He does, but I keep a tight grip, waiting to hear what he has to say.
“Grey needs to know,” Jake says, and my eyes flash to his. “So,” he continues, “do you want to tell him, or should I?”
I’m on edge when I walk through the palace. It’s not so late that everyone is asleep, but the hallways feel tense and quiet, with few servants out and about. The tension must all be in my head. I left Jake with the horses, but there’s a part of me that wants to change my mind, to hide in the barn with Mercy while Jake handles this conversation.
But that feels cowardly. I didn’t want a chaperone—but that means I have to prove I didn’tneedone.
The hallway leading to the royal suites is flanked by guards, but they nod and allow me to pass. When I reach their private chambers, I ask the guards on duty if the king and queen have gone to sleep yet.
Please say yes.
Maybe I did need a chaperone.
“The king is meeting with advisers,” says Tika, one of the guards. “But the queen is within. Shall I announce you?”
I hesitate. Lia Mara has been so sick and tired. I don’t want to disturb her, especially if she’s resting.
The Royal Guards aren’t usually friendly with me—or anyone outside their ranks—but Tika hesitates, then leans close and drops her voice. “Her Majesty’s spirits are rather low after what happened to the princess. I believe she could do with a bit of kind companionship.”
I inhale sharply. “Something happened to Sinna? Is she all right?”
Tika nods. “The princess was found in the forest. She is unharmed.”
That only leaves me with more questions, but Tika straightens and reaches for the door handle.
When I’m admitted, I expect the space to be brightly lit, every wall sconce flickering, but instead, the room is dim, the only light coming from the hearth. The queen reclines on a low sofa by the fire, Sinna curled against her, tucked under a light blanket. They’re both asleep, a book open under Lia Mara’s hand.
The moment feels peaceful and intimate, and I pause just past the threshold. But as my eyes adjust to the light, I can see the red rim of Lia Mara’s eyes, the dried tear streak down one cheek. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her cry. The queen has always been full of gentle strength. I’ve seen her hold the hand of dying soldiers, and she’s never wavered.
There are stories all over Syhl Shallow about the king’s brutal magic during the Uprising, how fire swept through many of the palace hallways to stop an assault on the royal family. I’ve heard the tavern tales of how the king’s magic fractured limbs and stopped hearts—which are never quite as graphic as what I witnessed with my own eyes. As I told Jax, there was a reason I was glad for a chance to stop being a soldier.
But the stories of the queen’s kindness and empathy aren’t shared as widely. I walked at her back as she moved from body to body, checking for survivors, using the magic in her own ring to heal anyone she could.
“They’re dissenters,” I remember the queen’s sister saying. Nolla Verin didn’t check a single body. “You should leave them to rot.”
“They’re still my people,” said the queen.
The young princess is curled so tightly against her mother. Something has happened. Something bad. I wonder if I should leave, or if I should wait.
While I’m deliberating, the door clicks open, and I turn carefully, putting a finger to my lips before the guards can announce someone new.
But it’s not one of the guards. It’s the king.
Grey doesn’t look surprised to see me, though I’m sure one of the guards told him I was here. It’s too dark to read his expression, but his eyes flick to Lia Mara.
When he speaks, his voice is a low rasp. “Is she asleep?”
I nod, then hesitate. “Tika said something happened to Sinna.”
Grey draws closer, and I realize that same tension clings to the lines of his face. He looks as tired as Lia Mara does, but he nods. “Let me get them to bed. I’ll tell you.”
He reaches for the tiny princess, gently disentangling the girl from her mother. The toddler easily snuggles into Grey’s shoulder, tucking her face into his neck without waking, but Lia Mara stirs.
“No,” she says, and her voice breaks. “No, I want her with me.”
“I know,” Grey says gently, and there’s a note in his voice I don’t think I’ve ever heard before. He rests a hand against her cheek. “Come lie in the bed.”
Her eyes are a little wild, not quite awake, and she blinks at him, and then at me. “Oh,” she says. “Oh, Tycho. Forgive me.”
