It didn’t matter that she hadn’t gotten to go outside to see Solyrian. Or the sea. Itdidn’t.
Lunara shoved the last dress into her bag, and?—
A knock sounded and she froze.
Pretend you aren’t here until they go away and forget you ever existed.
It might work, too—until they busted down the door and it became a million times worse than if she’d just answered it.
Ignoring the pulsing throb in her joints, she limped over, hand hovering over the knob while she tried to decide which part of herself to listen to.
Climb through the window. Find a portal down in the city. Just don’t?—
“You know, Wolflords aren’t the only ones with excellent hearing.”
There was an impish lilt to Lyriat’s voice, and it prickled over her. She should pretend she hadn’t heard him just for saying out loud that he’d perceived her in such a teasing way. Obviously, she was trying to hide and have a moment alone.
Be honest with yourself, at the very least. You’re trying toescape.
Yes, okay. Fine. She was. Obviously. But he wasn’t aware of that!
“Please, Lunara.”
Hard to ignore a ‘please’ from a king.
Damn it all.
She swung the door wide and turned away, walking further into the room. It was probably a felonious offense to snub a Realm Ruler in such a manner, but maybe if he didn’t see the guilt written across her face, he wouldn’t note the packed bag and start digging.
“I thought you might be needing this,” Lyriat said, setting a tray on a nearby side table.
Lunara homed in on the goblet, standing proud beside a bowl of strawberries, its crimson contents gleaming. Her body cried out for the relief that gift of blood would give her, and she took a mindless step forward without meaning to—only stopping short when she saw the burning scrutiny in the king’s eyes.
“Thank you, Your Majesty.” It was amazing her voice was so steady when she felt anything but. “Though it seems below the duties of a king to bring a healer sustenance.”
He let out a low sound, not quite a laugh. “You reduce us to our positions in this life so easily, rather than account for the intensity of the days we’ve spent in each other’s company. Why is that?”
Lunara didn’t know how to even begin to answer his question.
“Every individual here has expressed a desire to welcome you in and treat you as a friend—to honor you for what you’ve done—but you refuse it. Repeatedly.”
If she hadn’t been able to respond before, there was no way she had words for such a bald statement.
“I think it’s because you’re scared,” he murmured, crossing his arms.
She plastered on a false smile, tittering like a nincompoop—all while her heart pounded hard enough to bludgeon her to death from the inside. “I can’t imagine what it is you think I should be scared of, Your Majesty.”
“Hmm.” He pretended to pick at a thread on the shoulder of his sleeveless tunic, sniffing. “Tell me, Lunara—why is a Sorcerit with skills worthy of the Elder Tier hiding herself away in the Northern Forest of the Evesong, and not living comfortably in a bespoke tower on the Upper Block of Starkeep amongst her equals?”
It was remarkable, really, the way she could stand so very still while the world around her crumbled to nothing. The way she could cease to hear, or breathe, or speak, and yet she didn’t fade away.
“Why should I know such a thing?” She knew the words left her lips because she felt them moving, but her mind had emptied so thoroughly that Lunara worried it might never come back again.
“Maybe because we all just watched you heal Caius in seconds—no salves, cloths, or incantations—when I know I saw shredded tendon and exposed bone beneath the river of blood. Do you deny that it happened?”
“I am simply proficient in my craft,” she rasped, swallowing.
“Yes, you are. As proficient as any other healer on the Elder Council. Maybe more so, if my modest experience with them is anything to go by.”
