can say it out loud. If I say it wrong now, I might break something I can’t mend." Her thumb moved once along her friend’s cheekbone. "So please. Just trust me. All right?"

Rowan said nothing.

It went on a long time. Outside, a bird landed on the window ledge and left again. Rowan’s eyes searched Morgana’s face the way she looked for a dropped needle, slowly and patiently and thoroughly.

At last she exhaled, and her shoulders came down from around her ears.

"All right."

"All right?" Morgana asked.

"I said all right." Rowan pulled her face free and wiped her eye with the back of her wrist, quickly, as though it were something she’d been caught at. "But if you are ever in trouble, and you do not tell me, I’ll...I’ll...."

"Pinch me?"

"I’ll pinch you so hard."

"I look forward to it."

Rowan made a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob. She picked up the cloth for the third time, dunked it, and said in a voice that was nearly normal, "Lean forward. You’ve still got soap on your back."

Morgana leaned forward.

The cloth moved over her shoulders, gentle this time. It passed carefully over the bruised shoulder and did not linger.