Of Whispers and Daggers ✓ [TLRQ #2]

Chapter 63.1 - Aster

"Good," I murmur.

Still he stands there, and I don't know why.

It feels like everything should be over. Everything should be over and okay, but it's not. The world is on its knees with death, and we're expected to somehow stand up and put everything back together, and I'm not even sure yet if I can stand up without trembling. I want to be alone.

Underneath that, I wish I could run to my mother like I did when I was child, before I knew that Jeanna loved me more than she did, before I understood that people die, before I learned that a loveless marriage can still be important. I want to be alone, but more than that, I want my mother to hold me and tell me that it'll be alright, even if it's a lie, because it's always a lie. I would give almost anything for my mother to lie to me just one more time.

Solus's voice is soft. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

I look at him. I forgot he was still here. "No. Thank you. I'll try to be back to work later today."

"You don't have to do that, Prince."

I watch him. "I'll try to be back later today."

His eyes close briefly. "As you wish." He goes. I know I should finish eating, but I can't. I'm not sure if it's grief or the poison, but my stomach feels like dirty snow. I move the bowl to the bedside table and lie down again. The world is loneliness and hate, and then we die.

* * *

When I surface from the room, I try to pretend I don't feel like I'm about to fall over. In the living room, dark hair splays across one side of the couch. Relief burns the back of my throat. Leavi. She's alive. Somehow, somehow she's alive, and I turn away, blinking rapidly. Thank you. I don't know who I'm thanking—whatever force allowed the wall defense to work, I suppose, and whatever it is that watches out for dying soldiers.

I slip through the room, grateful, but wonder why she's on the couch. Realization makes me feel like an idiot. I must have been in her room. I bite my lip. I stole her room and didn't think twice about it. Entitled.

I go downstairs, wondering what will happen to her now that Riszev—

I guess she'll go back to being a page. Will Reyan abide that when I'm dead too? When I'm gone, no one will stand for her, except perhaps Illesiarr. But it's presumptuous to count on his respect toward a dead man, and I don't know what sort of relationship she's built with him. Is she just the foreign girl that he lets stay here out of kindness for me? Or has he learned to like her more than that, to trust her more than that?

I shouldn't count myself as dead yet.

The thought feels empty. The only thing that might heal me now is magic, and self-healing spells are nearly impossible. According to legend, the Shadesnare used them while he was in Jacqueline's trap, but I'm not Astraeus the Shadesnare. I'm Astraeus the boy-prince.

I don't see Illesiarr as I leave, which is probably just as well. He would only try to convince me again to stay in bed.

Slow steps take me down the halls. I'll look into it, if I have the time. Of course I will. But even then, even if some miracle gave me the strength to cast the spell, I'd have to do a mountain of research to come up with one that might work. I don't know that I have enough time left for that.

I pass the library and a courtyard on my way to the Mage Room. Vaguely, I remember Illesiarr helping me wash in his bathing pool, and I'm glad I don't need to go to my suite to change. I'm tired of being in the rooms of dead people. I turn onto the hall of the Room and freeze.