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He didn’t like that Vandor had seen fit to fill Ryneth’s head with anything. He’d have to talk to Kylix about the guard. “Helion is beautiful, but not every part of it was built to impress.”
They had left Zephyr’s walls behind when the city opened up around them. The polished towers thinned. The streets widened, rougher here, less carefully kept. Then the graveyard came into view, stretching along the roadside behind a half-collapsed stone wall, rows of old stone markers rising at uneven angles.
“See? Not all glass and gardens.”
“Yeah. What a depressing place.” Ryneth pressed closer to the window. “Is that… do people live there? I see tents.”
Daven looked over Ryneth’s shoulder, closing the distance and sliding his palm over Ryneth’s. “Yes, they do. In fact, Mirel lived here once.”
“Mirel? Cyprian’s brother?”
“Half-brother, yes. Like you, he was raised off-world. When his foster parents found out he could create ice with the flick of his hand, they kicked him out and sent him back to Helion. He was just a child.”
“That’s awful.” Ryneth kept staring out at the gray view beyond the window. “Is that why he’s always shadowed by a guard?”
“Yeah. When Kylix found him years later, he could barely speak.” Daven’s hand tightened at Ryneth’s waist. “Now turn your head.”
On the other side of the road stood a large building with arched windows and a stone façade.
The arches rose high and severe, throwing long shadows across the entrance while iron gates framed the broad stone steps below. Daven shivered at the sight. There were no glass towers here, no green, none of the polished shine Zephyr liked to show off. Just stone, and the weight of memory pressing in around it.
“The Hospital of the Living Dead?” Ryneth read, frowning. “Is that where you’re taking me?”
“I am. Come, baby. Follow me.” Daven climbed out first, then reached back for Ryneth as they stepped into the cold and headed inside.
The moment they entered, everything turned white. The walls. The floors. The coats moving through the halls.
“Welcome, Imperial Daven.” A middle-aged nurse with large glasses and dark curls pulled into a ponytail greeted them at reception. “Please follow me.”
“What is this place?” Ryneth hissed as they followed the nurse down the corridor. The halls were empty. Trays of medical equipment stood pushed against the walls.
The doors stood open, revealing mostly sleeping patients.
Ryneth’s grip tightened until his knuckles went pale, and a moment later Daven felt the tension answer in his own chest, as if whatever had locked between them kept refusing to stay quiet.
White gave way to gold at the entrance to the royal wing. Two Luminary guards stood by the doors. They lowered their gaze as Daven approached, opening the doors for them.
“Daven, talk to me.” Ryneth pulled hard on his hand. “I’m not taking one step farther until you tell me why we’re here.”
Daven glanced toward the open door. “I’m taking you to my uncle’s wife.”
Ryneth frowned. “Your uncle has a wife?”
“Of course he does. She’s the royal consort, Ryneth. She—”
“Daven? Is that you?”
The door to Norma Zephyranth’s room stood open. His uncle sat beside her bed, her hand folded inside his. He looked up when he saw them at the threshold, surprise flickering across his face as his gaze moved between the two of them.
Norma lay still beneath the sheets, dark hair spread around her like a fan against the pillow, her eyes closed.
“Is everything all right?”
“Yes,” Daven said quickly. His chest tightened at the sight of his uncle’s amethyst eyes, wet with tears. “I’m sorry to disturb you.”
Milanov smiled. “Family never disturbs. What is it, my boy? What’s on your mind?”
They stepped inside. Ryneth’s distress sharpened through the bond, turning bright in Daven’s chest.
