Page 61 of The Crown’s Temptation

She laughed. "That sounds exactly like him."

I smiled before I realized I was doing it. “And now?"

She squeezed my hand. “Well, I suppose I could go back home. But Axar told me about a woman he had loved named Ryaran and how he had promised to keep an eye out for her daughter. He put me here with King Sevrin, who was forming a household of servants for you at the time.”

My mouth went dry. “What?”

“Yes. It was a strange time. You had gone missing. There had been a shipwreck near Alarna covered in undead. Prince Colsar apparently had gone looking for you.” She leaned in. “There were rumors that when King Sevrin was not sure if you had died, he would have undead corpses sent to Rathmor for inspection.”

I pulled away. “No,”

She nodded. “Sometimes he would dine with them, apparently.” She frowned. “I am not sure how he made that work, but yes.”

I stared. Then burst into laughter. She started to laugh too. Everything hurt but I did not care.

“Anyway, he seemed to have plans for you here in Morrath, the servants were whispering. So I stayed here listening for information, and I asked Iavis to stay in Veynar and listen too.”

Something in my chest warmed at that.

She sniffed. “I’ll admit it seemed unfair that Iavis got to meet you first. I have always wanted to be your lady-in-waiting. Yet Iavis got to walk you to the woods and he is talented at barely anything.”

I raised an eyebrow. “And what are your talents?”

“I am clearly quite skilled at washing you,” she said. “You’ll note I have accomplished the very burdensome task of brushing half of your hair and scrubbing half of one of your arms over the past hour.”

I paused. “An hour?” I looked at the door. “He is still looking for the tailor?”

She grinned. “I told you, the location was subjective in nature.”

We laughed again, and for the first time since arriving in Morrath I did not feel quite so alone.

CHAPTER 11

The Jolt

The days blur together.

Each one I am slightly stronger than the last. Teorin continues to hover. He sleeps in my room still, though not in the bed again. For now.

In the mornings Fiersa helps me sit up. We work on walking. After a few days I can hold myself upright for short periods before the coughing starts. Whenever I cough a black substance comes up, thick and wrong.

"The poison," she says, shaking her head.

"What kind of poison is it? Dali says there may be a cure."

Fiersa raises an eyebrow. "The Saren? Is she a healer of some kind?”

I smirked. “No, but she seems to know things.”

She sighed. “Be careful, Sarens all pretend to know things. And she is a Siren apparently, which is worse.”

I frowned. “I do not understand the difference.”

“A Saren is from Sarenal. A Siren is a Sarenal with royal blood.”

I began coughing again and she stood, handing me a basin. This time there was blood tinged with the black fluid. I frowned.

“They say Briavar has the best healers,” I said. “Maybe I should go there.”