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How does he know, though? I answer my own question with my next thought. Wendeline must have told him. Maybe she urged him to accommodate my request, if anyone besides Boaz dares urge the king.
His attention is on the lengthy white feather he dips into an inkwell when he says, “They may remain open, but they can just as easily be shut. Do not get any ideas of escape. A guard will put an arrow through you before you reach the ground, and if you come back from the dead again, you’ll find yourself in the tower cell for good and a caster will not be there to heal your wounds.”
Noted.
I hesitate. “It would be great if Wendeline could keep checking in on me.”
The corner of his mouth pulls. “So, that’s what you’re after. She has informed me that you have healed sufficiently.” Again, his eyes dart to my shoulder. Would he consider my scars as grotesque as Corrin makes them out to be?
“I am. I’m just …” I’m lonely. I haven’t felt it so acutely in so long. That’s what he wants, though. No friends, no family, no allies. “I appreciate her company.”
“What you appreciate is of no concern to me. Priestess Wendeline is terribly busy with duties far more essential than entertaining a prisoner. You may gonow.” He adjusts his sheet of paper and sets to writing, his jaw tense.
“Thank you, Your Highness.” It doesn’t sound nearly as contrite as I mean it to.
Zander’s eyes break from his page to snap to me.
I duck out quickly behind Elisaf. Tony was right. My smart mouth will get me into trouble one day.
One by the statue.
One circling the gazebo.
At least two pacing the lengths of the exterior wall, disappearing into the cedar abyss.
Are the royal castle grounds always so guarded at night? Or is it because of the recent attack?
Or maybe it’s because I’m out here.
I wrap my bedsheet tighter around my shoulders as I play spot the guard in the tranquil garden below. The air has a slight bite to it now that the sun has been replaced by a moon—the common moon, I’m guessing—that is three-quarters full and offering a mere fraction of the light that the blood moon did. I don’t mind the darkness, though. I’ve been outside all afternoon since returning to my rooms, so long that my cheeks feel tight from the sun.
Can elves get sunburns?
I have so many questions still, but I hesitate asking. I would think that under normal circumstances, it wouldn’t make sense for me to be struck with amnesia and suddenly forget what it means to be human, to believe myself to be a cat or a bird, so why would I forget what it means to be elven?
They all think I’m elven, so elven I need to be. I will get my answers somehow.
My attention wanders to the main section of the sprawling castle, to the balcony where Zander stood earlier today. Is he there, somewhere within the shadows? More than likely he’s below, beyond those doors where people filter in and out and the sounds of laughter and violin notes carry.
He handed me several clues to a grand, confusing riddle, and by his own admission, he did it because he’s finally entertaining the idea that I’m not lying about my memory loss. That’s another tiny step of progress.
At this rate, maybe my feet will touch grass again by next year.
One tucked under the trunk of that leggy oak.
That guard is watching me intently. Is the bow in his grip, arrow nocked, simply to send a message? Or does he think I’m about to swan dive off the balcony?
His undivided attention taints my enjoyment of the night air. I head back inside, leaving my doors wide open for fear they’ll somehow lock if I shut them. I’m far from tired, though there is little else to do besides go to bed.
I tread lightly over and take up my usual spot, in front of the door, my cheek pressed against the cool floor.
Ten steps, with that slight hop.
Elisaf is working again tonight. Knowing his name brings me comfort, some tiny thread to grab onto. Does Zander address all his guards by their first name, or just this one? That he might treat his staff as people rather than nondescript pawns would make the hateful prick slightly more endearing.
Suddenly the footfall pattern breaks with a twirl and a two-footed slide, as if its owner broke into a dance.
It’s so unexpected, I can’t contain the snort of laughter that escapes me. “How did you know I was here?” I call into the silence.
