32. Chapter 32 #2
“Yes, my lady,” Anne replied, without ceasing her work. The words said one thing, the tone another.
She wasn’t large, but she moved with the unshakeable momentum of a battering ram. If I resisted, this woman would probably outlast me on obstinacy alone.
Reina warned me.
I hadn’t listened carefully enough.
I surrendered the battle with as much dignity as I could manage and allowed her to finish lacing my bodice. It appeared I had gained a new, eager companion for verbal jousting because a secret grin spread on her face every time one of us scored a point.
“No guard,” I added, tying the belt at my waist more firmly than necessary. “The king’s chamber is only down the hall.”
Anne’s expression didn’t change. “As you wish. Now, the scarf.”
Owain’s warning pressed faintly at the edge of my thoughts as I walked down the corridor, but I dismissed it. It would be fine.
Four men flanked the king’s door as before. They straightened when they saw me.
“You’re expected, Lady Lunette,” one said, opening the door without delay. That same overpowering scent of sickness and herbs wafted out on the too-warm air.
A man clad in flowing white robes was already at the king’s bedside, hunched over the slumbering monarch. In his hands, he held a slender black instrument with an inlaid silver lattice pattern. It produced a constant, low hum that vibrated unpleasantly.
The “contamination removal” in action.
My stomach clenched. The healer didn’t look up or stop what he was doing at my entrance. Nor did King Berian stir or make a single sound.
“I wondered when I would get a chance to meet you,” the stranger said quietly. “I’ve been waiting to meet the one they call a grand magus amongst grand magi.”
“That’s quite the compliment,” I replied cautiously. That distorted buzzing feeling was setting my nerves on edge, made all the worse by speaking to one of the bogeymen lurking in the stories of my childhood. “I am Lunette.”
“Mage Thibault,” he replied.
“What are you doing?” I asked, keeping my voice even.
“Removing impurities from His Majesty’s blood,” Thibault replied. “There was concern of contamination.”
His tone was smooth. Educated. Everything about him proclaimed competence. And yet…
I stepped closer, close enough to feel the vibration more distinctly.
I swore the feel of magic about the device was stronger than when I’d first crossed the threshold just a few moments before.
It was hard to tell if it was because I was closer to it or not.
A gut feeling told me that the magic emanating from the device was far from pure and purifying.
Thibault adjusted the instrument once more against the king’s chest. The hum sharpened briefly then stopped. Satisfied, he lowered it and finally straightened, revealing the large gold pendant that declared his high rank in the Assembly at his neck.
Tension flickered in Thibault’s eyes for an instant as he looked at me before his face smoothed into an expression of practiced professionalism.
“You may proceed now,” he said, as if he were able to grant me permission above the regent or duchess. “I would like to observe your technique.”
Every instinct I had was already packing its bags and heading for the door.
I smiled and nodded anyway, because the only thing more dangerous than being watched by a predator was letting them know you knew they were hunting—it always moved their timeline of attack up.
I did not want to be around this man for any longer than necessary, but I had promised Reina I would heal Berian this morning. “Of course,” I managed.
I moved to the opposite side of the bed and announced myself. “Your Majesty, I’ve returned to administer your healing.”
He didn’t shift, didn’t as much as huff out a syllable in response. Yet he’d talked to Reina only last night. I didn’t like the sudden turn for the worse. With nothing else to do, I pulled back the furs and slipped my hands beneath the king’s tunic.
The moment my palms made contact, I sensed how much weaker he was—and not by a hair’s breadth. The scars I’d removed the previous night had sprung back like stubborn weeds in my meticulously kept garden.
My pulse stumbled as more information flooded my senses from the magic. His aura felt weaker too. This was not possible so quickly without unnatural intervention.
“Is there an issue?” Thibault asked quietly, moving closer to the bed. He’d likely picked up on the fact that I’d only scanned the king so far.
“Not at all,” I said through a forced smile, though my skin prickled at his nearness.
“If I touch him while you work, I may better understand your method,” Thibault suggested.
All my instincts were screaming at me to refuse. But to deny him would be to imply accusation or fear when I couldn’t risk either. Owain’s warning about having a guard at all times resurfaced in my thoughts.
Stupid, Luna, stupid. Now, put on that professional composure and get out of this pile of manure.
Great, now Reina was coloring my inner thoughts.
I nodded, and Thibault slipped the device he’d used on the king into a pocket in his robe. He placed his hand lightly on the king’s shoulder.
My thoughts raced. I worried about how he’d react if he felt the darker side of my magic. Reina had been surprised that I could rend flesh, so maybe most healers couldn’t. Proceeding with caution while someone from the Assembly watched wasn’t really a choice—it was the only option.
I pressed warmth-laced healing into his kidneys, shoring up the flesh around the scars. Then shifted my focus to mending his liver. The feeling of Thibault’s precise magic nearby, assessing and noting everything, made my skin feel like it was on too tight.
Flustered, I drew more deeply than I’d intended. Power welled, bright and molten, threading from my heart through my arms and into the king’s failing body. The change in Berian’s aura was immediate. It flared beneath my palms, like a fragile candle coaxed from guttering to a more stable glow.
The steady, almost mechanical rhythm of Thibault’s breathing faltered for the span of a heartbeat. His fingers dug into the king’s shoulder, the tendons standing out starkly against his pallid skin as his magic pressed closer to mine.
He tilted his head with the faintest narrowing of his eyes. Was it alarm or, worse, recognition?
Cold slid down my spine as my eyes caught on the gold chain gleaming at his throat like it was making a promise of more chains.
I forced my power to soften, to diffuse into something gentler. The king’s breathing deepened by a fraction.
Thibault’s fingers eased, but not before testing the boundary of my magic with his one more time.
I withdrew it quickly.
“There,” I murmured, though my voice felt distant to my own ears. “That should do for now.”
Thibault didn’t remove his hand immediately. His eyes moved away from my face, focusing on my hands as if he could still perceive the magic that had flowed there.
“Remarkable control,” he said softly.
The moment my hands left the king, the room lurched. I straightened too quickly, and my vision flickered at the periphery. The rush of power I’d used left me feeling empty and drained.
The silk scarf—loosened by sweat I hadn’t realized had gathered there—slid. I felt the whisper of fabric against my neck before cool air kissed the delicate points of my ears.
For one suspended instant, it was as if time had stopped. Then everything came back too loud. Berian’s breathing remained steady, but it became a drumbeat. The hearthfire crackled, but its noise was an offensive roar.
Thibault’s unhurried gaze lifted to settle on my exposed ear. There was no widening of the eyes. No gasp. No backward step. Only the minute dilation of his pupils and a terrible stillness.
He blinked once. Then his expression smoothed back into polite attentiveness so seamlessly that I might’ve imagined the interruption.
“Are you unwell, Lady Lunette?” he asked, voice appropriately concerned. “Excessive use of magic can cause dizziness.”
My pulse thundered in my ears. Every instinct I possessed screamed at me to cover myself, to deny, to explain. But an explanation was an admission. It would only make this worse.
“I am…fatigued,” I managed. My fingers fumbled for the fallen silk, but the motion felt clumsy. I gathered it and wound it back around my head with shaking hands, though it was already too late.
Thibault stepped back, granting me space with impeccable courtesy. “Of course,” he said. “You must take care of yourself…for the good of Larethia.”
There it was again—that infinitesimal pause.
As if a theory had just found its missing proof, the space between Thibault and me suddenly went taut.
He looked ready to lunge forward and seize me.
The Assembly's shadow stretched long across the floor, though the sun had barely shifted beyond the window.
With a sigh that sounded like a slumbering giant finally stirring, Berian shifted in the furs. But I couldn’t remain another second.
“I will return…later,” I said, forcing the words through a throat trying to close.
The floor lurched with every step as I crossed the chamber. The guards immediately opened the door, their gazes respectfully lowered, yet the weight of Thibault's predatory focus still pressed on me from behind.
Just before I passed beyond the threshold, the precise, steady current of Thibault’s magic bushed against me again. Testing me as I walked away.
The corridor air struck my lungs like cold water. I gathered my skirts and walked—then quicker—then quicker still, until dignity gave way to something perilously close to flight. Behind me, the door to the king’s chamber shut with a quiet, final click.
Thibault hadn’t asked questions because he already had the answers he needed. I knew, deep in the pit of my stomach, that a predator far more dangerous than a contemptuous, ineffective king had just taken notice of me.