Page 7 of The Shattered King

On the morning marking a full week in Rove Castle, a servant in gray-and-red livery instead of an armored guard came to my door with my breakfast. My body had gotten used to the early risings; I was already awake when she arrived, tying up one of two worn dresses I’d brought with me.

This was the slightly cleaner of the two.

I’d rebraided my hair from my crown, masking its need to be washed. I, too, needed a bath.

“I know you,” I said as she entered. “You were with the physician.”

She nodded, touching the eyepatch over her left eye. A simple violet braid encircled her wrist. “I was. Here.” She held out the porridge to me. The same porridge, every morning, but it was food, so I didn’t complain.

Standing, I took the bowl from her. “Whatever he says about me, I won’t hurt you.”

A small smile lifted her mouth. “I know. That is ... some of the others, they say craftlock is a curse, but ...” She hesitated, fingering the eyepatch.

Setting the bowl on my bed, I asked, “Do you want me to heal it for you?”

She bit her lip. “Yes, but I can come back tonight. I can’t keep the prince waiting—”

I motioned her forward. “It won’t take long. Most lumie aren’t complex.” Gods knew I needed as many allies as I could get in this place.

“Lumie?”

Her question gave me pause before I remembered that with the vast limitations on craftlock, she wouldn’t be familiar with all the terms. “Plural. More than one.”

She nodded, trembled, and took a step forward, and I touched her jaw and dowsed into her lumis.

Hers was a scale—a large scale with five different plates, all weighted down with an assortment of items, from blocks to stuffed animals to spoons, of all things.

Only subtle death lines; I’d have to go out of my way to kill her.

I found the issue with her eye immediately; the scale was off, the third plate too high.

I took about ten seconds to test the weight of the various materials in the scale beside it before transferring one, and the plates balanced.

Back in reality, the woman blinked at me, then removed her eyepatch. Her eye was whole again, white and clear.

She grinned. “Thank you.”

I tipped my head in acknowledgment, grabbed my breakfast, and started down the hallway. I knew the way now, and being a grown woman, was happy not to take the escort.

“I’m Lonnie, by the way,” she called before I got far. “Lonnie Swiftmore.”

I paused. Smiled. “Nym Tallowax.”

“I know.”

“How long have you been at the castle?”

She considered a moment. “Since I was fourteen. About six years. Why?”

“Do you ever work with the soldiers stationed here? Would you know any by name?” Brien had been called north, not east, when his conscription came. Still, if I could find one familiar face here, I could bear it a little better.

She chewed on the inside of her cheek. “Only a few ...”

“Would you ask,” I pressed, while I had an advantage, “and see if there’s a Brien Tallowax in the barracks? He’s about six feet tall, broad-shouldered. Curly brown hair. Gray eyes like mine.”

She chewed again. “I can ... try.”

“I would appreciate it, thank you.”

She turned to go.

“One more thing, Lonnie. Do you know where I could procure a pitcher and basin?”

She fidgeted, perhaps regretting seeking me out. “I ... I don’t know. I work in the kitchen, but I can’t bring you one. I could ask—”

“That would be wonderful, thank you.” I did not miss that the request made her uncomfortable, but I couldn’t be stowed away in my room like a dog in its kennel every night, and it seemed fair payment for my services.

My neck and back were still sore from the previous days’ work. I just wanted to go home.

I set my empty porridge bowl outside the prince’s suite, happy to see Sten at the door. He led me into the prince’s bedchamber. By the time I dragged a chair over, Prince Renn was awake.

I sat. “Does this not bore you?”

He blinked those brilliant eyes at me. “Pardon?”

“Lying here, sitting there.” I gestured toward the salon, where the sofa lay waiting for him. “All day while I dowse. Does it not bore you?”

He frowned. “There is very little I can do, regardless.” He picked up a book with Aqueduct Theory written on the spine before adding, “You should not speak to me so freely.”

It took all my willpower to bite down a retort at that. I dedicate my every waking hour to healing you, and you tell me I speak too freely? Were I not so desperate for the work to be finished, I’d sit here and only pretend to dowse. Let him suffer another day.

I touched his wrist and slipped into his lumis. I’d only just gotten to work when I was suddenly wrenched away, a sensation like falling overwhelming me, and I found myself back on the chair, my fingers no longer in contact with the prince. He’d pulled his arm away.

Another reason to prefer dowsing through the head—this was less likely to happen.

However, before I could complain, I noticed a newcomer in the chamber.

A tall, broad-shouldered man, with dark hair framing his face.

He wore training leathers with the Noblewight crest—a phoenix—and a black cape covering one shoulder.

A thick white cincture for Hem slung low on his hips.

He was remarkably handsome. He, too, had blue eyes, but while Prince Renn’s were bright as peacock feathers, this newcomer’s were cold, like the river at the bottom of a canyon, or the sea on a stormy day.

“Do you not,” he began, addressing the prince, “find it ironic to use disease to heal disease?”

I pieced together who the man was before he closed his mouth.

The phoenix seal on his clothes, his bearing, the fact that he was allowed to stroll in here without the guards swarming him, and the way he spoke—his enunciation clear, his tone superior, his dialect that of a high-class Rovian.

Highest class. I’d bet my dinner that this was Adrinn Noblewight, the eldest prince and heir to the throne.

I bristled at his comment.

Prince Renn shrugged. “I’d dance with a serpent at this point. It’s to appease Mother.”

I set my jaw, teeth clenched tightly. I hated being spoken about when I was a living, breathing human being sitting right here . Almost as much as I hated my sacrifices—however they were forced from me—being swept away so casually.

I needed to write to Lissel.

“Do not be unkind,” said a feminine voice behind Prince Adrinn. I could only see her shadow and the tip of her skirts. “Let’s wait for him to dress.”

Prince Adrinn scoffed. “I’ve better things to do than to wait for a convalescent to pull on his trousers.” He grinned a wolfish grin at the prince, his handsomeness fading away.

As he moved to leave, Prince Renn asked, “I assume you’re here about Lord Fineway.”

Prince Adrinn hesitated, his jaw working, like he hated being called out on it. Low and dark, he admitted, “Yes.”

Renn picked at a thread on his blanket. “Then I assume he refused a meeting.”

The brother scoffed. “He thinks too highly of himself.”

The woman behind him said, “The skirmishes have affected the trade routes to his territory. Do be kind.”

Prince Adrinn rolled his eyes.

Renn considered a moment. “Offer to arrange a marriage alliance between him and Lord Hardstead. His trade is still bountiful.”

Folding his arms, Prince Adrinn countered, “I’m to just throw a wedding at him? Do you know how long it will take to convince Hardstead to trade a son?”

Renn shrugged. “You don’t have to be successful, but it will be enough to get Fineway interested, and then you lay down the law.”

I did not know the people they spoke of, which meant they didn’t own land near Fount. But I found the exchange interesting. Manipulative, but interesting.

The older man contemplated, fingers drumming against his arm.

Then, without farewell, he turned on his heel and left, forcing the woman behind him to step into my view to let him pass.

She was porcelain and plain but well-kept, brown hair ironed straight and flowing down her back, a white cincture over a white dress, a circlet around her crown.

Prince Adrinn was not engaged as far as I knew, so I assumed this to be Princess Eden.

She smiled kindly at her brother before dipping her head to excuse herself.

After a few seconds of silence, I stood and announced, “I’ll wait in the foyer,” and left.

As Sten helped the prince dress, I asked one of the other guards, “Can I use one of those parchments, there?” and gestured to a small desk in the corner, one Prince Renn certainly would be unable to sit at. “I need to write home to my family. To let them know why I’ve been detained.”

The man raised his eyebrows as though waiting for the punch line of a joke. When I offered none, he simply answered, “No.”

Frustration bubbled in my gut. “Then will you tell me where staff goes to send missives?”

He shrugged. “Most of the staff can’t write.”

“And those who can?”

He shrugged again.

I frowned, searching for another means of gaining information. “I don’t suppose you associate with the soldiers stationed here.”

He side-eyed me. “With what time might I do that, healer?”

I massaged a headache blooming in my forehead and walked the perimeter of the salon until the time came to dowse again. Sten carried the prince to his sofa, and I sat down and dowsed without further word, reorienting myself in his lumis.

The bones. I was going to focus on the bones. I could survive long enough to fix the bones.

So I did, day after day after day.