Finally, more than a week after the incident, Finn shows up at the hospital—with Sandria, of all people. Daisy runs straight to the storehouse to inform me, and when I hurry onto the staging floor, Finn pretends not to know me when I meet his eye.
I have never felt more confused in my life.
Heartsick, I stagger into the washroom to hide. The chamber’s spacious windows provide a clear view of the ward. The smell of soap and linen is comforting. I breathe it in steadily, my mouth tight, as I watch the prince and princess stroll among the patients. Finn walks with his hands clasped behind his back, nodding and bowing politely. Sandria is more personal, holding babies, kissing hands. They look disjointed together, like game pieces from different sets.
Not that I care.
On her way to pick up a fresh batch of sheets, Anna catches me staring at Sandria. “She’s a born politician, that one,” she remarks. “The queen’s been trying to get them together for ages.”
This fact—predictably—does not ease my distress.
“You don’t think Sandria’s sincere?” I swivel, facing her.
Anna shrugs. “She might be. But that doesn’t mean she’s not campaigning. There’s a reason the Ursandorns sent her to court. With all the tension and whatnot, they want someone building goodwill from the inside. She does a fine job of it.”
I wonder, with a pinch of skepticism, why Ursandor would waste Sandria’s time building goodwill while simultaneously unleashing a biological weapon that would brand them as monsters. What’s the point of polishing their image if they’re right on the brink of declaring war?
“By the way,” Anna adds, just before leaving, “we’re about to have some changes to the staff. Once things get shuffled, I’d like to recommend you as a Healer’s apprentice. It’s a longer path than traditional school, but you wouldn’t have to leave the castle. And from what I’ve seen, you’d be fantastic.”
“I—Thank you!” I gasp, chest swelling with elation. “That means the world, Anna! You have no idea—Thank you!” I’m swept up with the urge to fling my arms around the Healer and twirl her…
Until the implication hits.
“What do you mean,changes to the staff?”
I pause in front of the door, wondering once again if this is a mistake.
Precariously balanced in my arms is a tray with chicken soup, nut bread, assorted vegetables, and an orange that keeps threatening to roll away. I’m in the highest room in the South Tower, which I was only able to locate thanks to several helpful guards.
Deciding I’m being cowardly, I knock, balancing the tray cautiously on a knee to do so. Harrowing silence follows. During those painfully slow seconds, I fret I might have picked the wrong room. Then a weak “Come in…” sounds from the chamber, and I press open the door.
It’s dark. The chamber has one large window, but the curtains are drawn fast, leaving only a narrow strip of light. The furniture is only faintly illuminated around the edges, but my Elven eyes adjust quickly. I spot a desk, an empty fireplace with books stacked both in and above the mantel, a saggy armchair, and a huge four-poster bed that occupies most of the limited space.
The person lying in it can only be Cygnus. As I edge toward him, tray rattling, I brace for his fury, expecting him to scream, or insult me, or both.
But Cygnus hardly moves. When I get close enough to see him clearly, I understand why. His eyes are swollen beyond recognition, outlined by ghastly purple bruises. Bandages cover half his face. As I set the tray down on the trunk at the foot of his bed, he rasps a familiar chuckle.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?”
I take a deep breath. “I came to apologize.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to.”
“I’m the one who should be sorry,” Cygnus says, surprising me. “I’ve made your life hell. Of course you’d fight back eventually.”
“No. Well, yes, it’s not been great, but Finn shouldn’t have hit you. I’m sorry he did.”
Cygnus remains silent.
I ask tentatively, “What’s the diagnosis?”
“Well, it turns out Finn’s got quite the punch. He hit my orbital bone, we think. I’ll have some nerve damage and, for now, a really,reallybad headache.”
My stomach lurches. I know that tone. It’s the same one Mother uses to cushion terrible news.
“I’m so sorry, Cygnus.”
