“Books.” A pause. “And years of watching people suffer.”
That silenced him.
They walked on.
CHAPTER 26
JINGYI
Ulrik had just disappeared into his cottage when she and Tedric emerged from the lane behind the grain store. Alexander stood in the village square with Duskwane.
“How is Daan?” he asked.
“I used needle therapy. By the end, the needles had clouded—a sign the toxins were leaving. His breathing settled too.”
She met Alexander’s gaze, her voice firming with conviction. “The exposure must have been minimal. If it were chronic, I imagine the needles would’ve turned black.”
She could see the relief in the drooping of his shoulders.
“I spoke to Ulrik,” he said. “He had to get back to his workshop, but Annett’s sleeping now. He said there was no need to go.”
She nodded. “The rest of the villagers are doing well also. Shall we return to Parandor, then?”
He glanced at Tedric. “Ride ahead,” he said. “I’ll stay with Her Highness and Brisa.”
Tedric bowed and turned toward his horse, leaving them alone on the green. The mist had burned away, leaving the sun blazing over the village as they turned for Parandor. They rode side by side, the quiet between them broken only by the steadysound of hooves on the path. Tedric was already a speck in the distance, and she wondered why Alexander had sent him ahead. Was there something he needed to say in private?
After a while, she asked, “Did your talk with Ulrik go well?”
He nodded. “He’s never seen Daan or any of the young ones around the mines, but he promised he’d keep a closer watch.”
Then, he glanced over, blue eyes flicking over Brisa, then her.
“You’re managing well on a horse,” he said, then paused again. “Perhaps . . . to make it easier for you, you can ride during the Harvest Ritual.”
A jolt went through her. “Ride?”
“Traditionally, the Lady of the Keep leads the procession up the hill to light the first lantern at dusk—on foot.” He tilted his chin toward the hill far up ahead, the one they could see through the trees. “But it’s a steep climb. The path is uneven.”
She looked at Brisa’s mane and said nothing.
JingYi had once believed that being useful meant beingsafe. To serve without drawing notice was the best armour. But the Harvest Ritual demanded the opposite. It required her to be seen. For a fleeting, hopeful moment, the duty had felt less like a burden and more like a belonging—a terrifying, exhilarating step into the light.
Until his careful suggestion cleaved that feeling in two.
“I only thought,” Alexander added, “since you’ve started riding, perhaps it would be easier on you to go up on horseback. Or let Yrenna lead the way. You’ve had a difficult journey, and there’s no shame in?—”
“In staying back at the castle,” she finished for him.
Alexander fell silent. He exhaled slowly.
“No.” His tone was more careful now. “Not staying back. You’re welcome to join the procession, of course. I only meant . . . there’s no shame in altering the tradition. If it makes things easier on you.”
No shame.
Then why did heat flood her cheeks? Why did the familiar unwanted feeling curdle in her chest? He meant to be kind, but this kindness was a mirror. In it, she saw only the limp, the strain, the flaw he was so politely trying to hide.
She refused to meet his eyes. “I will defer to whatever is best for the ritual.”
