A warm blanket of peace wrapped Piers in a tight embrace.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Two days. Piers slept for two days, made as comfortable as possible in Wycke’s bed. Wycke had turned the mages away, preferring to tend to Piers himself.
Saris visited on occasion, Jess and Aberfrer, but Wycke allowed few others. Once, he woke with a jolt to find tiny black hairs on the pillow between himself and Piers, so Chynne must’ve come at some point.
Good luck holding him back.
Jess mentioned being due back with the elves but refused to leave until Piers awoke.
“He is fine. Just magically exhausted. He’ll come around in time,” Aberfrer said upon each visit.
Wycke and Piers had been sitting in the garden. Had Wycke pushed Piers to overreach his strength in asking him to wish the king well?Gods, ancestors, and whoever else might be listening, please let him recover.
Tapping came on the door. Wycke opened the door to find Saris, dressed head to toe in black. Jess wore jeans and a black T-shirt.
“How is he?” Saris asked.
Wycke spared a glance over his shoulder. “Still the same.”
Jess entered the room, sinking into Wycke’s chair beside the bed and lifting Piers’ hand into her own. “Wake up, you big lug,” she murmured. “I miss you.” She rubbed Piers’ knuckles along her cheek.
“We won’t be gone long,” Saris told her.
“Take your time.” Jess settled more comfortably into the chair. “I’ll be here.”
Wycke pulled his cloak tightly over his traditional black clothing and trundled downstairs, hesitating twice as he fought the desire to return to Piers. Duty finally took him to the castle’s back entrance, where they paused to allow Saris time to don her cloak and hood. Together, the last remaining Bertillians stepped out into the chilly weather.
He left the door open for the guard trailing them.
Light snow fell, though ancient spells kept the path beneath their feet free of ice. The cold still wrapped them in a tight fist. Wycke shivered. And to think, he used to complain about the balmy warmth of Dhugach.
What servants remained at the castle lined the way, heads bowed. Saris probably remembered making this journey for their mother, though their father hadn’t been allowed a burial befitting a king.
“How is your mate?” Wycke asked along the way.
“Nearly fully recovered, though the mages wouldn’t allow him to attend today.”
Of course, they wouldn’t allow the high king to attend the funeral of an enemy. “I’m glad he’s better. Have you spoken?”
“Some.”
“We’re not in prison. Or is that a temporary state?” Hard to miss the guard who’d followed them out the door. His heavy footsteps defied the footstep-muffling effects of the snow. The normal protectors, or jailers? Wycke spotted several more guards along the way, Sir Broderick among them.
“I do not know. He’s been so busy with other matters, we’ve scarcely managed a moment alone.” Saris changed the subject. “Has Piers shown any improvement at all?”
Wycke shook his head. “No. He hasn’t woken up.”
Saris leaned in, bumping her shoulder against Wycke’s. “The king began improving at the same time Piers lost consciousness. Aberfrer says this is no coincidence. Piers exhausted himself making Broen well again.”
Wycke hadn’t known the cost when he’d asked for Piers’ help. He’d rather have Piers. And if Piers put himself in danger for the king or anyone else, Wycke would give him a good, hard shake once he woke up.
They drifted past trees, limbs heavy with snow, and came to a waist-high iron fence. The gate stood open. Hand firmly on Saris’s elbow, Wycke drew them forward to where their brother’s shroud-covered body lay suspended above a hole dug beside their mother’s grave.
Aberfrer stood on the far side of the hole in his purple robes.
Servants and others gathered around. Wycke caught a glimpse of the occasional fae creature.
