"She's human."
"I'm aware."
"And clearly terrified of getting attached to dark elves, which—given our culture's track record—is remarkably sensible of her." He leans back in his chair, studying me with that sharp intelligence that illness hasn't dulled. "What are you doing, Val?"
"Nothing. I'm doing nothing." It's the truth and also a lie. I'm notdoinganything, but I'm certainlyfeelingeverything, and that's arguably worse. "She's Amisra's nanny. That's all."
"That's not all and we both know it." His voice gentles. "I've known you twenty years. I've seen you with lovers, with courtship interests, with the occasional ill-advised dalliance. You've never looked at anyone the way you look at her."
"Daryn—"
"Like she's air and you're drowning."
The words hit too close. I close my eyes, breathe slowly through the ache in my chest. "This is not the time. You're dying. Amisra needs stability. Keira is here for your daughter, not to be pursued by some desperate miou who can't take a hint."
"You're not desperate. You're smitten." He's smiling now, the bastard. Even dying, he finds time to mock me. "And I think she notices you more than you realize. She just doesn't trust it. Can't trust it."
"Which is why I'm not pursuing anything."
"Maybe you should."
I stare at him. "Your priorities are deeply skewed."
"My priorities are ensuring the people I love are cared for when I'm gone." He says it casually, like he's discussing weatherpatterns instead of his own death. "Amisra adores Keira. Keira clearly loves Amisra. You care for both of them. Seems like a natural solution."
"A solution to what? You're not dying, Daryn. I'm going to find an answer."
"Val—"
"No." I stand abruptly, gathering my supplies with shaking hands. "I'm not having this conversation. You're going to be fine. I'll figure this out."
He doesn't argue. Just watches me with sad, knowing eyes that say he's already accepted what I refuse to acknowledge. The silence stretches between us, heavy with everything neither of us can say.
Finally: "At least talk to her. As a friend. She's lonely here, Val. The other servants don't accept her. She has no one except Amisra."
"She wouldn't want my friendship."
"You don't know that."
"She doesn't trust me."
"Then earn her trust." He's serious now, all humor gone. "You're good at that. Patient. Kind. Show her she doesn't have to be afraid."
I want to. Blessed Thirteen, I want nothing more than to break down those walls, see what she's like when she's not performing careful neutrality. But I remember the way she looks at me—guarded and distant and so very careful—and I know it's not that simple.
"I'll think about it," I lie.
He sees through me but lets it pass. "Stay tonight?"
"Of course."
I leave him to rest and retreat to the study, where my research scrolls wait with their mocking lack of answers. Hours pass. Midnight comes and goes. I work by lamplight,cross-referencing symptoms with obscure diseases, testing new ingredient combinations, occasionally stopping to rub my burning eyes.
Footsteps in the hallway. Soft, careful. Keira, checking on Daryn before she retires for the night. She does this every evening, I've noticed—makes sure he's comfortable, has water by his bedside, hasn't fallen or hurt himself.
She does it because she's kind. Because she cares, even though caring is dangerous for someone in her position.
The footsteps pause outside the study. A shadow falls across the doorframe. I don't look up, don't acknowledge her presence. If I do, I'll say something foolish. Something I can't take back.
