Page 12 of The Shattered King

“I’ve been inside his soul for over a month, Your Majesty.

” I sensed more than saw the prince tense.

I didn’t know if the lumis was soul-linked or not—it was magic, though craftlock designated healers for the body , and soulbinders for the soul.

But who was to say for sure? Magic had been forbidden for so long, no one had ever bothered to study it.

My theory was the lumis formed a new aspect of the human being on its own, but souls were something others could understand. “Rest, and privacy.”

Her lips formed their usual pursing at that. She looked ready to reprimand me, but Prince Renn’s hoarse voice murmured, “She’s right, Mother. I’m exhausted. Thank you for coming to see me.”

The queen deflated. Nodded, though with her son’s head still turned, he would not see it. “All right. You”—she pointed at me—“will stay here and monitor him throughout the day. Heal him, healer.” Then, to Ard and Sten, “See that it is done.”

I pressed my lips into a tight line to keep myself from speaking.

There were no royals in Fount, and we were far enough from the local lord that guarding my tongue around those deeming their situation above mine was not a practice I was familiar with.

So I said nothing, only waited for the woman to leave before dropping into my chair, another yawn making my eyes water.

Not ten seconds passed before Ard said, “You should heed her.”

I was so dismally tired, but I lifted one hand to the prince’s wrist while the other arm propped me up on the side table. I thought I heard him mumble something, too quietly for me to piece it together, but it didn’t matter. The sooner I finished this, the sooner I could go home.

I dowsed into his lumis and wearily dug through the baubles, studying every crack and committing it to memory.

I fell asleep dowsing.

The sound of a trumpet jolted me awake. Ard likely thought I was still dowsing, though I’d been told I kept my eyes open when I did, albeit hooded, slowly blinking, as though I were waking from a dream and caught somewhere between sleep and wakefulness.

The prince, too, slept. His color looked even better.

The curtains were still drawn; a nearly spent candle on the night table highlighted his face.

He had both a curve and a bump to his nose, something he shared with his brother, so I imagined it came from the king, who I’d yet to meet and truly hoped never would grant me the honor.

Rising from my chair, blood rushing to my backside, I stretched and crossed to the windows, ignoring the guard’s bored eyes on me.

These had the same thick glass and bars as the salon windows, and I noted that they didn’t open—no fresh air this morning, then.

I peeked out into the day. Late morning.

Soldiers were moving just beyond the bailey—likely the source of the trumpeting.

“What are they doing? The army,” I asked.

“Defending us from Sesta, what else?” Ard retorted. He ran his thumb and index finger along his blue cincture.

I watched the men march, searching their faces for Brien’s.

I didn’t see it. I wondered if he’d be forbidden to write home like I was, which only reminded me of the letter in my bag.

But I was chained to this room and couldn’t so much as think of how to post it until the prince had, at the very least, an image of health.

“But what does Sesta want with us?” I asked.

Sesta was a dyadic country to our own, nearly twin to Cansere, and shadowed every inch of our northern border, with only the Midly Strait separating us.

It had cooler temperatures, yes—harder winters in its northern lands—but it was hardly an unbearable climate.

Most of our trade with them was solely manufactured goods because our lands shared so many similar resources.

“Who knows what goes through Adoel Nicosia’s mind? Greed doesn’t need any motivation but itself,” Ard supplied, and I mulled over that, wondering if the words were very wise, or very stupid. I couldn’t make up my mind.

He cleared his throat, so I dragged myself back to the prince’s bedside.

I had no desire to revisit the dungeon, though it did occur to me that at least I’d be able to sleep down there; even the chill wouldn’t be able to keep me awake forever.

Sitting down, I reached for Prince Renn’s wrist, only to have him slide his hand away from me.

I looked up. “You’re awake.”

His face was turned from me, toward the window, but I did not suspect that to be his focus.

Taking a deep breath, I tried, “How are you feeling?”

“Like a coward,” he whispered, surprising me by answering at all. He spoke so quietly, only I would be able to hear him. “Panic, was it?”

“Yes ... but it’s over now,” I offered.

He shook his head. “How utterly pathetic I am.”

Ah.

“People often see healing as one thing, physical—would you please look at me when I speak to you? I would be rather cross if you dozed off while I attempted to be comforting.”

He turned his head, now to stare at the ceiling. “I couldn’t sleep if I tried. I’m sick of lying here. I hate this room.”

“It’s quite nicer than mine, if you’d like to trade.”

The jest had no effect on him.

I sighed. “Most people, physicians included, view healing as physical only. A broken bone to mend, torn skin to sew, a sour gut to settle. But healing must come emotionally as well. Mentally. Even spiritually, for some. You are not pathetic for panicking, you are human. Heaven forbid you show your humanity in this accursed place.”

I realized the slip of my tongue and bit down on its side, waiting for his rebuke. It did not come, however. He merely stared at the ceiling, looking far away.

After a minute, he said, “It is accursed. I am its curse. Adrinn commands armies and his men heel like dogs, and I rot in here, a child with a man’s face, wailing in the middle of the night like a newborn.” He set his jaw; his fists bunched up at his sides.

I rolled my eyes. “What does Prince Adrinn have to do with any of it?”

Now he did look at me, candlelight reflecting off his cut-sapphire eyes. “What sort of a question is that? Adrinn has everything to do with it.”

“Are you wishing to take his place as heir?”

“ No. ” He lifted his fists and pounded them into the mattress. Bullied the ceiling with his stare again. “Adrinn is everything I am supposed to be, but am not. He is strong, cunning, masculine—”

“Your Highness, please do not try to cajole me with your ideals of masculinity,” I interrupted, cutting his string of pity short.

“I’ve five brothers; I’m very aware of the joys and banes of masculinity .

And from the brief interaction I saw between you and your brother, he is not as spry of mind as yourself, and not the sort I would wish to have in my company besides. ”

Not that Prince Renn was much better.

The prince exhaled sharply through his nose. “You speak too freely. What do you know? Nothing.”

“I know that anger is a shield,” I tried, ignoring his weak jab. “I know it’s more comfortable to wield than what it hides.”

“That is nonsense.”

“It is not,” I countered, glancing at Ard.

He watched us, but made no gesture or movement, so I continued, keeping my voice low.

“Vulnerable emotions make us feel just that—vulnerable. Weak. Unprotected. Anger makes us feel strong, for whatever reason. It helps us hide our true anguish from others, even from ourselves. And the more you hide it, the less you will know of yourself, and that , Your Highness, is weakness. Now, would you like to get dressed and walk to the salon before I heed your mother and return to your lumis? Because when you jerk away, it’s very disorienting. ”

He sat there stewing a good ten seconds before pushing his palms into the mattress and pushing himself to sitting, which signaled Ard to approach. For all the work he squeezed out of me, he’d damn well better be able to sit up on his own.

“I’ll wait in the usual spot,” I said, and left.

The queen truly did make me dowse all day .

Near midafternoon, I kept losing my hold on the prince’s lumis, I was so tired.

Fortunately, the doctors had returned to work with him, giving me some reprieve, but snatched minutes snoozing on a stool in the corner does not restful sleep make.

The sun was well set by the time the queen herself excused me, and only after I assured her the prince would be fine through the night.

Lonnie waited restlessly by my door as I returned. “We should hurry,” she said. “The bathwater will be cold.”

Is it time again? I could barely keep track of the days.

I wanted so desperately to sleep, but I would not be humiliated again, so I swallowed a yawn and dipped into my room to grab a comb, a dress I’d laundered in the servants’ bathing area, and the letter.

Only when we neared the kitchens did I show it to her.

“Can you post this for me? To Fount?”

She eyed the paper uneasily. “Can you not do it yourself?”

“I don’t know where, and I’ve nothing to post it with.”

She blinked. “You’ve no wages?”

“I’m conscripted. Room and board only, it seems.” I would have boiled at the confession, but I was too tired to do so. “Do you have anything to spare?”

She looked uncertain. She was a low-ranking kitchen maid; I imagined her funds were limited. But after a moment, she said, “I’ll make you a deal. If you heal someone for me, I’ll post the letter.”

I hesitated. “I don’t think I can leave the castle grounds. And I’m not given any daytime leave, not yet. But I need this posted sooner than later. I can’t wait for the work to be complete enough for the prince not to need my constant babysitting.”

Lonnie paled. “You shouldn’t say it like that.”

“Are you hiding the queen in your apron?”

She frowned. “You won’t have to leave the castle. I think tomorrow night will work. I’ll fetch you.”

I agreed, and bathed swiftly, eager to return to my bed.