“He seems to do well,” Riven said absently.
“He’s been trained,” Nora, not looking up from her blade.“Chosen for the purpose.”
“To care for the babes,” Riven said.
“That too,” Nora said.“Someone has to, until the casting.”She shrugged, clearly indifferent.“Certainly, we have no experience.Wet nurses and nursery maids will take over after that.”
Fiery icy fingers clutched Riven’s spine.
Witless was the sacrifice.
He blinked, staring at the scroll as a wave of anguish swept over him.His hands started to shake, as it crashed in, all of it, everything he’d managed to push to the side, following the lure of power.Managed to avoid thinking about while the black spidery handwriting spoke of everything he ever dreamed of, everything he thought to achieve.
His gorge rose, thick in his throat.Riven threw himself from the desk, setting everything rattling.He went to his knees, grabbed the chamber pot and heaved.
Voices rose around him but his body demanded all of his attention.Strong hands took hold of his shoulders, and offered support.
“Master sick,” Witless said.
Riven nodded, spitting to clear his mouth.Cold sweat broke out all over his body; he felt weak and shaky.
A cool hand touched his forehead.“Too much, too soon,” Mira announced.“His enthusiasm pushed him too far, too fast.”
Riven shivered and spat into the pot.Witless offered him a cup of water and held it as he sipped.
“So, back to bed with him,” Mira said.“No further study for the rest of the day and we’ll see how he’s doing in the morning.”
“Witless can clean this mess,” Nora said, and Riven didn’t miss the relief in her voice.
“Clean mess,” Witless confirmed.
Riven shivered on the edge of the cot as Witless wiped his face and hands with a cool cloth and helped him out of his new clothes into sleepwear.Riven shook under the blankets, curled in on himself, nursing his sore stomach muscles as Witless cleaned the floor, removed the chamber pot, and set things to right on the desk.
“Master clean,” Witless said, sounding happy and pleased.“Water, Master?”
Riven took a ragged breath.“No, thank you.”
“Master thanks Witless,” was the response, said with a happy chortle as if gratitude was a rare, precious thing.Witless went around the room and doused all but one candle.“Sleep, Master.”
The door closed behind him and the lock clicked into place.
Riven trembled.There’d be no sleep.Only the single flame, the dark shadows beyond, the call of the letheon in his throat, and the echo of Uncle Stancil’s voice in his head.
“At what cost, nephew?The taint on your own soul?All the blood on your hands?”
Chapter Seventeen
In the Palace of Xy
Hours later, Riven tried to gather his wits and pull himself together.He stretched out to full length slowly, ignoring the complaints of his muscles.He closed his eyes, focused on his body, slowed his breathing, willing the shaking to stop.Slowly, he consciously relaxed each part of his body, concentrating on his breath and nothing else.
When he was done, he opened his eyes, stared at the ceiling and frowned.What had come over him?Here was everything he’d hoped for and more.
Secure chambers, fine clothes, servants, decent food.Royal patronage.Royalprotection.How many of his ilk could claim that?
Everything he ever wanted.Except…he swallowed as the craving rose in his gullet.His hand twitched, seeking a bottle to soothe his pain and bury his thoughts.
Except…what he’d really wanted was revenge.To make these people, who had destroyed his life, suffer as he had suffered.Tears formed, along with rage.He could still have that, achieve that goal, at the very least.Do this one thing for the Queen and the possibilities were endless.
