They would stand the vigil, along with Fyar and Lyra, but they would stand it on dry land.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
HOKDA WASN’T SURPRISED at all when Fyar drifted through his office doors less than an hour after the procession had returned from Porthos’ vigil, dressed in the same drab, black robe he had worn all night.
Because why should Hokda be surprised? He never gets a moment to rest. Why would today be any different?
“What do you want now?” Hokda grumped, completely out of patience. “I was just about to go to sleep.”
“You can manage a few more minutes.” Fyar shut the door firmly behind him.
“Is that all this visit is going to take? Really? I haven’t slept in days.”
“Neither have I. You’re not special.”
Hokda blew out a long breath and then tried again. “To what do I owe thispleasure, Your Majesty? And might I call to your attention to the fact that you’re dripping on my floor, you royal fuck.”
Rolling his eyes, Fyar reached into the sleeve of his robe and pulled out a cutting of a plant with white flowers, a purple stem, and heart shaped leaves.
Hokda understood immediately. “I’m assuming you alreadygot your answer. Are you expecting different results?”
“It’s called being thorough,” said Fyar. “I need to be sure.”
Moving around his desk, Hokda opened opened the bottom drawer and pulled out a flat glass jar. Inside sat a couple of tea stained flowers, dried and preserved.
“Give it here.”
It was a simple test, over and done in a blink. Focusing his eyes, Hokda read the traces ofenstill clinging to both sets of flowers in front of him, one dried, the other freshly cut.
The energy was identical. They were one and the same.
Hokda grimaced, and then gave his findings.
Fyar said, “I see.”
“What happens now?”
“What indeed.” Fyar turned to leave, but paused. “How are you faring with my cousin’s passing?”
Hokda inhaled sharply. It was still too fresh to say. “I had thought—I hadhoped—he wouldn’t get caught up in his brother’s schemes. He was a smart boy, a good boy, but too easily led. He had the potential to be a great healer. I hate wasted potential.” He swallowed thickly. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”
“It’s okay to be sad, you know. It’s okay to mourn him.”
“Thank you for your permission,” Hokda snarked. Then, ”Will you?”
“I am, in my own way.” Fyar cocked his head, thinking. “I mourn what we could have been. In another life, perhaps we had the chance to be a real family instead of the fucked up mess we are now.”
Hokda understood. “Porthos was mine. My student. My apprentice. My charge. I’m supposed to protect what’s mine, but…”
“You couldn’t protect him from himself.” Fyar opened the door. “Get some sleep, Hokda. You deserve it.”
Oh, he intended to. The hunt was canceled and the palace was in mourning. The coronation feast wasn’t scheduled for another two days and Hokda planned to spend every spare moment in bed. Forgetting the past few days ever happened.
After three knocks came the call to enter.
Fyar was where Killian had expected him, seated at the desk in his private quarters where just days ago he nearly died. What Killian hadn’t expected, what drew him up short, was the presence of his lieutenant standing across from the king.
Loran immediately looked hunted, and turned away so Killian couldn’t see his face.
