“To what do I owe the honor, Your Highnesses?” The Torrentian healer hadn’t called Lucakidege,“little bird,” since the day it had nearly gotten both herself and Amarande killed. This was partly because of what had transpired but mostly because he was now her king. For the same reason Amarande was no longer “little queen” even though in truth she was exactly that.
Still, Naiara settled upon a cushion and blinked at Amarande and Luca with curiosity. She was old and wry, and very pious—more so since surviving her brush with the firepit. Amarande hadn’t seen the healer in days—she’d left camp at the Itspi early on orders to clear the remaining poison from the Cardenas Scar. Successfully, according to Luca. Then she’d been caring for battle victims hour after hour—they’d lost as many as they’d saved.
“Thank you for coming, we know you’ve had a trying time caring for the injured.” Amarande smoothed her skirt and chose her words carefully. She did not want to be misunderstood. “Naiara, the question I am about to ask comes from desperation. It’s not a reflection on how I feel about the art of healing or your talents. Please understand that I only ask because we are trying to unravel a mystery we don’t entirely understand.”
The healer’s threadbare brows pulled together, expectant.
Amarande squeezed her eyes shut and hoped the woman would not fall over in laughter or stomp straight to the exit at this clear waste of time. “Do you know of a tincture or ritual or prayer or anything else that may bring a person back from the dead?”
When Amarande’s eyes opened, Naiara’s expression had tilted, her brows raised in unmitigated interest. “Howdead?”
Amarande exchanged a look with Luca. “Deaddead.”
A knowing smile appeared on the healer’s lips, as wry and intelligent as ever. “Ah, in my world, dead is not always dead, Your Highnesses.” Her golden eyes glittered, and she leaned in as if they were having a much more salacious conversation. “Tell me everything you know about this dead man, and I will tell you how he lives.”
THEanswer was akin to magic, in Amarande’s mind.
Astral ember—a tincture, if used soon enough in the proper circumstances, that could preserve the remaining spark in a dying man.
Or woman.
Which led Amarande to grab Ferdinand’s hand and meet Naiara’s lined face with a new plea. “Do you have some of this astral ember?”
“Of course. Any healer or medikua worth her salt—”
“Use it on Koldo!” Amarande cut in, jerking her brother forward as she did so. It was everything she could do not to drag Naiara to her feet from the cushions where she sat. “We’re at thirty-six hours, and you said it is best with a single entry wound within forty-eight hours. I know exactly where she’s been kept for transport to Ardenia.”
“Your Highness, I’m sorry, but that won’t work.”
Amarande reeled as if she’d been struck. The healer hadn’t lashed out—she’d erected a wall, and the queen had smashed herself straight into it.
“Why not?”
Luca was behind her now, arm crossing her back as one palm cupped her shoulder. Strong, supportive. There.
Naiara pulled herself to standing under her own power. She made it a point to take Ferdinand’s other hand in hers, laying kind eyes on his down-turned face.
“I inspected the general’s body myself.…” The healer soundedapologetic, her golden gaze still pinned to Ferdinand for a long moment before looking to Amarande and Luca behind. “You’re right about the injury and the window of time, Your Highness, but the conditions are not right.” Again, she looked to Ferdinand. “I am sorry.”
Amarande’s words came out furious and hurt. Disappointed. “Irefuseto believe Renard had more to live for than Koldo. All he cares about is power and revenge—before, after, always. Koldo had Ferdinand, she had her army, she had…”
Me. She had me, too.
“Little Queen.”
The nickname hit her ears as a balm, not a jest, and both its shocking use and the healer’s tone stopped Amarande’s thoughts dead in their tracks.
In that stolen pause, Naiara cuffed Amarande about her upper arms, forcing the queen’s chin to snap up. The woman’s topaz eyes bore into her, steady, serious, wise. Apologetic.
“Life and death are unfair in the same measure, Your Highness. The stars decide, and there’s nothing more we can do.”
CHAPTER 32
KINGRenard had no interest in remaining at the Hand after his private encounter with Amarande.
The need for revenge pulsed, satisfied with the day’s events. Replenished. Fed.
As the Ardenian leader stalked away with her own anger, Renard was so nourished indeed, that he didn’t want to be at the Hand for a moment longer.
