Tucked away at the end of this hallway was the room where we were keeping yet another victim of Lorien Blackvale: Zayn Caldor. The cousin of Aleksander and—until a month ago—the host of Lorien himself.
Decades ago, that monstrous other half of the Vaelora tandem had possessed Zayn’s body following a failed attempt to overtake Aleksander’s. Fornearly twentyyears, he’d walked in Zayn’s skin, lied with his voice, and poisoned every relationship and alliance Zayn might have had.
We’d managed to extract Lorien’s essence, but he’d been in and out of consciousness ever since. Mostly out. The few times he’d woken up, he’d been entirely disoriented, unable to do more than choke down just enough substance to keep him clinging to life.
It had been several days since his last awakening.
It was impossible to say what was left of the real Zayn; what sort of rot or corruption Lorien had left in him. Not even Aveline had much hope or insight to offer, despite how gifted she was when it came to healing.
I greeted the maid at his bedside, pausing to swallow down the lump in my throat. “How is he today?”
She busied herself with changing pillowcases as she spoke. “Still very much the same, Highness—though he did seem to be trying to respond, earlier, when we were speaking to him. A weak attempt, but…”
I breathed in deep, trying to inhale the pinch of hope I thought I’d heard in her voice. “Keep trying.”
She bowed her head.
My eyes shifted to Zayn once more. Fixed there. I couldn’t look away. Couldn’t stop thinking about how desperately I needed him to wake up so we could talk.
Like the ruined palace in Midna, I suspected he had answers buried inside of him. But much like that palace, he was broken and battered, in danger of collapsing and taking far too much of this world’s complicated past with him.
“Thank you for taking care of him,” I said quietly.
“Of course.”
I turned to leave, but found myself lingering in the doorway, watching him a minute more, hoping for a sign of life. A promise of return.
He remained perfectly still.
I made myself move, even though part of me wanted to linger.
And now came the hardest part of my day.
Always, always the hardest, even when my days were filled with a seemingly endless number of hard things.
My bedroom felt like a mausoleum. A tomb of velvet curtains, gilded walls, and perfumed linens. But I had to retire to it. Had to attempt rest despite the nightmares waiting for me, because tomorrow was another day full of tasks that needed doing, problems that needed solving, and I couldn’t sleepwalk my way through it all.
After readying myself for bed, I went to the cabinet where I kept the wine, reaching for the largest bottle and uncorking it with slightly dazed, well-practiced motions.
A knock on the door made me jump, splashing some of the dark red liquid on my wrist.
“…Come in,” I called, reluctantly.
I expected Aveline, or maybe one of her well-meaning minions. She was forever checking on me under the guise of needing to bring me clean linens or other small comforts; the stack of extra blankets and pillows in the corner of this room was nothing short of obscene at this point.
But it wasn’t Aveline; it was my brother who pushed open the heavy door and stepped inside.
“Sorry to barge in so late.”
I waved off the apology, focusing on pouring my glass of wine.
“There’s been a slight change in tomorrow morning’s plans,” Bastian said. “King Marius insists on accompanying us during our trek to the edge camps.”
I took a long drink.
“I thought you’d appreciate a warning.”
Another long sip. Burning, bitter, comforting. Another sip, then another—until the cup was empty. I’d drained it alarmingly fast. A slight buzz was already humming at the edge of my thoughts, which was perhaps what made me bold enough to say, “Marius can bring his entire fucking army along with him tomorrow morning, I couldn’t care less.”
