Target Practice

Dove exited the carriage and dashed to the nearest washroom inside, heaving what little food she had in her stomach.
 
In her mind replayed the image of that elf’s head thunking, rolling on the ground. His neck a gaping mess of blood. Davinor’s ghost standing sadly nearby. She’d seen people die before, here and there. She saw the dead every day. She’d expected this execution to be exciting. But the list of charges against the individual began to sound off again in her ear…
 
High treason…
She could see, standing in the man’s place, an image of Lady Idole, crying pitifully like she had been in the Tower of Gor.
 
Consorting with those who would seek to destabilize our great kingdom…
Lady Idole shifted into a scary-looking Lord Oliver bathed in the light of the flaming carriage, then flashed again into the shape of Berig, agreeing with Oliver to take down General Zaphyros.
 
And necromancy.
Now, finally, the image of Oliver became an image of Dove herself. She didn’t know what her abilities were or where they came from, but she knew that speaking with the dead certainly fell under the umbrella of necromancy. What would it be like to be the one standing there, facing a crowd eager to see her violent death?
 
She had blinked, and the man on the stage… was just a man. An elf. A person, the same as her. Suddenly, this excursion with Oliver was no longer fun.
 
Dove’s stomach rolled again, bringing her mind back to the present. She heard footsteps in the hall outside the door. Wiping her mouth, she quickly ran out the restroom and up the stairs, her little footsteps echoing on the large entryway walls. She passed Nicholas on the way up, said a hello that she’d hoped was convincingly casual. All she needed was the peace of her room. A boon, this new room was: a space that was all her own, that signified just how much trust and acceptance the Sterling family was placing on her.
 
Another reminder of how much she owed them.
 
She was nearly there, when she saw Dominic’s tall frame exiting Elinor’s room.
 
“Dominic!” she called, noting the way her stomach unknotted a little at seeing her friend. Then she laughed. “What — who tied your cravat? Let me fix that for you.”
 
Obediently, Dominic knelt down so Dove could reach his neck. She pulled the fabric out of its messy knot and began to retie it. He smelled nice, and she couldn’t help but notice the feel of the stubble under his chin when her fingers brushed it.
 
“Yeah, I’m a little bit of a mess right now, but only on the outside, I think,” Dominic said cheerfully. “Oh yeah, how did it go yesterday? You just left!”
 
Dove felt her heart sink, suddenly wishing she’d just stayed at the ball with him. She tucked in the last bit of fabric and took a step back. Last night was Oliver’s secret to share, and being so close to Dominic’s face felt too vulnerable for this next lie.
 
“Oh! That!” The words started to tumble out of her mouth. “Yeah, it was fine. Oliver’s fine. You know, because Berig thought he heard Oliver’s name, but he must have been wrong because I think Oliver was at the ball the whole time. Didn’t you — see him there—? Maybe—?” And just like that, the nausea returned in full force. This felt terrible, especially when mentioning Bear for some reason. “I’m sorry, I really have to throw up right now.”
 
She scurried away from Dominic’s bewildered face and slammed the door of her bedroom shut behind her. Slumped against the back of the door, she heard Dominic say, “What’s going on?” followed by Aunt Alice’s booming voice.
 
All of these lies, all of this conflict inside her — Dove had always rolled her eyes at the ladies who “fainted” from frail womanly constitutions, but she was beginning to think there could be some truth there. She retched. Her whole body felt like death.
 
She thought of Oliver’s request to find information on Berig. Something the family could use as leverage over him if he ever took a step against the Sterlings. She knew she owed the Sterlings so much, but how could she betray her oldest friend like this? And anyway, it was preposterous, thinking that Berig would do anything so devious. He had always been straightforward. He gave her his word, and that should be enough for the Bear she once knew. “We promised we’d always be honest with each other, remember?” he’d said. And she’d intended to stay true to that.
 
But now what was she supposed to do? Just ask him straight if there was anything that the Sterlings could hang over his head? Sure, that would go over well.
 
“I’ll do whatever I have to to keep Dove safe.” She believed him, and it made her eyes all blurry to think about. She had really hoped to be close with her dear Bear again, now that he knew why she’d been gone for so long. Now that he knew about Lord Frost and her brief employment there.
 
And it hit her. That’s where it all began. It all went back to that icy bastard, that mystery woman, and Dove’s forced exile.
 
With sudden resolve, Dove shoved the pot back under the bed and lifted the mattress from the bed frame. Underneath was a little stack of papers: the page she’d torn out of Emma Parsons’ book, her journal she’d all but given up on, and some newspaper clippings she’d collected over the years. She flipped through the pile until she found a photo of Lord and Lady Frost printed a few years back. The higher in status the Sterling family had risen, the more nervous Dove had become of bumping into the Marquess of Frost. When the Carousel did an article celebrating his and his wife’s something-eth wedding anniversary, she’d torn out the photo to make sure she’d be able to recognize him in the street. Admittedly, it was an extra precaution, probably overkill. She couldn’t erase him from her mind if she tried.
 
Using one of her daggers, she pinned Lord Frost’s picture to the wall and stepped back across the room. Yes, that would do. His ugly face would make for perfect target practice.
 
With every throw of her knives, she could feel her pent up anger releasing. It was hard to blame Oliver for anything, despite the inner turmoil she felt about his request. It was impossible to blame Berig, who had gotten involved out of concern for Dove and her friends. She didn’t know who to blame for all the kidnappings and executions of the nobles. And, at least as far as Berig believed, everyone was to blame for the treatment of the poor she had been so familiar with as a child, and that obviously wasn’t helpful.
 
But Lord Frost was deserving of every condemnation she could think of.
 
Thunk!
 
He was the reason she hadn’t seen Berig for nearly two decades. He was the reason she’d had to live her life with so many secrets.
 
Thunk!
 
He was the one who tried to kill her at the beach. Hell, he probably brought on the entire kelpie attack. He was why she couldn’t count on the Sterlings’ safety.
 
Thunk!
 
And if he hadn’t been at the ball, maybe she could have been more relaxed and helped Oliver prevent the altercation with the prince! He might even be behind the noble attacks!
 
The more knives she threw, the more preposterous her accusations of him, the better she felt.
 
Just before throwing her last dagger, she heard a knock at the door. Quickly, on her tippy toes, she rushed to pull her little weapons out of the wall and shoved the paper of Lord Frost under the mattress again. Goddesses, it stank like vomit in here. That’ll need to be dealt with.
 
“Uh, coming!”
 
Slowly she opened the door, sticking her face in the small crack. Above her stood Lucy, Elinor’s new lady’s maid.
 
“Yes, um, her ladyship asked for you in the next room?” Lucy squeaked.
 
“Uh, okay, I’ll be right there,” Dove stammered. Too late, she thought of what Elinor might have to say about the knife holes that now adorned the wall. Maybe she had been a little brash. Gods, she was a poor match for this fancy life.
 
“Shall I get you some tea? Or make your bed?” Lucy had already stepped inside and begun tidying Dove’s room. It felt like a great invasion of her privacy, but Dove supposed this was a battle for another day. And anyway, maybe Lucy would change her mind about cleaning Dove’s room after seeing the contents of the chamber pot.
 
“Uh, just don’t look under the mattress.”