Rominy looks down at Elowyn and blinks a few times. He’s so lost without her. How could she have changed his life so completely in such a brief time?
The thought of escaping this nightmare and meeting her in the heartlanding is tempting.
But he’d have to tell her what’s happening. And that’s not a conversation he’s eager to have.
What if he made a mistake? Made the wrong choice? He’s not ready to have someone else’s life in his hands. If he can’t handle this, how will he ever survive as a king?
It might not matter if Elowyn doesn’t pull through. At least he won’t have to figure out how to survive without her. His heart would just stop beating along with hers. Part of him already feels dead inside, seeing her so sick.
It’s his fault. He should have guarded her better. Not pushed her to let the doctor stitch her up. Insisted on calling for the doctor last night instead of waiting for morning.
She deserves better. Better than him. Nunia deserves better than him.
It should be Arisanna. Unflappable, practical Arisanna. She’d be a better monarch than he will be. Who could doubt it?
If they survive this, perhaps he should relinquish his claim on the throne. Trade places with Arisanna. Go live in Lostariel and let her reign over Nunia.
Cerian wouldn’t thank him for that, that’s for sure.
“Rominy?” Dr. Fulton lays a hand on his arm. “I can give you something light to help you sleep.”
Maybe he should rest. Go be with Elowyn again. There’s not much he can do here.
“It won’t hurt her?”
“It’s a mild sedative. It shouldn’t affect your heart.”
Reluctantly, Rominy nods, and Dr. Fulton takes a vial of liquid from his bag. It has a dropper in the lid, and the doctor tells him to lie back.
The floor of the boxcar is hard and cold, but Rominy barely gives it a thought as Dr. Fulton releases a couple of drops into Rominy’s mouth.
The medicine works quickly, and Rominy’s last thought before he drifts off is that he’ll get to talk to Elowyn again soon.
Arisanna’seyelidsdroopasCerian holds her steady against his chest. How is he not exhausted? Or is he just better at hiding it?
“We’re almost there,” he whispers against her hair.
The sun went down more than an hour ago, but the darkness of the woods isn’t as frightening with Cerian’s solid chest at her back and his muscled arms wrapped around her waist.
She must drift off because it feels as if seconds pass before she opens her eyes to the quiet streets of Darlei. The Tree of Memories greets them in the distance, and Cerian nudges the weary horse toward Windhaven.
Home.
A startled groom descends upon them, and Cerian tosses the reins to the man as he jumps down.
“Saddle my family’s horses,” Cerian says, and the fatigue in his voice is impossible to miss.
The thought of riding back to Feressa now nearly makes Arisanna weep, but she doesn’t complain.
Cerian helps her off the horse, not letting go this time as her knees refuse to carry her.
“I’m sorry,” she mumbles.
“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Then, despite his own weariness, he lifts her to his chest the way he did her first night here.
He hurries toward the royal wing, and she struggles to stay awake. How is she going to survive the return journey? How will he?
Rather than rushing to Tharios, Cerian pushes open his own door and gently lays Arisanna on his bed. “Sleep whileyou can.” He presses a light kiss to her lips. “I’ll wake you when it’s time to leave again.”
