“The fates have an odd sense of humor,” he says, “It’s part of my gift, helping others in ways I cannot help myself.”
“You help others sleep?” I know I shouldn’t ask, but he did bring it up, and I’m relieved when he smiles and doesn’t seem to mind.
“Sometimes,” he says, “Sometimes it’s something else. We all have our own unique demons.”
My breath catches in my throat, and I nearly trip as I round the door into the kitchen. Media is absent her chair. She’d likely gone to bed the moment I left with the general.
I follow Kishek to a small pantry at the far side of the kitchen, looking over his shoulder as he rifles through the shelves, the clinking glass the only sound to fill the room. He stacks his arm full of bottled herbs, each precisely labeled with its name and function. Many I recognize, some I’ve never seen.
Pushing the kettle over the fire on his way to the large table at the center of the room, he procures a cup from a nearby shelf and goes to work, dosing the mixture by sight. It’s clear he’s done this often enough that it’s become routine, and I can’t help but hope the herbs of the feyn will be the answer to my terrors.
“What is it that keeps you from your sleep?” he asks, tapping the side of a small vile, counting three petals from an unfamiliar yellow flower before replacing the stopper and setting it aside.
“Dreams,” I admit.
He nods his understanding, and I note the last of the unfamiliar herbs he adds to the mixture before he sweeps the jars up and returns them to their home.
“You aren’t making one for yourself?” I ask.
He shakes his head, bundling the herbs in a small swatch of gauze-like fabric and placing them in the cup, before covering them with boilingwater.
“I’m afraid I have some long nights ahead of me.” There is more behind his eyes when he says it, and when I recall the reason he was outside my room, I assume whatever task he was given involves Awri.
I tuck the information away, deciding that even if the draught doesn’t work, it will serve as a good excuse to venture out into the halls during hours when any lady would be fast asleep. I blow on a fine waft of steam coming from the cup, following Kishek back into the hall.
We are standing in front of the doors to my room when he says, “If it helps, tell Awri, and I will be happy to make more for you.”
I won’t tell her, even if it does help. But I smile and nod my thanks, the gentle timbre of his voice stopping me before I slip inside my chamber.
“She’s a good friend, Awri,” he says, and I pause with my hand on the wooden panel. “And a good listener. If you ever find it helpful to talk about your dreams or anything else.”
“Thank you, Kishek,” I reply, raising my cup to him before leaving him in the hall.
I don’t doubt what the male says. I am sure the femaleisa good friend, to someone. But not to me, because she will never know me, not until it’s too late.
For an hour I pace the length of my room, waiting to see if the tonic will serve its purpose. I’m beginning to doubt its effectiveness when an uncomfortable weight settles on my eyelids.
Standing at the edge of the bed, eyes lingering on the soft duvet, I debate my options and the likelihood that the tonic will keep my demon at bay. I decide in either case, I will seek out the general for his special tea recipe in the morning. Despite my experience with that particular mixture, it was effective.
Deciding I can’t risk my demon, I pull a blanket onto my lap and sit by the fire. It won’t be the first sleepless night I’ve had, though remaining clearheaded is always easier when there is a task at hand.
My eyes flick to the door and I consider finding the library or simply using that as an excuse to search the castle. Though I haven’t been given a thorough tour and I’m as likely to enter someone’s bed chamber as I am tofind an empty room.
I’m still debating my options when my head grows heavy, a thick fog of black clouding my vision when I drift off into the void.
CHAPTER 18
THE A’KORI PALACE
Present Day
My eyes fly open the moment I realize I’ve fallen asleep. It’s too late, it’s morning. I check the darkness inside me, surprised to find myself absent the coiled tension I’m accustomed to in the mornings. Eyeing the empty cup next to me, I ponder if I’d had a lucky night or the herbs were more effective than I expected. I’m not fool enough to assume the change is permanent, but I take the reprieve in stride, promising myself that I will find my way to the kitchen to procure more of the mixture.
A thick floral steam wafts out of the washroom. I smile sleepily, dragging myself from the settee where I fell asleep. I’m struck by an intriguing thought as I watch the sprites plucking fragrant flowers from their hair, casting them to float about on the surface of the water.
Walking to the closet to retrieve my cloak, I turn its hidden pocket inside out, relieved when a few small pieces of debris fall into my palm. I doubt it’s enough to assist in my sleep, but when I hold the crushed leaves to my nose, I recognize the unique, pungent smell of the herb.
Bending at the hip, I bring myself closer to eye-level with the sprites,extending my hand toward them.
