At least now I can heal in peace. However long that takes. I’ve been wounded in battle, suffered beatings that would have felled others, but it’s never felt like this. I’ve always been eager to get back into the fray, to prove myself in every way.
Right now, the pull into darkness is irresistible. Undeniable. Welcoming, even. I chased my sweet flower away, and the ache in my chest sinks deeper, into my veins, into my bones, into my marrow. All I know is pain. And coldness. All I want is for it to end.
We saved the ifrak, though. Both mother and babe. It’s worth it for that. My life for theirs is a small price to pay. For once, I might prove to have value. How could I take issue with that?
I lay on the table, the warmth of a roaring fire thawing my left side while the right stays frozen. I wait for the darkness to take me. For the tunnel in my vision to close around me.
For peace.
And yet it evades me.
The magic of Crownwood, diminished though it may be, is already mending its king, driving off the chill in my bones, letting me breathe a little easier.
Today is not the day I die. That would be too easy. Instead I’m left incapacitated, in agony, and alone—with no one to blame but myself. A look toward the door makes the ache of Ingrid’s absence knock the breath out of me again. With her at my side, I can trust that matters will be handled. The way she sprung into action, both during the labor and after, gives me the confidence to make that claim.
And yet I sent her off with condescension and a snarl.
Being around Ingrid is dangerous. It’s too easy to grow accustomed to her presence, to feel like she always has been and always will be right there. As much as I long to keep her at my side, I can’t. I can’t let myself get used to having her when the throne could still reject us both. I can’t let my guard down. Can’t fall into her soft embrace, no matter how enticing.
I know the moment I do, it will all be snatched away.
At least she’s out of reach now. I don’t trust myself around her in the best of times. In my current condition, I’m liable to wrap her in my arms and snarl at anyone who tries to come close like a hound with a juicy bone.
She’d never come near me again.
Part of me whispers that maybe that’s for the best. Maybe I should call the Dealmaker back and see what arrangements can be made to undo this whole debacle.
But she’smine.
She has been from the moment I saw her. I can’t let her go.
I must have drifted in and out of sleep, because I come to with a start when the door opens again. Without picking up my head, I know it’s her. My entire body is aware of her nearness in ways I still don’t understand. Her soft footsteps as she pushes a rolling cart, and the sweet floral scent of her mixing in with the delicious smells of the covered dishes confirms it long before she’s at my side.
“They’re already cooking up a storm for the celebration tomorrow,” Ingrid says, parking the cart next to me. Steaming dishes, stews, bread, meat, cheeses, wine and fruits—it’s a veritable feast, and my mouth starts watering. “Cook couldn’t give me half of what they wanted, if you can believe it,” she adds with a chuckle. There’s not a bare spot anywhere on the cart, everything arranged to fit as much as possible.
In my hazy, hungry state, I’m not sure what anyone’s celebrating. Do they think I’m dead? The conquering king is no more?
“It’s a shame you won’t be able to join, since there wouldn’t even be anything to celebrate without you,” she adds, piling different foods onto a large platter. “There’s no way Starcaller’s baby would have made it without you.”
Things start to make more sense. My family was never fortunate enough to have one of our ifrak reproduce, but I’ve heard of the festivities some communities host. We’ve little to be thankful for these days, and the feast being prepared by the kitchens is a desperate grasp for hope.
“Eat,” Ingrid says, shoving the platter she’s prepared under my nose. “Your people need you to recover quickly.”
Sitting up enough to comply is an effort and a half, but Ingrid’s unwavering stare tells me she’s not budging until I’ve done as she asked.
One bite is all it takes for me to realize how ravenous I am. I don’t even taste anything or know what I’m eating, I just know I need to eat and eat and eat. I’ve barely cleaned my plate when Ingrid brings me another, and by the time I’ve finished with that, I’m actually feeling quite a bit better. I can breathe a little easier, and the warmth from the fire has spread through my whole body now. I still don’t have the strength to pull myself off the table, though, staring up into the dark, cobweb-covered branches above.
“Why are you here?” I ask, the first words we’ve spoken since I started eating.
“I…made a deal with—”
“No,” I interrupt, clarifying, “here. I told you I don’t need your supervision.”
“Yes,” she agrees, her confusion gone. “And I took note of that.”
“Yet you are here.”
“I am.”
