Page 47 of The Shattered King

Needles seemed to prick every inch of my skin; the hair on my arms stood on end. “What?”

“Not ... indefinitely.” He sounded sorry for it. “Not yet. But you should visit. The snowfall has been light; if the weather stays clear, you could go after midwinter, for a few days.”

I stared at him. “But you ...”

“We’ll plan for it now. See if we can get ahead of the curve, hm?

” He pulled off his gloves and tossed them on the floor beside his chair.

“If I send you in a carriage, you’ll make good time.

We never gave you a chance to get your things in order, to ensure your family would be well.

I’m so sorry for that, Nym. But I want to give you the chance now, especially with things going so poorly.

I’d like to send you with some supplies, of course, and your back wages.

They’ll help. With good weather ... a week, a fortnight at most, and you could be back here.

” He offered a weak smile. “I’ll have a physician check on me daily, I’ll call Brekk to the castle, and I’ll be careful.

No training, no picking fights with Adrinn. ”

My heart pulsed with trepidation. “You could come with me.” I don’t know why I whispered it, but I did.

He met my eyes, searching. “I ... would love to, honestly. See this little town you speak of, meet your family. But I would have to go with a small retinue of soldiers. Guards. Bring attention to myself, and to you. And ...”

“And war,” I supplied for him.

He dipped his head. “My duties here are growing. I do things besides read and complain, you know.” He half smiled.

“Spring will come soon enough, and Sesta will attack again. I was tutored in both international affairs and war strategy; I’m putting that knowledge to good use.

My father’s also assigned me some districts to oversee.

I get to lead an audit on taxes and men dodging the draft.

I mean to prove my use to him, so that the next time an enemy arrives on our doorstep, I’m not relegated to the tunnel.

“I might need ... I might need more from you, before you leave.” His dismal tone told me he regretted asking. “Not like before. Never like before, but I’m very used to you, Nym. I’m afraid I’ll fall apart without you.”

In the silence that slipped between us, it did not seem he was talking about his lumis. Not entirely.

“That’s why ... it can only be a few days,” he continued. “Until I’m truly healed ... I can only give you a few days.”

“Of course.” Joy at seeing my family again, at providing for them, for I would not turn down the supplies and money, warred with the sorrow of leaving Renn behind, and the fear of such a risk. “Of course. I can start now.”

“It’s late.”

“I can start now,” I pressed, and before I realized I’d done so, I took his hand. “I will make you as perfect as possible, and my trip will be swift, I promise.”

He squeezed my hand, and we got to work.

I worked long days with Renn leading up to the winter solstice, resuming nearly to a tee the dawn-to-dusk schedule I’d kept during my first weeks in Rove.

They were, in truth, harder on him than they were on me, for while I could occupy my mind with dowsing, Renn had little to occupy his, and being a man who’d discovered freedom, it strained him to hold still for hours on end, day after day.

We went to the library together to break the tedium; I even selected titles for him to read.

Sten introduced some dice games to him, and at one point we even went into the city so he could watch a theater production while I worked.

They helped, but each time we broke apart he was restless, so we took long walks around the castle grounds no matter how cold the weather, talking all the while about anything and everything that came to mind.

I wrote down notes for Brekk, trying my best to describe the nature of Renn’s lumis and my repairs to it. I did not know how it would read to someone who hadn’t spent so many endless hours within its ethereal confines, but I did my best.

I told Renn about each of my siblings, including Ursa, from Brien’s obsession with longbows to Colt’s misadventures to Pren’s odd experiments.

He told me about his past tutors, the good and the bad, and how he’d thrown up on his favorite one while learning concepts of gravity.

He’d always wanted a dog but was allergic; I never wanted a pet because it made another mouth to feed.

And while our breaks were short, I found our walks the most devastating to my resolve against him, because they showed me the breadth of his soul, a wide net tethered by our similarities, strong enough to catch all our differences.

More than once, I noted the queen watching us from the roost of an arcade, and I felt the coldness of her scowl, a swift reminder that Renn was not and would never be mine.

However much Renn wanted to dismiss law, social ranking, and society as a whole, it still existed.

It loomed over our heads, a knife sharpened to gleaming.

I could be his shadow, and nothing more.

The metaphor of a shadow grew heavy in my mind as the solstice came, bringing snow with it.

A stiff reminder of what I would be should I give in to my feelings and love Renn the way I wanted to, a courtship destined to be cut painfully short.

I would give in to him, and I would love him with everything I had left.

For a few days, a few weeks, perhaps even a few months, we would be happy.

But even if our relationship was kept secret, the walls talked, or the guards would, or one of us would slip, and it would all come crashing down.

Or perhaps we’d keep the secret flawlessly, and then King Grejor would sign a treaty with Sesta, marrying him to some royal cousin across the strait, or he’d strike a deal with Antsan across Salm’s Rest, and Renn would have to marry to protect his country.

He’d leave me behind, unless I failed to cure him.

Then he would take me with him, and I would shadow him as he danced, dined, and made babies with another woman.

Inviting me out of the shadows only long enough to heal him, or them, and then banishing me again, my heart shattered irremediably, my only solace the whisperings of my dead sister.

Just thinking about it made it feel like the assassin had sunk his knife into me all over again. As though his shattering of that agate over my heart had been an omen.

Rolys, the god of the skies, took pity on me and cleared the skies just before the New Year came, drying up the roads to pavement and ice.

I packed my few things, including a new winter dress and boots, and Renn, ever true to his word, loaded the carriage with foodstuffs and pressed a purse into my hands.

He fussed over me the morning I was leaving, barging into my room like a disgruntled housekeeper, gifting me a heavy fur cloak, throwing it over my shoulders himself, pulling up the fur-lined cowl. “You’ve food for the ride? You’ll not reach the inn until late.”

“Yes, in my bag.”

“And your gloves?” He checked my hands.

I pulled them back. “That is the third time you’ve asked.”

He ran a hand back through his hair, looking me over. “Then ... that’s it, then.”

I smiled at him, feeling I might cry. “Thank you, for letting me do this.”

He tried to match my smile and faltered. “Tell Lissel I’m not a complete monster.”

“I hadn’t intended to speak of your mother.”

He laughed. Reached up and adjusted the hood of my cloak yet again. Inhaled deeply, held it, exhaled.

“While the sun is high, I suppose.” He headed to the door, me following on his heels. Grasped the handle, but paused, shoulders slumping.

The urge to cry surfaced again, and I pressed it down, down, down, wishing not for the first time I could dowse away my emotions the way I could scrapes and bruises. Touching his elbow, I said, “I will be swift, I promise.”

He turned back to me then, on the threshold between this private room and the public castle, and circled his arms around my shoulders, hugging me to him tightly, so that not even barbs of a feather might fit between us.

Had he asked to embrace me, I would have said no.

As it was, I looped my arms around his waist and leaned into him, trying to memorize the feel of him, committing it to memory beside Ursa and my babe and all the other things I had lost, so that on long nights when I was weakest, I might remember this, a spark of happiness in a sea of could-have-beens.

Pulling back, he traced the line of my cowl, then the line of my jaw. Looked at my mouth, but did not dare. “I love you, Nym,” he whispered.

Eyes and nose burning, I replied, “Renn, no.”

His lip ticked up in a ghost of a smile, as though he’d known I’d say as much and won a guessing game with himself. “I won’t,” he breathed, running his thumb over my cheekbone. “I would cherish you always. I won’t break your heart like they did. I swear it.”

I searched his eyes, their endless cerulean depths, and saw that he believed every word he said. But one promise did not a faith make.

Blinking away a tear, I whispered, “Yes, you will.”

And, opening the door, I stepped past that sacred threshold first.