Chapter 48
Nadiette
Darvy leaves, drenched in sweat, with dark circles like bruises beneath his eyes.
He doesn’t say it, but I feel a sense of despair about him since it appears we can’t pull enough magic to heal Ikar and keep him from the brink of death.
He’s a mirror of my own fatigue. Out of all the originators, I am one of the most powerful, but it means nothing when there’s not enough lucent to pull.
Lucent continues to weaken, faster than any of us have ever seen.
With its decline, gloam is spreading faster, even lingering in the castle and growing about buildings in Moneyre, places where there has never been a sign of it.
I slip my hand into Ikar’s, watching his chest closely to see that it is, indeed, still moving beneath the blanket that covers him.
He hasn’t woken since he was returned to the castle, half-dead, two days ago.
If not for his familiar clothing, I’d have thought him another soldier because of the charm he used to disguise his identity to go in search of that Tulip—I’ve heard all about the deranged woman who stole his heart and led him to his near death.
I should have warned him further, but I know he wouldn’t have listened.
I grimace remembering the way he responded to my previous pleas.
Now with the charm neutralized by Jethonan, I stare at Ikar’s handsome profile, longing for the days when I saw warmth and affection in his eyes instead of annoyance and frustration. What must I do to earn it back?
There’s a light knock on the door, and a guard opens it. “Nadiette. Your uncle, low king Waylon, is here to see you.”
I nod, but I’m in no mood to deal with my uncle when I can hardly stand.
I squeeze Ikar’s limp hand once more before I slip out the door that is firmly closed behind me.
Two guards stand in the hall, solemnly watching Waylon without expression, as if the mutiny in his mind bleeds out his ears and into the air we breathe, allowing them to sense it.
Waylon uncomfortably clears his throat and motions for me to walk with him. “The dratted soldiers wouldn’t allow me, a low king, entrance to his room. Unacceptable.” Then, almost beneath his breath, he adds, “But I hear our dear king is about to pass to the other side of magic.”
I scowl at the note of barely subdued glee in his voice. “He’s not. Who told you that?” I ask vehemently, though I know I lie.
“You know how news spreads of these things; I’m sure the entire kingdom has heard by now.” He leans close, lowering his voice again. “It would make things much easier, Nadiette.”
I step away in disgust. “How dare you!”
“My meddling is no worse than yours.”
Shame heats my ears. “I don’t want him to die!”
He lifts a finger to his lips in a shushing gesture that infuriates me further.
“Calm yourself. I promised you a chance to convince him to marry you, and you know I’m a man of my word…
I only meant if he passes naturally, he won’t have to stand trial and be publicly executed if he refuses to marry you.
At least this way he could pass peacefully and with honor intact. ”
He acts as if he cares.
I take a very slow breath to diffuse the anger he has ignited.
He continues speaking, his voice as matter-of-fact as if he were discussing the latest shipping schedules for lumber. “I’ll return soon. Whether it’s for a funeral, a wedding, or an execution. No more than three weeks.” He lifts a bushy brow in warning, as if I need reminding.
I watch him walk away as I attempt to wrangle my anger into submission. When it refuses, I decide to funnel it into helping another healer heal Ikar. He must live. I’ll wear out every healer and originator in the kingdom if I have to.