“A popular woman, these days,” Izill said, and blew out a breath.
Kinlear lifted a brow. “Withwho?”
But Izill only chuckled and waved him away. She was harder to get answers out of than Alaris, for the healer often spoke in cute little riddles.
Magus would have adored them both.
“I’ll say this. Your letters, Prince, havenotappeased her,” Izill said. “Not in the slightest. In fact, I think she burned one. She may have even stomped on the ashes when the burning was done.”
He winced.
He keptherletter, however furious it was, right by his bedside. He’d read it over and over again, like a little thread to keep him hanging onto life.
The way he once had with Soraya’s.
A twinge of guilt struck him within. He shoved it away, because that was the past...and he was a better man now.
“Does she know?” Kinlear asked. “About...”
He couldn’t bring himself to say it.
“Aboutme?”
She’d pity him, the way Soraya did. She’d look at him like he was already half-gone, and she would close off her heart to a future with him. It would end before it even started, and he didn’t think he would survive that.
She was his only hope.
Perhaps the only one he’d ever had, after the truths he’d learned from Magus.
But Izill only shrugged her small shoulders, and gave him a stern look. “I think she’s more concerned with staying alive, Kinlear, than she is at uncovering the truths about you. She’s studying the raphon all hours of the day, when she isn’tin therewith it.”
Her eyes widened, as if just the thought of the beast made her terrified.
“She hates me,” Kinlear said. And when Izill didn’t answer, he choked on his cough. “Shehatesme? Truly?”
“She feels left behind by you,” Izill explained. “Forgotten. Say the word, and we can tell her thetruth.I can promise you, she’s quite capable of handling it, she’s truly a?—"
“No!”Kinlear blurted.
And then, damn himself, he was coughing again, hacking like a war bear choking on a bone. Izill got him a glass of water and sat patiently while he settled himself with another sip of his vial.
He’d emptied two already today. The tide of his illness was changing, growing deeper. Stronger.
But through it all, Ezer was his anchor.
He hadn’t forgotten her one bit.
If only she knew how much time he’d spent with her in his dreams. How close they’d been in that cave, their lips pressed together, their bodies flush, their destinies colliding. He just had to get strong enough, regain his strength, so he could see her again.
He signaled for the table beside his bed, where he’d written yet another letter. He’d tried to be clever in one, tried to be funny in another, even tried to be downrightrudein one of them. He supposed that was the one she’d burned. Gods, why was he such anassholesometimes? He’d never had a problem with women before. Not once, before her.
She hadn’t written him back in days.
So today, he’d try to appease her and send a gift.
“Take the books, just there,” Kinlear said, pointing at the overflowing shelf in the corner of the large room. He’d read each one far too many times to count, and he sensed that Ezer would love them...one, about a fearsome assassin who loved her kingdom enough to die for it. Another, about a prince who would do anything to tear his own kingdom apart.
Izill brought him the books, and the ribbon he’d requested from the royal seamstress earlier. With shaking hands, he tied a silk ribbon around the books himself. Black, to match Ezer’s raphon. To match the darksoul blade she’d carry later, from his dreams.
