She was lying in her bed, pale strands loosely brushed on either side of her, black tips standing out starkly against her pale pink gown. The darkness that stained the edges of her hair and nails crept upward with each passing day, though Amias assured us that it was a comfort to see how slowly the venom was spreading.
I took in her pinched, hollow features, still ethereally beautiful for all that they were utterly devoid of life, and couldn’t help but picture them the first time she had let the icy edges of her facade waiver.
My name. It’s Nevara.
Are we going to be friends, then?
I don’t see my own future.
I had never asked her what she meant by that. If she couldn’tSeeher own future, or if she merely refused to. Had she made an exception this time?
Soren sat beside Nevara with the same book he had held at her bedside the past week in the infirmary, though today he looked as though it weighed more than he did. His posture was slumped, his angular eyes so hollowed out by exhaustion that even the amber flames seemed oddly subdued. He rarely left her side, even to bathe or sleep.
Out of love? Or guilt?
Wynnie told me that Nevara had taken the hit from the Korythid for him.
Had she known what was going to happen when she fought the monster that day? That she would risk her life, risk abandoning the Court—and the king—she had spent her entire existence protecting?
Was it a split-second reaction or a carefully thought out decision, choosing to save the male who painted her pictures with his words and made her laugh when she was tormented by all the nightmares she couldn’t un-See?
Soren closed the book as we entered the room, setting it on the side table with a carefulness that bordered on reverence.
Not just guilt.
Amias followed shortly behind us, clearing his throat in a way that I knew meant nothing good.
“I’m afraid there isn’t much to report.” A reserved sort of empathy shone from his bright green gaze. “The venom has fused too deeply with her bloodstream to burn or siphon it away, though her mana still seems to be shielding its progression. In the meantime, there are a number of antidotes we can try. I have written to Spring Court for herbs we can’t grow here, and we can be grateful that between her own powers and my ability to heal the effects of the venom, if not the source, she is stable for now.”
For now.
The words thinned as they left the healer’s mouth, dissolving into the quiet of the room. The air felt suddenly wrong… too thin, too still…
Amias moved back to Nevara’s bedside, his hands working with careful precision while the rest of us stood rooted in place, unsure where to look or what to say.
No one spoke. No one moved.
We lingered there, suspended in that fragile breath, knowing how easilyfor nowcould unravel into something far worse.
When he was finished examining Nevara, Amais left to return to the infirmary. Soren, however, lingered.
Usually he at least retreated to the main area of the infirmary when Draven came, so his presence felt intentional, even before he looked pointedly at my husband.
“We need to clean this mess up before she wakes.”
Draven blinked at him. “What?”
I echoed his surprise, though mine was at least half because Soren was still so convinced she would wake. Or at least was doing a better job of lying to himself about it than I was.
He leaned back in his chair, giving all the impression of nonchalance. “I’m just saying that she’ll be less than pleased to see you’ve let all her hard work with the Court fall by the wayside.”
My husband let out an irritable breath through his nose, one that Batty seemed to agree with, if I interpreted her chirp correctly.
“What would you know of my Court when you haven’t left this room to so much as bathe for the last several days?” Draven replied smoothly.
Soren gave a wan imitation of his usual smirk, though it didn’t come close to reaching his eyes. “I have my ways.”
Draven scoffed outright. “Finally ready to acknowledge you are more than the emissary you pretend to be?”
