Page 42 of The Shattered King

Renn slept in late. Very late, which was unlike him.

Shortly after dawn I snuck into his room, barefooted so as to be silent.

His breaths were long and even, so if he was pretending, he was very good at it.

I just barely brushed the back of his neck—he faced away from me—and peeked into his lumis to ensure he was all right.

With that knowledge, I waited for him in the salon, my heart heavy with dread.

Even Ursa hadn’t spoken to me last night.

She knew I couldn’t do this. She knew the answer to every why .

Renn didn’t. But he knew the one, and it was a huge one, and that alone was enough.

A few of the noble families were staying at the castle through the New Year, ones who were good friends with the Noblewights, and one more who owned land in the northern part of the country directly affected by the skirmishes, though battles had tapered off with the onset of winter and the roughness of the seas.

Whether or not they would resume in the spring was yet to be seen.

Still no word had come from King Adoel Nicosia since his sudden visit—no new demands, requests, treaty, surrender. Renn had told me as much.

When the prince finally did rise, he did so in his usual way, coming out and greeting us, letting me dowse into him to tidy things up, asking me to shadow him to breakfast with his sister.

He acted as though nothing had transpired between us the night before, and if that was part of his mask, I would pray my thanks to every god from Hem to Zia that it was, because I could not bear for him to wash me with silence, to hate me.

It was truly the greatest gift he could have given me, so much so that I struggled not to weep as I accompanied him to his sister’s suite, though I lingered by the door, not wanting to be invited to share their meal.

Not wanting to imbed myself even more into the life of a man who claimed to love me, whom I could not love in return.

His title aside, I had sworn to myself never again, and I kept my promises.

I would not make a liar of myself, especially when it seemed so very easy to give Renn the power to hurt me.

After, we returned to his suite. I was eager to dowse, if only to separate myself from the hurt of being so present with him.

He deserved the world, and I ... I was more determined than ever to figure out how to make my theory of re-creating the pieces of his lumis with magic work, to give him as much of that dream as I could.

I’d practiced on myself, making blocks like those in my own lumis and tying them off, getting similar results.

I did note that my personal creations lasted a little longer than the ones I crafted for Renn did.

I’d assumed because it was me and my lumis.

But now, hovering in his, that seemed unfair.

What was different about creating a magic block in myself versus creating a magic orb in Renn?

I stood, wondering, staring at his lumis. At the orbs I’d pieced together, a few still finished with threading. A variety of colors, shapes, sizes—

And it came to me.

I knew my lumis well. When I tried to create a piece of it, it was like that potter re-creating the vase my mother had drawn. I had a template to work from.

With Renn, I was guessing the design based on the broken pieces of him scattered throughout his lumis.

Everything I did to heal Renn was guesswork.

I’d never seen his lumis whole. I imagined no one had ever seen his lumis whole—he’d become sick at such a young age, when healing with craftlock was illegal.

But if I could have a picture of what was missing, if I could only see it, I could remake it to exact specifications.

I wandered over to one of the hanging orbs that stood whole, patched together with magic. Studied it for a long moment.

Exact specifications.

Keeping my eyes on the orb, I summoned magic into my palm.

The translucent, shimmering ether came easily, thanks to my practicing.

I shaped it exactly as this orb looked, even holding up my hands to ensure the size.

I knew these orbs so well, I didn’t doubt my ability to make this one’s likeness in the slightest. I couldn’t mimic the color, I didn’t think, but when the shape was finished, I tied it off from my palms and let it hover in the air.

Like my own, it lasted longer before dissipating. Which made me wonder.

“Renn,” I said distantly, with my physical mouth, “I’m going to try something. Let me know if it hurts you.”

A pause, then, “That’s incredibly reassuring.”

I bit down on a smile. Carefully, like I handled bird eggs, I re-created the orb, then broke the real one into three even pieces.

Swapped the new orb for the old, letting it click into place as a substitute.

I held my breath. The lumis didn’t shake.

New death lines didn’t appear. The magic-made orb didn’t ripple away.

“Anything?” I asked.

Another pause. “No?”

I grinned. This meant something. This ... was a start.

If only I knew what his lumis, whole, looked like.

I repaired the natural orb and returned it to its place, letting the new one hover a little ways away. It gradually lost integrity and shimmered out of existence—the lumis didn’t need it anymore. I waited about five minutes to ensure I hadn’t damaged anything, then slipped into reality.

Renn’s eyes were already locked on mine when I came to myself. So intently, my cheeks warmed.

“Do you feel any different from an hour ago?”

He studied my face like it held the delicate brushstrokes of a master’s painting. My chest squeezed. “No, I feel the same.” His gaze shifted away for a moment as he focused inwardly. “Just the same.”

So the existence of the new orb didn’t negatively affect him. Or positively. For now.

The winter winds came bitterly from the north, but they brought little snow, so a letter from Lissel was able to come through the first week of December, delivered to Renn’s suite while I was dowsing.

I felt him distantly run his hand along mine, to signal me that something was happening, but I was so focused on the teal glass ball I’d formed I worked for another quarter hour before I allowed myself a glimpse into the real world.

“A letter came for you.” He tilted his head toward the table.

Sure enough, a folded and sealed parchment, dirty from mud and travel, awaited me there.

I snatched it up and took it to the desk, cracking the seal, Lissel’s handwriting spilling into my hands.

With every word read, my bones grew a little heavier, until I labored to keep myself upright.

Still no word from Brien. They’d lost one of the hives.

Colt had fallen ill. The roof was leaking again, and she worried they did not have enough firewood for the winter—they had to go out so far to collect it, and with Dan’s apprenticeship, she and thirteen-year-old Colt had shouldered most of the work, and neither of them had skill with an axe.

Art Millstone had proposed marriage to her as well, and while she awaited my return to answer him she asked if she should say yes so that his family might help ours.

The Millstones were not wealthy, but they had strong boys and both parents in the house.

Lissel had neither parents nor a sibling substituting for a parent.

I wondered if some of the crinkles and stains in the parchment had come from her tears.

I didn’t notice Renn had been saying my name until he came over and put a hand on my shoulder, startling me from the note. Not wanting emotion to leak into my voice, I handed him the letter and forced deep breaths through my windpipe. Forced myself to stay calm and objective.

He passed the letter back to me, expression grave. “I sent a package,” he murmured, leaning against the desk. “I did send a package. It will help.” He ran a hand back through his hair. “She needs you, doesn’t she?”

I pressed my lips together. “They’ve needed me from the beginning, Renn.”

He absorbed this, his mask so firmly in place even I could not read him. “I take it I’m healthy?”

“Yes, for now.”

“Then take the rest of the day. Write however much you want.” He pulled a stack of parchment from the desk drawer and dropped it on the desktop. Did not meet my eyes. “I’m going to find Thom.”

The cold air would not be good for him, but I was sure the swordmaster would come up with something to pass the time.

I thanked him quietly, took the paper and a graphite pencil, and returned to my room, writing carefully as much encouragement and instruction as I could.

I told Lissel about the prince’s package, though I imagined it would arrive before my letter did, and asked her not to commit to Art Millstone until I could speak with his family.

I wasn’t sure of Lissel’s feelings on the matter, but I didn’t want to pry into them in a letter.

It was nearing dinnertime when a soft knock came at the door. Thinking it Renn, I opened the door, only to have it forced back on me. Prince Adrinn came in, his hands going to my head—one over my mouth—as he shut the door with his foot.

Panic overwhelmed me. I screamed against his palm, thrashed in his grip. Couldn’t reach my knife. Tears blurred my vision. Not again, not again, not again—

“Quiet.” He pressed me against the wall, opposite the one I shared with his brother. “Tell me your allegiances, and I’ll allow you to barter for your life.”

His words confused me, and very slowly the panic receded, bewilderment in its stead, though I could barely breathe around his hand. I clawed at it, and he released me, only to pull a dagger and point it at my throat instead.

“Scream again,” he growled, “and it will be the last thing you do.”

“What are you doing!” I snapped back.

He scowled. “It’s been very hard to get you alone, healer . Now talk.”

“What ... allegiances?” I fought to catch my breath. “What are you talking about?”