Chapter 53 The Quiet
The Quiet
When I wake, it is to quiet. Not the terrible hush of absence or the hollow ringing of blood loss and memory, but something softer, filtered, a room that has chosen not to frighten me.
Light filters through the gauze curtains and drifts across the floor.
The scent of clean linen has replaced the smoke. There is no iron in the air, no ash.
I lie still for a moment, testing myself.
My ribs feel stiff, as if I have slept too long in one position.
My skull aches faintly at the back where something struck me.
But when I press my palm to my side, expecting ruin, I find only smooth skin beneath the bandaging.
I peel the linen back just enough to look, and find no wound, only a thin silver line where the blade once entered, the quiet signature of the healer’s work.
Memory returns in fragments, a surge of heat rising through me, pressure threading my veins with something that was never mine, voices low and insistent as magic pulls torn muscle back together, unyielding.
“They closed it before it could claim you.”
His voice comes from the chair beside the bed.
I turn my head. Colsar is there, seated close enough that I could reach him if I wished. He is not armored. Not dressed for court. He looks as though he has not left this room since I was brought into it.
“You watched?” I ask, because I need to know how much he saw and how much he will carry.
“Yes.”
“How bad was it?”
He takes a moment before answering, weighing truth against mercy. “The blade went deep.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It was enough.”
I absorb that quietly, understanding more from what he does not say than from what he does. Enough is its own measure.
I sit up slowly. My body protests the movement with a dull pull along my side, but nothing tears. Nothing fails. I am not broken. “I have never tried healing pools,” I say, because the silence between us is heavy and I do not yet know what to do with it. “Perhaps I will need them now.”
He huffs something that might almost be a laugh. “You will feel better in a day or two.”
“Just a day or two?”
“The healer drew blood and magic both. Your body must now remember what it is.”
“Comforting.”
He studies me as though he is confirming that I am solid. That I exist. He has always looked at me intensely, but this is different.
There is something held behind his stillness. Something contained.
“I have a spring,” he says after a moment. “Outside the capital. It sits where the cliffs bend toward the river. The water is hot even in winter. It may soothe what remains.”
I turn toward him fully. “You are suggesting we leave?”
“For a few days.”
“Sevrin will be delighted.”
“He’ll be annoyed,” Colsar says, a faint shrug following. “Furious, most likely. He can conduct council without me.”
I glance at him. “You’re certain?”
He doesn’t answer that directly. “I am certain you will not walk into court tomorrow.”
I wince at the thought. “Is it morning or afternoon?”
“Afternoon. Two days.”
I look down at my hands. Two days stolen from the world.
“Torsin?” I ask quickly. “Emva?”
“They are unharmed,” he says. “They were confined inside the palace.”
“Why?”
“Your sister conducted a hunt.”
“For what?”
“A pearl bracelet.”
The words pull at something I already know. I remember the Threns talking last night. One of the royals lost her favorite bracelet, one had said.
“On her own wrist.”
I close my eyes briefly. “She does enjoy spectacle.”
“She sealed half the palace and sent servants scrambling while the Threns walked through a tavern.” He says it without anger.
I swing my legs off the bed and stand. The room sways only slightly.
He is on his feet immediately, but he does not touch me. “Careful.”
“I am not made of glass.”
“No,” he says quietly. “You are not.”
I take a few steps. The ache along my side remains distant, manageable. “They healed it well.”
“They had to.” His eyes fall to the faint seam along my ribs. It lingers there, not clinical. Not curious. Something else.
“They rebuilt what was torn,” he says.
The way he says it makes the act sound violent, even in salvation.
I reach for a robe and draw it around myself. “Can we go today?” I ask. “I cannot do the court right now.”
He opens his mouth. “I have—”
He stops as something shifts in him, then exhales slowly. “Fuck it,” he says.
I smile despite everything. “That is not very princely.”
“I am less concerned with that than I was yesterday.”
He steps closer, close enough now that I can feel the warmth of him.
“You nearly died.” The words are flat. Controlled.
“I did not,” I lie.
“That is not the point.”
There it is. The edge beneath the restraint. I think of my father. You’re a burden. The thought slips in before I can stop it. The question follows. “Do you still want me?”
His expression does not change, but the air between us tightens. “If you must force me to answer this,” he says.
“I must,” I answer.
“Then I will say this. If I had found you dead, I would have taken you back to my chambers. I would have killed everyone responsible. Including Sevrin.”
“And then?” I whisper.
His voice does not rise. “Then I would have gone back to my rooms, kissed you goodnight…”
He pauses, just briefly. “And ended it.”
“Why?” I ask.
His hand lifts in a small, careless gesture. “I have no interest in any of this without you.”
“Any of what?”
“Life.”
I take a breath. “Then let us go to your spring and avoid all the people you planned on murdering.”
“Pack,” he says simply.
“And the council?”
“They’ll survive.”
“Sevrin will be furious,” he adds, faintly dismissive.
“And Yvara?”
“Pleased,” he says. “Or close enough.”
That answer satisfies neither of us, but I do not press it.
He turns toward the door. I watch him for a moment, noting how there is something different in the way he moves.
Less arrogance, more purpose. Something has changed, and it is not only the knowledge that I bled.
It is the knowledge that he almost lost something he did not realize he could not survive without.
“Oh,” he says, “I almost forgot. You have a letter from Nyara, the servants asked me to give it to you.” He hands me a folded piece of parchment.
Asharin,
If you insist on being stabbed in taverns, you must at least warn me first so I can wear something dramatic to the aftermath.
I heard. Everyone has heard. The story grows worse each time it is told. In one version you fought off three Threns with a broken bottle. In another you fainted prettily and were carried out like a tragic heroine. I assume the truth is less theatrical and far more irritating.
Are you whole?
Junis has sailed with the Vaelor fleet, grinning like an idiot.
I am jealous beyond reason. He escapes to sea while I remain at our family’s house in the capital, surrounded by courtiers who gossip like washerwomen and call it politics.
Esmeraldis has returned and is visiting our family home.
I would rather be eaten alive by Threns than sit through another tea with her.
I have been quite worried about you. You laugh at my jokes and can drink like a sailor. Alas, you would be quite difficult to replace.
Do not die again. It was extremely inconvenient.
Write back so I know you are truly alive.
Your favorite friend,
Nyara
I read it twice before lowering the page. “She demands proof of life,” I murmur.
Colsar is still standing at the end of the bed, watching my face instead of the paper. “Then give it to her.”
I shift against the pillows and reach for the small writing case on the table beside me. The movement pulls faintly along my side, a reminder rather than a warning. Ink pools at the tip of the pen while I consider how much to say.
I do not give her the court’s version.
Nyara,
I am disappointingly whole. No broken bottles. No tragic fainting. Only poor timing and a prince who refuses to let me bleed to death out of spite.
I am glad Junis escaped. Tell him I expect something scandalous from whatever port he reaches first.
As for you, endure the courtiers. And Esmeraldis too, I suppose. They are less interesting than Threns, but far easier to outlive.
I fold the page before I can soften it further.
“Will you send it?” I ask.
Colsar takes the letter from my hand without comment. “I will.”
“And make sure she receives it directly. Not through some whispering chain of servants.”
He raises an eyebrow. “You do not trust the chain?”
“I trust Nyara,” I say. “That is enough.”
He slips the letter into his coat. “I will see that it reaches her.”
I smile. We have begun to write each other regularly, and it feels good. When he turns to leave, I let myself sink back against the pillows, the quiet of the room no longer oppressive.
He pauses at the doorway and looks back at me. “Be ready in an hour.”
“I already am.”
He looks at me once more, taking me in as if he means to remember it. I press my hand lightly to the faint silver seam along my side and let the quiet close around me. I have a friend who writes to me. I am alive. And Colsar and I are leaving the capital for a few stolen days.
For the first time since the tavern burned, I draw a full breath. The hot spring waits, and some part of me knows that whatever is building behind his restraint waits there too.