Not when I don’t believe an ounce in this “sacred balance” stuff the dryads like to spout. Their beliefs might not look as dangerous as the Ethirans’ on the surface, but they’re every bit as dogmatic. They’re just sneakier about it.
“But the risk—” Healer Yanda begins.
“The risk is surely worth taking if it might bring back one of our kingdom’s princes,” I say forcefully. “Especially as you’ve told us he will certainly die anyway if we do nothing.”
His Majesty strokes the ends of his hair, considering it all.
“You make a compelling point, Lady Rhymis,” he says eventually, before turning to Healer Yanda. “We pay you to heal, not preach. You will assist with whatever plan the Ethiran expert has proposed. I don’t care how dangerous it is. The prince’s survival is the priority.”
I must admit I’m impressed by his firmness. There was a time when he didn’t seem to give a mouse’s fart—as Eryx used to say—for the captain’s fate. But that was back when he was secure in having Fairon to rely on. Maybe the time he spent without the crown prince around has changed his attitude.
“Make sure this is fixed, Fairon,” the king says sharply to his grandson, then turns and sweeps out of the sanctuary, his security scrambling after him. Velrir glares sourly over his shoulder. He’d be more than happy if the captain never woke up.
“Well, now you’ve gone and done it,” Alastor says when the king’s out of earshot.
“Meaning?” I demand. Most of us are gathered in the entrance hall now, though some of the healers stay in the captain’s chamber along with Tira and the princess.
“Meaning that now we have to come up with a damn good reason to change the king’s mind about this harebrained scheme.”
“It’s not harebrained,” Mal says, his green complexion flushing darker. “I don’t see any ofyoucoming up with a plan to save him.”
“Alastor’s right,” Phaia says, her eyes fixed on me. “You were wrong to present their idea to the king as a viable solution. If His Majesty had any idea how extreme it is?—”
“You really think it’s not a chance worth taking?” I ask her, surprised.
“You don’t understand what it’s like to be moored,” she says, and I stifle a groan. Here we go again with her mysterious sawlamoor claims. “Every moment she spends linked to the captain without his soul is painful enough. But this plan requireshugesacrifice on the part of the bound partner. What Morgana will have to go through is unimaginable.”
“I don’t seethatconsideration changing the king’s mind,” I point out.
“No, but that’s the problem,” Fairon replies. He doesn’t sound annoyed with me, just strained. “He doesn’t care about the princess’s wellbeing. If he hears she’s the only way to help Leonidas, you can bet he’ll ensure she makes that sacrifice—whether she wants to or not, and with no concern for the cost. It would’ve been better if we’d stalled him some other way.”
A voice comes from beside one of the sanctuary’s large incense bowls to my left.
“I didn’t hear any ofyouleaping forward to deal with him.” Corrin emerges from the darkness, and I scowl.
“How doyouknow?” I ask. “I thought I told you to hide.”
“And I did,” he says lightly. “While I listened in from the shadows.”
He looks a lot healthier—there’s a glow to his skin, and his dark eyes are bright in the lamplight. That dryad must’ve done his jobwell, and I hope it’s the last time I have to feel that awful, biting fear where Wadestaff’s concerned. It was the same terror that gripped me in Qimorna when he was injured. Gods, I hated that feeling and how vulnerable it made me after a century of nothing breaching my walls.
“What I heard from my eavesdropping was Damia doing everything she could to placate that tyrant,” Wadestaff continues, pausing only to incline an apologetic head at Fairon for his choice of words. “While the rest of you stood around and said nothing.”
“I don’t need you defending me, Wadestaff,” I snap. Then, unable to meet his eye, unwilling to see the hurt or disappointed expression I’ve no doubt put on his face, I focus on the others.
“If saving the captain requires the princess to make a sacrifice, then she deserves to be the one to decide whether or not we try it,” I say.
Nowthatthey don’t argue with. It’s clear even to Phaia that the choice has to be up to Morgana.
After all, she has the most to lose. Because even if she wins, and Mal’s plan works, what we’re asking her to give up might still destroy her.
Chapter 3
Morgana
Istudy Leon’s face for any sign of change, running my hands over his still body, trying to sense any flicker of him through the mooring.
I stop when I reach the sharp lines of his cheeks. Is he a little paler than before? Is his heartbeat weaker? I worry I missed something vital in the minutes I stepped away to argue with Respen.
