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Raziel tugged at the red scarf wrapped around his nose and mouth, the fabric dampening with each breath. Healers scurried between tents carrying soiled bandages and pots of honey. A young-looking healer caught his eye and bowed before hurrying away. This was not the place to linger in conversation. Even the healers seemed like they wanted to run away from the plague camp screaming.

Raz reached the nearest canvas tent and lifted the flap without hesitation. The scent of putrefied flesh and disease nearly knocked him on his arse. He swallowed hard against thebile that flooded his mouth. His people deserved more than him, more than a king who wanted to flee from their disease.

He forced one foot in front of the other, his men trailing behind him as his eyes adjusted to the dim tent. Rudimentary single beds lined the walls, each hosting a shriveled pockmarked person. Some had their hands and legs secured to the wooden frames. In the later stage of the disease, when it feasted upon the brain, the person sometimes became violent. It killed Raz that in the final days of their lives, they had to be strapped down—without any freedom.

He scanned the large tent, and his throat bobbed as he spotted a small shivering body in the middle on his left.

A child.

It hurt the most when a young one became ill. The disease wasn’t prejudiced. It attacked men, women, and children alike.

He swallowed hard and then strode over the dirt-packed floor to the foot of the wee one’s bed. He stared down at the little girl who gazed back, her thin cracked lips pressed into an unforgiving line. Most tried to sit up or bow when they recognized the royal insignia on his tunic—not that it was necessary—but the little girl didn’t even move. In fact, her metallic blue eyes narrowed on him.

A trait of the Mirror Plague. Once someone was truly infected, their irises gained a reflective quality.

“What do you want?” she rasped harshly, a wheeze rattling in her lungs.

Crossing his arms, he pasted a bright smile on his face, not that she could see it behind his scarf. “I came for a visit.”

The little girl snorted. “A visit? How very lucky for you that you can visit this hell and then leave.”

Raz cocked his head, wine-colored hair falling over his forehead. The little one had fire. She’d need it to survive the plague. “What’s your name and how old are you?”

She harrumphed. “It doesn’t matter. I’m going to die here anyway.”

That was enough of that talk. He’d come here with the goal of being uplifting, and he’d do it if it took every trick in his book.

Rounding the mattress, he pulled a stool from beneath her bed and sat. The wood groaned under his bulk.

The girl scowled at him, her brown hair drenched in sweat at the temples. “What are you doing?”

“Sitting with you.”

“I don’t need you.”

“Be that as it may, I bear a gift.” He reached into his chest pocket and pulled out a tiny figurine of his feline companion Skye and held it out to her. The girl couldn’t have been more than nine. Her blue eyes rounded, but she shuddered, her expression almost bored. “This is myfiilee. She’s a protector. Any time you’re afraid, just hold Skye in your hands, and she’ll help you through your trial.”

The girl blinked at him and warily took the wooden figurine from his fingers. She traced her shaking fingertips over the arched bat-like wings of thefiilee. After a moment, she held it out to him, shaking her head slowly.

“I can’t take gifts from strangers. My mama said so.”

“Where is your mama?”

“Dead.” Her voice was flat.

“And your father?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“Dead.”

King Raziel stared at the young girl and reached for his scarf, pulling down the fabric beneath his chin. He could give her this, could make the little one feel less alone.

“My lord,” a deep voice chastised, but Raz waved off Valen—his commander and one of his best friends.

He held his hand out to the little girl. “My name is Raz.”

She blinked slowly at his bare face and then his outstretched hand. “No one but the healers can touch me.”

“You can see my eyes, no?” She nodded. “I once had the plague. My eyes are permanently silver now. I beat this sickness, and so can you. And now we’re not strangers.” He held his breath, waiting for her reply.