The Archshade

Thirty

The main chamber door slams closed in Prince Darcron's wake, jolting me nearly out of my skin. I stay hidden. Pressed against the wall, I let the cold from the stone soak into my spine. A faint gasping and rustling emanates from the other room, but I barely register the sound. I close my eyes again. Like an icy hand twisting my innards, Darcron's poisonous threat settles inside me, reminding me of what these princes think I am. To Darcron, I'm merely leverage, a bargaining chip held for ransom. To Daynar, I'm just a... weakness.

A sudden flood of light hits my eyelids, and I snap them open to see Daynar staring at me, his hand on the bedchamber door. His black clothing and face wrappings are as pristine as ever, but his green glass eyes are wide with surprise. I stare back, flattening myself against the wall even more, trying to sink into it.

Daynar blinks. "How—" he hesitates, struggling to make a single sentence. My own mind can't even form a single sound.

"How long have you been hiding there?" he finally sputters.

I heave in a shaking breath and peel myself away from the wall, sliding out from behind the door. "Long enough." My eyes fall to the hem of his black robe. "I wanted to speak with you, but your brother—"

"I thought you were gone."

Daynar interrupts my explanation, bringing my eyes back up to his. His gaze softens into a strange mix of pain and relief.

"No," I whisper. "I'm still here."

Daynar's eyes won't move away from my face. "You came back."

I nod.

"Why?"

Standing there with Daynar's eyes pinned to me, I see every emotion play out across his green irises. He makes no effort to hide them, letting me watch the unexpected grief, the reluctant hope, and the strangled pain battle for dominance. I resist the urge to assume that the hope is sparked by my return and the pain brought on by the realization that perhaps I shouldn't have.

I swallow past the sudden lump in my throat before speaking again. "Daynar... I-I have to... um... ask you something."

The cloth covering his face shifts subtly, but I recognize the movement as him locking his jaw. The shadow of his princely façade falls over his features, turning his green glass eyes to stone. "I know you followed me," he says.

I wince, partially from shame of being caught and partially from his assumption of what I wanted to ask him about. But Daynar doesn't wait for my denial or defense.

"You followed me, but you were not here when I returned. I thought you..." He pauses to clear his throat. "Well, no matter." With an exhausted wave of his hand, he turns to leave the bedchamber. "You should clean up before Lady Mala sees you."

"Daynar..."

The prince places a weary hand against the door frame, leaning his full weight against it. He closes his eyes, rubbing his forehead through the cloth covering. I look at his gloved hand, remembering the shredded flesh and horrible patches of black rot. I stare for a moment too long, and when the prince glances over his shoulder, he catches my gaze. I drop my eyes to the ground.

"Will it heal?" I ask softly. "I mean, the—"

"I know what you mean." Turning his face away from me, Daynar clenches his hands into fists. "Do you know what a Darkletter is?"

I shake my head.

"Like the bloodletters and their leaches, Darkletters also pull impurities from the body. We pull out injury, sickness, and death, but there's a price. I have been told there were many like me long ago." Daynar grunts in the back of his throat. "Being a Darkletter, my flesh heals much faster."