Chapter 30
My hands shake at my sides as Rahk guides me back through the halls of the palace, which seem oddly quiet after the feasting hall. He’s a silent, looming presence. A presence that can turn on me in an instant.
But Ash hardly trusts anyone except Rahk. If I’m not safe with him, I’m not safe with anyone. I swallow, huffing at my attempts to keep up with his long legs. As if realizing how fast he’s walking, Rahk abruptly slows.
“I thought you’d gone home,” I say by way of greeting.
“I did. Until the invitation arrived from the High King for my sisters to come to a banquet tonight held in Ash’s honor. I came as quickly as I could.”
He came right on time, it seems. “Thank you, Prince Rahk.”
“It is my honor, Princess Stella.”
Once we reach Ash’s quarters, Rahk raps a special sequence on the door. Ti-tap, ti-tap, ti-tap, tap. The door opens quickly, revealing the steward and his twitching ears.
“Why, Master Rahk, I didn’t know we had the pleasure.” Edvear’s gaze shifts to me. “Lady Stella, you’re returned from dinner. Where is His Highness?”
“He’s been poisoned!” I say in a rush. “He drank my drink and there was poison in it!”
Edvear rolls his eyes to the ceiling, shaking his head as if at a little boy caught stealing cookies. “Come in, come in. Hylath, fill the tub with cold water, will you? Sanak, fetch the antidotes again, please.”
“Again?” I say as Rahk gently pushes me inside with a hand on my back. “He’s been poisoned before? This is a regular occurrence?”
Edvear lifts the train of my dress out of the way and shuts the door. “Not regular, no. Neither infrequent.”
I press a hand to my chest, not sure what to do or say. Rahk doesn’t remove his hand until he’s nudged me toward the couch and gestured for me to sit. I sink into the soft cushions, only now realizing that it’s not just my hands that are shaking—it’s my whole body. “Will he be alright, then?”
“Of course, my lady. He keeps a stock of antidotes for this very purpose.”
The notion is so foreign to me that I lean forward, massaging the bridge of my nose and wracking my brain, trying to understand. He said something this morning, hadn’t he? About taking precautionsagainst poison. This must have been what he was talking about.
But what if he doesn’t have the antidote for this poison?
Stop worrying, I tell myself, trying to pull my frazzled nerves back under my control. This is Faerieland. Poison is a normal part of life here. Ash wasn’t concerned, so I won’t be either.
It helps. A little.
The door swings open again, and I leap to my feet as Ash stumbles through. “Ash!”
“Oh, thank the stars you’re here, wife,” he gasps, pulling the door shut and collapsing against it. His garments are clean, thankfully, but he looks horrible. Pale, wane, his eyes stark against the gray cast of his skin. “I almost lost my mind when one of the servants said someone had taken you out.”
“They didn’t tell you it was me?” asks Rahk with a furrowed brow.
“Oh, they did; I just didn’t believe them at first. Some vermiltris, please, Edvear! And a cold bath.”
“Right here, my lord!”
“Are you alright?” I demand, rushing to his side as he takes the proffered glass with something like yellow sand settled at the bottom and downs it in a quick gulp. “You look horrible!”
“You wound me, little wife.” He returns the empty glass, wrapping an arm around his middle and wincing as though in great pain. “I’m supposed to be handsome in your eyes at all times, right?”
“Come, my lord. The bath is ready for you. Was it a large dose?”
“Quite,” Ash replies through gritted teeth. “I forgot that sylph’s eye makes your insides feel like they’re exploding.”
“How did you fall for sylph’s eye?” Rahk asks, crossing his arms and frowning as Edvear pushes and prods Ash toward the washing chamber.
“I didn’t.”
My eyes widen. “You knew my drink was poisoned?”
He flashes me a wan grin over his shoulder. “Of course. It was actually quite obvious. The liquid was much too viscous to be only saflixir nectar.”
I scramble after him, catching my long skirts in my fists. “Then why did you drink it? You could have died! What if you hadn’t had the antidote, or it had been a poison you weren’t familiar with? Or—”
“Calm yourself, darling. While I can’t say I mind your fussing, I mustn’t let you work yourself into too much of a frenzy.”
Edvear kicks open the washroom door, and Hylath is there, rushing to and fro in the back of the washroom with a stack of towels and blankets in her arms. But Ash is still looking back at me as he leans heavily on Edvear.
“I drank it, Stella, to show to all Valehaven that someone is trying to kill you. Unfortunately for you, it’s not just one someone. That poison tonight didn’t come from the High King.”
That’s when the door shuts me out. Sounds of shuffling slip through the door, and then there’s a loud slosh and splash, presumably as he gets in the tub.
I turn back, still clenching my skirts in my fist. Rahk stands beside the couch, arms crossed over his chest with that furrowed brow. I draw a deep breath. “Th-thank you. For bringing me back.”
He tips his head.
Silence falls.
“Send for me if you need anything, Lady Stella,” he says at long last, as though he’s my servant rather than a prince in his own right. “I stay in Nothril Court quarters when I’m here. Ash can show you when he’s feeling better.”
He turns to leave, but pauses when I call after him. “May I ask you a question before you leave?”
He glances back at me, his dark eyes watching, assessing. “Yes.”
“Ash has been poisoned before?”
“He has.”
“By the High King?”
“No, not by the High King. At least, not intentionally. There was once, when Ash was much younger, when he tricked his father into poisoning him. It was shortly after his mother was killed—”
My mouth falls open. “His mother was killed? By whom?”
Rahk’s eyes darken. “By the High King.”
I scramble around my brain, confused and shocked by this revelation. Then again, should I be? He’s trying to kill his son and me. Why shouldn’t I be surprised that he killed his wife?
Is this the real reason Ash hates his father and works to overthrow him?
“Why?” I ask quietly.
“To punish Ash for something.”
“Oh.”
Rahk chews his lip, his gaze casting away from me and latching onto a butterfly landing on the windowpane and fanning its wings. “We knew each other as boys, but Ash changed that day. He was furious and bitter for many years. It wasn’t until he got this idea of overthrowing his father that he finally pulled out of it. The time he tricked his father into poisoning him was while he was trapped in those angry years. He set up this elaborate scheme, created rumors of a courtier attempting an assassination, planted clues to be discovered, and maintained false lines of communication until he’d convinced the High King he knew exactly what was going on and who was behind it. Then, at the grand banquet where hundreds of courtiers and dignitaries were present, Ash laid his trap. Faradir sent a poisoned goblet to who he thought was the assassin, but Ash bribed a servant to switch his goblet with the courtier. When Ash was the one who started choking and gasping for air, the High King nearly lost his mind. He thought he’d just poisoned his only heir and nullified his claim to the throne. But Ash had been taking small doses of poison already, so while he was very sick for several days, he didn’t die.”
“He was trying to scare the High King?”
“Indeed. He wanted to punish his father by making him believe he’d lost the only thing he cared about: his throne. But I think there was more to it than that. I think Ash wanted to prove he could out-maneuver his father.”
I nod slowly, grabbing one of the couch’s armrests and leaning into it. “And the other times he was poisoned?”
Rahk waves a hand. “None of them important. Once he took half a lethal dose of bindorg as a boy at the dares of his friends. His mother didn’t let him hear the end of it, especially since he was sick for two weeks that time. The others were attempted assassinations by other Courts.”
He mentions the attempted assassinations almost flippantly, as if one might dismiss an offer to share a meal because they weren’t hungry.
This is normal here, I tell myself.
When I’m silent, he inclines his head in a deep nod. “I’ll leave the rest of your questions to Ash. He’d probably not be happy with how much I shared.”
“Well, I am grateful to know those things.” I straighten, putting on my best princess smile and curtsying. “Thank you, Prince Rahk, for your aid tonight and the explanations. They are greatly appreciated.”
Once he leaves, I pace outside the washroom, rubbing my arms and listening to the susurrus of my gown trailing on the ground. Eventually, I muster the courage to approach the door and knock.
“Ash?” I call. “Are you alright?”
“He’s quite fine, my lady! Do not trouble yourself!”
“I’m rather miserable, my love!” calls Ash before the steward has even finished. “I am in great need of comfort!”
Edvear calls back through the door: “With all due respect, please ignore him, my lady.” A long, pained groan follows this, and on its heels is an exasperated, “Don’t be so dramatic, Highness!”
I stay standing at the door, warring with the desire to enter, to make sure he’s alright, and the desire to leave him be. Clearly, there is a routine here.
Listless, I pace again. Then I stop, looking up and realizing I stand before the door to Ash’s study. I glance behind me. The sitting room is empty. Biting my lip, I hesitate for just one moment. Then I slip through the door and mostly close it behind me.
The study is dark and lined with disheveled bookshelves. A single glowing globe, half the size of my fist, sits on a wooden pedestal on the desk, illuminating the room. I step around stacks of paper and overturned books, their pages irreverently smashed and bent, until I reach his desk.
It’s covered in more paper.
Giving into my curiosity, I lean over the desk, careful not to touch anything. Most of it seems to be correspondence, with one pile unread and the other outgoing—judging by the mismatched seals on one pile and matched seals on the other pile of that same great tree he wore on his medallion tonight. Not all the correspondence is arranged in either pile, however. One such missive catches my attention.
It’s tossed aside from the rest. The paper itself looks made of gold, and in big letters across the top, it says: Lulythinar Masquerade Ball. Beneath it: Attend or die.
This must be a general invitation, because the High King cannot threaten Ash with death. Yet. I shake away the shiver running down my spine and lean closer to read the rest of the invitation.
The washing chamber door opens.
I jump, scampering away from the desk. In my haste, I almost knock over the glowing globe. I catch its pedestal, right it quickly, and scurry to the fallen books on the floor. Why do I feel like a child caught snooping through the pantry? It’s not as though I’ve done anything wrong.
Still, I scoop up three of the fallen books and pretend to busy myself straightening their pages as I slip out of the study.
And there’s Ash. Dripping wet, wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. My eyes goggle a little and I quickly avert my gaze.
But I’m not fast enough to miss the gray pallor of his skin, or the way his shoulders sag and he leans against the wall. Or the way his eyes narrow as I exit his study, dropping to the books I hold in my hand.
“Are you f-feeling better?” I ask, still not quite bringing myself to look straight at him.
“Did you find anything interesting in my study?” He twists his mouth sardonically, as though it’s a joke. Perhaps if he were at full health, he would have disguised the note of concern in his voice better.
I frown, moving my hands through the pages, smoothing their creases so he doesn’t see their subtle shaking. “I made q-quite an alarming discovery.”
“Do tell.”
I swallow and close the cover of the book. “You’re very disrespectful to literature. Books don’t d-deserve to be splayed out on the floor.”
He cracks a wan smile, and leans heavier against the wall, his chest rising and falling. I set the books down, twisting my fingers while I debate whether I should come closer. Before I can decide, Hylath squawks from inside the bathing chamber.
Ash’s brow wrinkles, and he growls, “I told you I don’t need a sponge bath!”
She chitters something back, and Edvear retorts something from inside that I can’t hear.
“Well?” my husband says. “Are you going to comfort me or not?”
I duck my head and clasp my hands behind my back as I take a few tentative steps forward. Perhaps if he wore a shirt, I could look up at him. Instead, I stare at the ground until his feet enter my line of vision.
I’m not sure what sort of comfort he wants—though I rather suspect it’s attention he’s craving—but I do owe him thanks. Had he not been watching out for me so carefully, I might have died tonight.
It’s something that hasn’t quite sunken in yet.
“Ash,” I start to say.
“Why don’t you look at me?”
“Because you are . . . lacking . . . attire.”
“So you do find me attractive.”
At this, my head shoots up and I fix a stern glare on him. “Compliments don’t mean as much when you ask for them, Prince Trenian.”
He grins in response, and I’m once again too aware of his shirtless state.
I clear my throat. “I was about to thank you for saving my life.”
“Oh?”
“Now, I’m still not convinced it was necessary for you to risk yours in the process, but I appreciate it nonetheless.”
His eyebrows lift in surprise, and his grin widens. Is it my imagination, or is a little color returning to his cheeks? “Not necessary? How would people know someone had tried to poison you?”
“You could have simply announced it. Perhaps sent the goblet off to be inspected.”
“And what sort of story would that make in comparison to me dropping to the floor and almost dying?”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Drama isn’t the only thing that will accomplish your goals.”
He places a gray hand over his heart in mock hurt. “Me? Dramatic? Why, the notion!”
“My lord!” The washroom door swings open, and there’s Edvear, glaring fiercely at Ash. “You are supposed to be in bed!”
Ash shoots him a narrow look, even as his shoulders shudder. “I got distracted.”
“To bed with you! You mustn’t overtax your body.”
Ash waves his hand as though batting away an irritating fly. “I know my limits.”
The look the steward tosses me says, “No, he doesn’t. Try to convince him to rest, will you?”
Then Edvear pulls the door shut, leaving Hylath in the washroom as he marches off to the kitchen, disappearing behind a corner.
“You should go to bed,” I say to Ash.
“Come with me.”
Those words, spoken so quietly, almost too quietly for me to hear, send a bolt of lightning through me. I whip my head up, meeting his gaze. He’s still that ghastly gray, and he leans so heavily against the wall I’m afraid he won’t be able to make it the few steps to the bedroom. Though his face is lined with pain, there’s something earnest, and almost . . . fragile about his expression.
“Only for tonight,” he adds. “I just . . .”
I wait, hardly breathing, for him to finish that sentence. He doesn’t, and I stare up at him, tongue-tied, not sure what to say or do now. Am I allowed to say no? What would I be saying yes to?
“You’re poisoned,” I say, not even sure what I mean by the statement.
“It’s not contagious, if that’s what you fear.” He gives me a little smile. “I’d even put on clothes. Just for you.”
“I’ll . . . think about it.”
He gives a slow nod, as though this is what he expected. Then he pushes off the wall, almost stumbles, and makes his way to the bedroom. I stay where I am as he shuts the door behind him, presumably to dress.
What now?
Perhaps I am trying too hard to understand what is happening around me. Maybe I should just shrug my shoulder and say, “Well! Just another evening in which my husband drinks poison meant for me. On to tomorrow!”
But part of me feels rather inclined to grab a pillow and scream into it.
“My lady?” Edvear returns to the room, a steaming tray in his hands. “I assume you had little to eat at dinner. I shall leave this for you in the dining room, should you be hungry.”
My empty stomach gurgles. I clap a hand over it, and now I’m the one catching hold of the back of a chair to keep my balance! It’s as though the mention of food makes my body suddenly remember that it’s been hours since I last ate.
Edvear hardly sets the tray on the table before I sit down. He leaves me to eat, and eat I do. I set into the stewed rice and venison with more vigor than any princess should, but I am much too exhausted and alone to care about such things. There’s a cup of warmed chocolate goat’s milk on the side that is utterly divine. I gulp it down greedily.
When I’m finished, the steward slips out of the hallway and comes toward me. I dab my mouth with the napkin and look up, waiting expectantly.
“He is asleep, my lady.”
I set the napkin down. This gets me out of giving Ash my answer, it seems. I can do the more comfortable thing and return to my own room without having to tell him to his face.
I’m still in my fancy gown, so instead of going to the bedroom first, I find Hylath in the washroom. When I walk in, she’s bent over, her face in the giant copper tub. Two of her eyes pop up and blink at me, but she doesn’t otherwise move. A strange lapping sound comes from inside the tub, and when I creep closer and peer into it, Hylath’s long tongue is lapping the water. Drinking it.
I barely restrain my disgusted “ugh!” but probably fail to keep my face straight.
Hylath lifts her mouth out of the water, a third eye joining the first two. She burbles something with a lilt at the end. A question.
“Could you help me remove this dress? And . . . take down my hair?”
She heaves a great sigh of long-suffering, then straightens and gestures for me to sit on my stool like normal. Within twenty minutes, I’m in a soft pink gown of a material very close to silk, but not quite the same. It’s not as cold and has an almost velvety sheen on one side of it. I wear a light robe over it, and my freshly brushed hair falls in long, loose waves down my back.
There’s nothing for me to do now but creep into the bedroom past a sleeping Ash and try not to make noise as I slip into my own room.
When I’m outside the bedroom, I hesitate. Then, forcing away my own nervousness, I straighten my shoulders and push the door open.
The room is dark, but for a few glowing crystals hanging from the ceiling. The light is just enough for me to make out the path to my room and not stub my toe on the corner of the bed. Ash’s deep, even breaths fill the space, and his dark form beneath the covers of the bed seems to overcome my awareness. I take a step closer, just to see if I can make out his face . . .
Then I remember the way he knew I’d been studying him on our wedding night. What if he’s not asleep this time, either?
I scurry to my room and shut the door behind me.
Safely ensconced in my own private room, I wrap my arms around myself and let my eyes wander over the lovely space, the only light coming from the dots of glowing fireflies from the garden outside the windows. They illuminate the blossoms on my lavender plant sitting on the sill.
I sit on the edge of my bed, but I don’t lie down. I stare at the door I just shut.
Why does this space feel so much lonelier than before?
Loneliness has always been safer for me. Back in Aursailles, it was safer for me to be lost than to be found. Being in the presence of others meant dealing with my own inadequacies and failings.
Now loneliness feels hollow. It’s warmer to be wanted, to be with someone good and kind.
As I sit here, alone in the dark of my room, I realize I don’t really want to be alone anymore. I don’t want to stay here by myself. Which is grand and all—but do I have the strength and boldness to get up and change it? To choose closeness over fear?
My husband had the boldness tonight to drink poison meant for me. Knowing it would hurt him, knowing he’d be miserable. Perhaps I can find the boldness to stand up . . . put one foot in front of the other . . . and open the door.
It swings outward.
The four-poster bed looms in my vision. There’s the great lump of my sleeping husband. And here I am, only a few feet away.
It’s not too late to turn around, to throw myself into the downy-soft refuge of my own bed. Maybe another time I can be bold and fearless. It doesn’t have to be now, does it?
I firm my spine.
I am Stella, and I’m done being afraid.
Within a few steps, I’m at the side of the bed closest to me—the empty side. It’s quite tall. Much higher than the usual human bed. It’s a good thing my husband is asleep and doesn’t see my graceless scramble onto the mattress.
My heart pounds so hard it nearly rocks my whole body. I peel back the thick layer of blankets and slide underneath. Then I curl up on my side, laying my head on the pillow and staring into the dimness at the far wall of the bedroom. I try to slow my breaths to calm my raging heart.
It’s ridiculous that I’m this nervous. We’re so far apart. We might as well be in different countries. I’ll probably wake up in the morning, only for him to already be gone. So why won’t my racing mind slow down? Why can’t I calm my heaving lungs?
There’s nothing for me to—
The mattress shifts. The movement abruptly stops. “Stella?”
My eyes fly wide. Oh, what was I thinking? I should have stayed back in my own room! I clench my fists tighter around the covers, breathing hard. Maybe I can pretend to be asleep . . .
The mattress shifts again. He’s scooting closer, isn’t he? What am I ever to do?
Warmth envelops me from behind as an arm slides around my waist and pulls me against a broad chest with a low, quiet groan. My breath catches.
“I didn’t think you’d come,” he whispers, nuzzling his face into my neck. “But I’m glad you did.”
I can’t breathe. I won’t ever breathe again.
He presses a soft kiss to my hair. Then he leans back, resting his head on the pillow next to mine, and lets out a long sigh. His arm around my waist relaxes, but doesn’t leave. It’s only a few minutes before his breathing evens out again. This is different from our wedding night. He’s actually asleep this time.
Getting poisoned must have taken a lot out of him.
It takes nearly an hour, but eventually my own heartrate slows down. My fear leaks away, and I relax into Ash’s arms. It’s such a new sensation, but I think . . .
I think I can get used to this. To the warmth and strength of his body, the gentleness of his touch.
I think I like this.
I think I like him.
As I drift off to sleep, I snuggle a little closer to him. When his arm tightens in response, and his warm breath stirs my hair in a sigh, I let the butterflies in my stomach sing me to sleep.
It’s much colder when I wake. Which is strange, because the second thing I notice after the irrepressible chill seeping into my bones is the fact that Ash’s body is still wrapped around mine. I shiver, trying to scoot closer to him, but my limbs are stiff as lead.
A pair of lips press light kisses to my hair and ear as I stir.
“You’re awake,” a deep voice rumbles between kisses. “Why do you shiver, little darling?”
My throat is painfully dry. I lick my lips, find them equally dry. My brow puckers.
“Maybe we should stay here all day,” Ash murmurs, his hand beginning to draw slow circles on my waist. “I could pretend I still feel horrible, and you can say you’re tired. We can abandon this whole prince and princess thing and just . . . be together.”
Staying here sounds nice. Maybe he can find another blanket and keep holding me. I’m just so tired.
He gently pulls my hair back from my neck and leans to press his lips against my cheek. He freezes. Pulls back. I mourn the loss of his warmth.
“Stella?” he breathes, sitting upright.
I wish I could answer him! My tongue cannot form words, and when I peel open my eyes, everything blurs in my vision. He lays a hand over my forehead, and I drink in his warmth, shivering as my teeth chatter.
“Your skin is cold as ice!”
All of me is cold as ice. Why is he so surprised? Why does he sound scared?
The bed shifts as Ash flings aside the covers and throws his feet over the edge of the bed, standing and almost running to my side. His bare feet slap against the floor. The loss of his warmth almost makes me too cold to think. It’s like my body is slowly freezing over, starting from inside and moving outward.
More blankets land on top of me, and then a sudden wave of heat rolls through me, but it’s not enough to make me stop shivering.
“What is wrong, Stella? I can’t even warm you with magic! Edvear!”
Only a minute later, the door opens. The blurry outline of Ash’s head whips up.
“Edvear! Get a doctor here immediately! A human doctor! If you have to smuggle him across the border, then do so! Something’s wrong with her.”
My awareness tunnels until the surrounding voices are lost to the cold.