The door opened, lantern light from the corridor spilling into the room. Adelise stepped inside, carrying a small tray, a shawl draped hastily over her shoulders. She looked like she hadn’t slept either.
“I brought you a cup of broth, and a hot cloth for your throat.”
“You should ask a maid to do this,” JingYi said.
“Oh, shush. I’m happy to do it myself.” Adelise peered at her. “Any dizziness?”
“A little, but no vomiting. My speech is intact, lucid. I can recite the ingredients for the Decoction of the Eight Pillars Beneath Heaven’s Meridian, if you like.”
Adelise snorted. “Please. How would I know if you even got it right? Now, if you quoted The Twelve Rules of Comportment for Well-Bred Tremorian Ladies, I could vouch for your mental faculties.”
JingYi couldn’t help but laugh, though the sound rasped in her throat and cut short with a wince. Adelise handed her the hot cloth, and she pressed it against her neck, holding it there until the sting began to ebb.
“Is there something else I can bring you?” Adelise asked, voice casual. Then—lighter, more pointed: “Orsomeone, perhaps?”
JingYi glanced up. Her heart, traitorous thing, quickened at the thought. Adelise smiled knowingly and eased onto the edge of the bed.
“Lord Wulfbane is outside,” she told her, voice low. “He came shortly after you returned. I told him to wait and give you time to rest.”
JingYi’s throat tightened. “He should rest. His leg, and he took a hard fall?—”
“He doesn’t seem to care,” Adelise said, soft as steam rising from the cup she now offered. “Whatever pain he’s in, he deems it less important than being out there.”
JingYi accepted the cup and stared at the closed door. A dozen emotions stirred, all too loud beneath her aching skull.
“He held you all the way to Niewberg,” Adelise added. “Refused to let anyone else touch you at the cave. Wouldn’t release you, even when the pain had him grinding his teeth.”
JingYi looked down at her lap. She tried to not feel things but the warmth, and the bittersweet ache, seeped in anyway.
“It was the most romantic thing I’ve ever seen,” Adelise continued, half-laughing, “when he dove to catch you. He carried you himself after, growled at Lord Reave’s men for trying to help. Reave had to order them all away.”
When she still didn’t speak, Adelise prodded gently. “Will you not see him?”
Her fingers curled inwards. Shewantedto see him, to drench herself in his arms, his warmth, his scent. It wasn’t that she didn’t care. But letting herself care too much, too soon, might make it harder to think clearly.
And there were still things she had to think through.
Carefully, she said, “I know what that moment earlier meant for him. His name restored. His honour returned. That kind of triumph draws everything toward it. The right future.”
“Youare his future.”
JingYi smiled. “That might have been true, once upon a time.”
Silence stretched between them, until Adelise rose to her feet. “Drink the broth, I mean it. If you’re going to be stubborn, at least do it on a warm stomach.”
JingYi brought the cup to her lips with a murmur of thanks. Adelise crossed to the door. With one hand on the handle, she hesitated.
“We all have oceans between us and the ones we love,” she said, her voice quieter now. “But look closely, he’s been swimming toward you this whole time.” She glanced back and winked. “When you see him, you’ll understand.”
Then, she slipped out.
JingYi held the cup between her palms, let the steam brush her face, then drank in slow, measured sips. The broth warmed her, but her eyes strayed again and again to the door.
Gingerly, she got out of bed and went to open it.
As Adelise had said, Alexander was outside, sitting on a chair in the corridor—arms folded, the injured leg stretched out before him. His hair was damp, darker at the temples where moisture still clung. He’d changed into a plain black tunic, open at the throat, and a pair of black breeches.
He rose the instant she stepped into view, as though the sight of her jolted something loose in him. She felt him taking her in—the ache at her temple, the throb of her cheek, the tender ring around her throat. His expression didn’t shift, but she saw the subtle betrayals of a body when the mind recoiled. The twitch of his cheek. The clench of his jaw. But she also knew, now, his anger was not directed at her—never her, but the man who’d done thistoher.
