Page 30

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Hope and Desperation

I am dead to the world for the entire afternoon. When I wake, Daenn sleeps beside me—as he was when I returned from my bath. He’s wearing a shirt and gloves again, and he lies on top of the covers instead of under them. But one hand has found me in his sleep, and the soft weight of it on my hip is grounding, comfortable.

I like it far too much.

So I force myself to scoot away and sit up. There’s a tray of covered food on my bedside table. Courtesy of Sigrid, probably. The thoughtful care warms me even more than the food does as I scarf it down.

I get up and stretch, careful to stay quiet. Daenn shifts and grimaces in his sleep. His hand curls into a fist.

I hesitate a moment, but… I am still tired. So I slip back into the bed and uncurl his fingers, wrapping them around my hand. His fingers clamp around mine for a moment before his whole body relaxes.

I wriggle down into my pillow, getting comfortable. I’m already growing sleepy again, despite sleeping all afternoon.

I drift off quickly, but I don’t sleep well this time. Part of it is because Daenn doesn’t sleep well. He’s restless, and every time he shifts, it pulls me from my dreams, until I can’t even get back to sleep.

He settles more in the latter half of the night, but I can only lie there, staring at the stone ceiling, barely lit by the low glow of dying coals from the firepit. He still holds my hand, and I let him, but the contact only serves as a reminder that soon enough he won’t need me. If the bracers are successful, we’ll part ways. He’ll tell Jakob to dissolve our marriage, which shouldn’t be hard since we never consummated it. He’ll take a new wife, because a king needs heirs, which, as Viggo so helpfully announced to the entire clan, I probably can’t give him.

Such a defective wife.

So instead, I… I will leave. Go… somewhere. I have no idea where. I don’t want to return to the lowlands. This is the only home I’ve ever truly known, the only place I belong.

These restless feelings are what plague me for the rest of the night. Daenn wakes before dawn and leaves soon after. If he realizes I’m awake, he doesn’t acknowledge it, but that’s fine with me. I don’t know what to say to him. Better to say nothing. If his scheme works, we’ll be parting ways soon enough.

I rise soon after he leaves and dress for the day. A thought wormed its way into my head in the middle of my sleepless night, and between worries about my future, it’s been feeding itself on hope and desperation since. I won’t have any peace until I test it.

When I step into the infirmary, Healer Annika straightens and bows to me. “Your Majesty.”

I’ll never get used to that.

I won’t have to , a cynical voice reminds me.

I push it away .

“Good morning. How are the comatose patients?”

Healer Annika grimaces. “No changes, Your Majesty. They don’t wake. We are able to get them to take a bit of broth, but they’re still deteriorating. I fear…” She trails off and glances at Eskil, who lies in the bed she was leaning over when I entered. “I don’t know how much longer they’ll last like this. A few have already… already passed while you and the king were away.”

My heart clenches. Those deaths are my fault. I have to fix this.

“I want to try something. If you don’t mind.”

Uncertainty flickers through Healer Annika’s eyes, but she only steps back and inclines her head. “As you will, Your Majesty.”

I try to exude confidence as I march to Eskil’s bedside and lower myself next to him, perching on the sliver of space his bulk isn’t taking up.

I have no idea if this will work. For a moment I’m paralyzed by that fear. If I attempt this and fail… Eskil will die.

But he’s on course to die if I don’t, too, as the Healer Annika just pointed out. He can’t live like this forever. I swallow my fear and brush my hand over his where it rests on top of his blankets. I don’t know if the physical contact will help, but it feels like the right choice, so I maintain it as I close my eyes and reach for my magic, grasping a thread of it. Instinct has me grabbing not the blended grey of both mine and Daenn’s but instead the soft glowing white that is my magic alone.

With that in my mental grip, I try to sense Eskil, imagining the physical connection creating a bridge between us that I can cross. I follow this path, searching for his mind. It’s like walking blind, but soon enough I do sense a light of sorts. I can’t see it, exactly, but it’s almost like I can feel it, its brightness and warmth. This is Eskil, I know somehow. It’s suffused with his essence, his easy laugh and fierce loyalty.

But it’s muted, like it’s hidden behind a cloth. I reach out my mental touch, and I am greeted by a wall—but a wall that’s as soft as gossamer silk. It’s there, and it’s strong, but it’s malleable.

Better yet, it’s familiar.

I brace myself, and then I imagine myself gripping that wall, and I give a sharp tug, as if I’m pulling back a curtain. It holds at first, but my will is stronger than my magic. It only takes another sharp tug for it to recognize me and my sovereignty, and all at once it gives way, flooding through me and splashing into the reserve I’d drained the day before while fighting Viggo’s men.

I hear a gasp. Eskil’s hand jerks under mine. I tighten my grip on him and drag myself back over the path I created between us before I release him. Only then do I open my eyes.

Eskil’s eyes are open. He looks like he’s half asleep, but he blinks, and his gaze shifts from me to Healer Annika.

He’s awake. I did it, and I didn’t kill him in the process.

“You broke the curse,” Healer Annika whispers, her voice full of awe. “You’re winds-blessed.”

I give a faint shake of my head, but I don’t care to argue with her, so I don’t respond otherwise. Instead, I address Eskil. “How are you feeling?”

He shifts, moves to sit, and groans. “Like I’m on the tail end of a terrible sickness. My whole body is weak.”

That sounds fitting. “Daenn will be pleased to see you.”

Eskil’s brow pulls together. “What happened? How long have I been out?”

“I happened. And then a lot of time passed. And then I fixed it.” I wave a hand toward Healer Annika. “She can fill you in on the details. I’ve others to tend to.” I stand but pause before turning away. “I’m glad you’re all right, my friend.”

He must notice the depth of relief in my voice, because he studies me. No surprise; it’s a stark difference from how I acted before he fell under our magic, which felt like moments ago to him. “Thank you, Emana.”

I nod, but then I’m moving. I can’t stand here all day. I’ve figured out how to fix the chaos I wrought, and I won’t leave until I’ve woken up every single person I can.

It takes me most of the day. Sigrid is summoned at some point, and she hovers, shooing away anyone else who tries to linger and watch me. But she lets me work, so I ignore her and continue my delving to wake the comatose clansfolk. I pause briefly for water, but I can’t eat, despite Sigrid’s cajoling that I need my strength.

Pulling my magic away from these minds feels a great deal like eating too much at a feast. My entire being, soul and body, is heavy and bloated, the magic weighing down my limbs the longer I go. It’s a strange sensation, because I get the sense I won’t be able to use this magic. It’s been used. It just doesn’t have anywhere to go. I can only hope it will dissipate on its own. If it doesn’t, I’ll have to figure out somewhere to put it that won’t hurt anyone else.

But first, I wake the sleeping.

When I pull back from the final person, I struggle to open my eyes. I feel unsteady, in body and mind, and it takes me a moment to register the murmuring behind me.

A small crowd has gathered despite Sigrid’s best efforts. I was vaguely aware of others coming into the infirmary, because when I began on the South Peak clansmen, Sigrid sent for guards to escort them to holding cells. But it’s more than just warriors who crowd near the doorway. Healers, servants, a mother and her children. They all watch me like I’m a goddess—with awe and maybe a touch of wariness.

I rise to my feet, but a wave of dizziness washes over me. I sway, struggling to stay upright. This seems to help humanize me again—the wariness is replaced with concern amongst my watchers.

Sigrid bustles to my side and steadies me.

“You need rest.” It’s a command, not an observation.

I’m more than happy to oblige her. She shoos everyone out of our path. I avoid their eyes as we pass. I don’t like how awestruck they all are. All I did was fix my mistake.

The longer we walk, the better I feel. My head clears, and slowly, even the heaviness from the overflow of magic I’ve pulled into myself starts to recede. Not leave, but it’s no longer crowding my every breath.

“Where’s Daenn?” Eskil managed to escape from Healer Annika’s clutches sometime while I worked, so I assumed he went straight to find Daenn, but Daenn never came to the infirmary himself. I’ve been carefully ignoring that. It doesn’t matter that I haven’t seen him. I can sense him over our bond, faintly, though it’s hard to find him amongst the deluge I’ve dragged into myself—but it’s enough to know he’s alive, and that’s good enough for me at the moment.

Sigrid clucks. “He’s been tending to matters of state. Some of the elders of South Peak flew in around midday.”

Ah. I imagine explaining why all their clansmen were imprisoned was an adventure, if the elders did not already tie their loyalties to Viggo like his men did. Thinking about the political tangle of that situation makes my head spin again .

We reach Daenn’s and my quarters, and I brace myself against the doorframe.

“Do you need anything, dearest?”

“I think I could use some supper after all,” I admit.

Sigrid’s eyes gleam smugly. “Of course you do. I’ll fetch you something right now.”

“Thank you, Sigrid.”

She pats my arm before she turns with purpose in the direction of the kitchens. I let my head rest against the cool stone. I’ll have to brave crossing the room alone. I think I can make it, but one more moment to steady myself can’t hurt.

But maybe Daenn has already retired for the day. If he’s here, I’m certain he’ll help. He’d be warm and steady. I let myself imagine how his arm around my waist would feel, and longing lights in my core.

I fixed the comatose clansfolk today. I haven’t given voice to the thought, but it’s growing with every breath. If I ask him to take off the bracers, would he do it?

They served their purpose—I suspect it’s only because of how they pulled our magics apart that allowed me to wake everyone, because it was my magic that I was controlling to do so. Not our combined magics, but mine . That wouldn’t have been possible without the bracers separating them.

But he doesn’t need to get rid of his magic entirely if I can wield mine to undo the effects of it when it’s blended with mine. We can control it. If our magics end up blending too much for me to use mine alone again, he can just wear the bracers for a short time, long enough to separate our magics again. They can be a tool, but not one Daenn has to use for so very long. His original instinct to find me had been right. No more of our people have to die .

The truth of it grows in me, unfurling into a brilliant ray of hope. If I stay with him, he will be free of the cursed life he’s been burdened by for years. He doesn’t have to struggle alone any longer.

If I stay…

I hesitate. Does he even want me to? Even with our bond, I can’t read him. I don’t know what Daenn wants. Oh, I know what he wants as king, what he wants for his people’s sake. But what does he, as a man, want? He married me for them, but is it possible… do I dare hope he might want me to stay for himself?

I don’t hope for love. Thinking of Daenn still leaves my heart in tangles, each strand a thread from our history—the sweet moments and the painful ones.

But I don’t want to leave. I may have buried it when I was given to Tolomon, but I have cared about Daenn for years. And I have nowhere else to go besides my clan.

A marriage of companionship wouldn’t be so bad. He’s given no indication of interest in any other woman, and he does need a queen. I… I could fulfill the role, if he lets me. Maybe I’m not entirely defective and could bear him heirs given time, maybe with some assistance from the healers. Maybe here, without the crushing presence of a cruel husband, my body will work right. If he lets me stay. If he takes off the bracers.

I turn the idea over in my head one more time, and the more I consider it, the more I like it. Yes. I’ll present it to him. I can’t see any reason for him to dislike it.

Thus fortified, I push off the doorway and enter our quarters. They’re empty. I try to ignore the disappointment gaping in my chest at that. It doesn’t matter. What I want to discuss with him can wait until he returns. I leave the security of the wall and take slow, careful steps toward the bed. Sigrid will scold me endlessly if she returns with my supper and I’ve fallen.

I’m halfway there when I see him.

All that’s visible is a loose, limp hand stretched out from behind the bed. Horror rips into me, and I lurch toward him—and stumble and fall, because my body isn’t ready for this level of motion yet. But I push myself up and crawl the rest of the way. I need to reach him; I need to make sure he’s not—

I can’t even think it.

I close the last awful distance and hover a hand over his mouth, watching his chest with a clawing desperation.

A faint warmth washes over my palm as his chest dips, and I let out a shaky sob. He’s alive. He’s still alive.

I press a hand to his chest as I close my eyes and delve through my magic for our bond. I need to feel his every breath and heartbeat; I’ll lose myself completely without that reassurance.

Distantly, I hear the door open. Sigrid gives a cry of alarm. I don’t even look at her as I issue an order.

“A healer—Daenn needs a healer!”

Her footsteps recede at a run, and I let myself sink back into my magic.

It takes me too long to find the bond, but after an agonizing stretch of searching, I do. I can see at a glance why it took so long, and it makes my insides turn with nausea.

The bond is dwindling. It’s not only that the bracers are eating away at Daenn’s magic; they are. But it’s worse than that. I can barely sense him, and what I can sense is faded, like a used, threadbare rag.

I don’t need a healer to tell me what’s happening. I know with an icy, curdling certainty.

Daenn is dying.