“I don’t know,” Flyka rasped, her eyes filling with tears.
His stomach bottomed out. Flykanevercried. Not even when she’d lost her own mother.
“The healers tossed me out.”
An ember of rage caught alight in his chest. No one would cut Neve off from his family. “Where is he?”
Eyri wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “He’ll be okay.” Olwen noted the gesture. Eyri was probably the only one who could have gotten away with touching her. Flyka had a soft spot for the gentle scholar who had a heart of gold. Anyone else would have lost an arm.
Flyka blinked her eyes rapidly and straightened to her full height, shrugging out of Eyri’s grasp. All traces of devastation disappeared from her expression. The warrior façade was once again engaged.
“His rooms.”
Olwen jogged down the hallway with his two best friends in tow. They reached the king’s suite in no time. Warriors swarmed outside the room; Olwen plunged through them. The scent of vomit, incense, and sweat permeated the dark massive space.
Healers surrounded the king, who lay on the bed in the middle of the half-circle room.
His normally deep blue skin was a sickly periwinkle, and splatters of black liquid trickled down his chin, forming a river across his torso. His naked chest lifted in short rapid pants like he couldn’t get enough air. Olwen blanched.
He’d seen men like this in battle.
Right before they died.
Qov.
Olwen sat heavily on the back of the couch behind him with Eyri following suit. Eyri placed a hand over his mouth and shook his head, his eyes glassy behind his round spectacles.
“Not Neve,” Eyri whispered.
“He’ll be okay,” Olwen said reflexively. Nevehadto be. There wasn’t another choice.
The king convulsed. A petite healer turned him onto his side as another placed a bowl beneath him and he retched. Black liquid spewed from between his lips and then dripped down his chin.
“Charcoal,” Eyri murmured, lifting his spectacles to wipe away the tears leaking from his eyes.
Olwen knew what that meant.Poison.
“I need to interrogate the men,” Flyka said, her tone devoid of any emotion. “Whoever attacked him can’t get away with this. We can’t lose the trail.”
She moved to walk past him, and Olwen caught her arm. He braced for the sting of claws, but all she did was freeze, glaring into his eyes. “Don’t kill anyone,” he muttered. “We need information.”
Flyka’s lip curled up before she yanked her elbow out of his grasp. “I know what I’m doing.” She stalked to the door and then slammed it behind her, the frame rattling.
Olwen stared at the door before meeting Eyri’s worried gaze. “Someone is going to die before the day is out.”
Eyri nodded, brushing a long silky strand of navy hair behind his ear. “Let us pray it is not our king.”
Olwen nodded and then scanned the room for a freckled human face and a riot of rose-gold hair. He frowned, foreboding settling in the pit of his stomach.
“Where is the queen?” he asked, mostly to himself. She should be here.
Eyri sat a little taller as if the queen had completely escaped his mind as well. “I haven’t seen her since the festival.”
Olwen pushed off the couch, glancing over the room once more. “Was the queen sent away?” he bellowed, his voice carrying over the cacophony of sound.
“No,” an old healer said gruffly, while wrapping Neve’s bare feet with steaming cloth. “She has not been here.”
Olwen cursed and looked to Eyri, his hearts pounding. “Will you stay here with him?”
