Page 37 of The Shattered King

Autumn settled over Rove, coaxing shades of red, orange, and yellow from bushes and trees, shedding the petals on flowers, shortening the days.

Merchants put up walls on their stalls to keep out the chill, though the sun still warmed the afternoons.

Renn took to his training, and when he wasn’t training, he went into the city with his retinue, exploring what could be explored until winter shut us in again.

We perused the rest of Nations Row, then explored more of the city, though Ard and Sten forbade him from going into the farthest streets of the south side, where the people were, as they claimed, unsavory.

We ate at bakeries, viewed museums, even attended a horse show, though Renn was no horseman and had never taken an interest in horseflesh.

“My sister loves them,” he said. “She has three of her own, all purebred Zanoff mares.”

He nearly fainted on one of our excursions but made it to the side of the road, where I could dowse into him, Sten and Ard forming a wall around us.

Healing was legal, yes, but it drew attention, which neither Renn nor I wanted.

The cause for the fainting was unclear; his lumis merely decided to insert some conflict into the day, as it loved to do.

About three weeks after I received my new room—and its much nicer bed and dresser in which to keep my things—Renn decided to go to the main market, where farmers peddled their crops and merchants brought goods from all over Cansere to sell.

You name it, the Rovian Central Market had it, from fish to marbles to cows.

He brought his full retinue, knowing there would be crowds, so Sall and Ard led the way, and Bay and Sten followed behind, with me situated between them.

Most of the things in the market—such as livestock and foodstuffs—Renn didn’t need.

But he enjoyed it anyway, marveling at the wares and the people, both those selling and those buying.

So thick was the throng that barely anyone noticed us, which was just the way Renn preferred it.

We were nearing the end of the shops when I peered over a stack of half-empty chicken cages to a familiar seller’s wagon painted yellow, its merchant at its head, offering a selection of books to passersby.

Ice encapsulated my heart so quickly I could not breathe.

My fingers and toes went numb. My pulse banged in my ears, hard, quick, and steady, drowning out the noise of the crowd.

Someone bumped into me from behind, and I barely registered them.

My eyes locked on that man, his easy smile, the same band tied around his forehead, not fifteen paces from where I stood.

“Hey.” Bay snapped his tawny fingers at me; the sound seemed far away, like we were underwater. “Healer!”

I tried to move my tongue, but my mouth had gone dry as summer hay. I still did not breathe. Could not.

But of course he would be here. All merchants came to Rove.

“Hey!” Bay shoved me, finally breaking my reverie. I stumbled but did not fall. Shook myself.

Renn’s hand snapped out and seized Bay’s wrist. Though Bay was the larger, taller man, the prince seemed to tower over him. “Touch her again, and I’ll cut off this hand.” He threw Bay’s arm away like it was refuse, and Bay shuffled back, wide eyed and cowering like a scolded dog.

“Nym, what’s wrong?” He grasped my shoulders. Tried to follow my line of sight, but he wouldn’t see it. He wouldn’t know. My pulse pounded harder, making me lightheaded. Numbness crawled up my legs to my knees.

“ Nym, ” Ursa whispered.

Renn pushed my hair back. Cradled my face like he was dowsing into me and forced my eyes to meet his. “Nym.”

I finally inhaled; my body did it of its own accord. But emotion thickened my throat until it hurt to have it. I could only shake my head.

“We’re done,” Renn announced. “I want the carriage brought around.”

Ard said, “The crowd—”

“As close as you can get it.” He turned me around, shielding me with an arm around my shoulders, and led me back the way we’d come, breaking my connection with the wagon and its merchant. Still, I did not return to myself until I stepped into the carriage, hardly remembering how I’d gotten there.

There was a small tub in the corner of my new bedroom, so while I stared at a wall, trapped in my twenty-year-old mind, absently touching my stomach, Renn ordered it filled.

He made Bay and Sall do it. Either to punish Bay or to offer me some privacy while I held my own shattered pieces together—it didn’t matter in the end.

I was grateful for it, but more grateful when they all finally left, and the snick as the door locked offered me solitude.

I approached the bath, staring down into it for gods knew how long before finally undressing and slipping into it, the hot water soothing my outsides but doing nothing for my cold center.

Hands on my knees, I dowsed into myself, but everything was as it should be. There was nothing for me to mend here.

I cried. I sobbed and wept harder than I had in four years, grateful the walls were made of stone and the windows of glass.

I burrowed into the water until it sloshed out of the basin, nearly all of me covered, and cried until my eyes swelled and my nose ran, and then I cried for her , until there was no more water in me and that in the tub went cold.

After that I lay on my bed, naked, staring out the windows, though from here I could see nothing but sky.

A knock sounded at the door, but I didn’t answer it.

I dozed a little at one point, which helped.

When sunset warmed the light, I peeled myself from the coverlet and pulled out the first dress my hand touched, one of the ones I’d brought from Fount.

I held it in my hands for a minute, remembering who I was, that I had conquered this, that I was whole and safe.

I put it on, then started detangling my hair with my comb.

I hadn’t actually washed it, which made the task more like detangling a bird’s nest.

Another knock on my door. Finding some courage, I crossed into the salon and cracked it open.

Renn was there, picking up a tray of food left on the floor for me. He met my eyes. Stood slowly. “May I come in?”

His guard was not behind him.

I stepped aside. Shut the door after him.

He set the tray on a little circular table to the left of a blue chair. “I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me what happened?”

“No.” My voice sounded like gravel.

He seemed to expect this. “May I stay?”

I nodded. Dropped in a chair. He took another.

“Are you hungry?”

I was. “I’ll eat in a bit.”

Leaning forward, he set his elbows on his knees. “Nym. I feel like you know everything about me and I know nothing about you.”

He looked at me so earnestly. That light of his was shining through. It felt like cheating.

“There is little to know about me.” My voice strengthened with each spoken syllable.

“A keeper of bees,” he said softly, soothingly. “The eldest of nine . A healer with a temper and a tongue to match.” He tried for a jest, but when I didn’t smile, his countenance fell. “She heals the outside but not within. That’s what I think.”

I looked away. “Some things never heal, I suppose.”

A few seconds of silence, then, “Do you trust me?”

I rubbed my hands together. “A secret for a secret won’t do this time, Renn. I’d rather not think about it, let alone explain myself. Even to you.”

He rubbed his chin, considering me. “Then I shall have to distract you. A tongue twister, perhaps? Or I can bring Ard in and have him dance for us.”

That tempted a smile from me. “I wonder which he would choose: to dance, or to spend the night in the dungeon.”

He smiled. “He would dance, and then not speak to me for a fortnight.”

“Will you learn to dance?”

He made a face. “I truly don’t understand the point of it. They just twirl around in the same redundant patterns, gossiping between one partner and the next. All they do is gossip.”

“Anything interesting?”

He considered. “Lady Ash lost her cook to Lady Dow, and now the women are feuding. Someone’s rosebushes—I can’t remember whose—were horribly cut so that they won’t bloom for two years, and everyone is on the fence over whether it was an inept gardener or sabotage.”

“How vastly interesting.” It pained me to know they spoke of such trivial things, and not the war on our doorstep.

“You should attend more—” He paused, clearing his throat. Then his hand dove into his pocket, the retrieved handkerchief making it to his mouth just in time as he dredged up blood. Some of it spattered on the floor.

I was up in an instant, rushing to his side so swiftly I knocked over the dinner tray.

He slammed his fist into his thigh. “Not now, dammit!” He coughed again.

“You have thoroughly distracted me,” I offered before touching his neck and dowsing into him.

He had not fully relapsed, but several of his baubles had fallen.

I strung them back up with one, two, three strings each, silently scolding them for their behavior.

When I reentered reality, Renn was wiping his lips with the corner of the handkerchief, then he balled it up in his fist.

He’d missed a spot, a little blotch of red past the corner of his lip, not far from a subtle dimple.

I took the handkerchief from him—blood had never bothered me, even before I discovered my magic—and gently wiped it off for him.

Our faces were nearly level, and I made the mistake of looking into the endless seas of his eyes.

He looked back, emanating warmth and light. “My brother was right about one thing,” he murmured. “You are beautiful.”

It wasn’t an accident, in the woods.

It felt like a bandage stripped off a healing wound, taking the half-formed scabs with it.

I swallowed and stepped away, still holding the handkerchief. Averted my eyes, unsure how to respond. I did not want to hurt him, but—