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Einar
Ispend the entire night going from room to room in the West Wing, taking part in tearful reunions, watching as people stare at themselves and one another in fascination. The pain tonic seemed to work, for the most part. Though there were a few groans, no one screamed in agony as Sigrid had.
On my way to the staff floor, I reluctantly pop my head into Odger’s quarters long enough to see that his trunks are packed and waiting by the door.
The sooner he is gone, the better.
I linger for a moment in the next room. Lady Estrid has spent the past twenty years slowly turning into a fawn, but her features are back to the gentle grace they had before. The back of my eyes sting when she embraces her husband, a lanky lord nearly as young as I am, whose canine incisors have finally shrunken down to size.
They were the closest thing I had to friends before I shut the world out to work on this cure, and Estrid was the single person who braved reaching out to my formidable wife. I hate that I can’t tell her that Zaina is responsible for her cure, that I can’t tell any of them.
I can’t even share the happiness of this moment with the woman who helped bring it all about. I know that she is safer in my rooms. Now that the castle will be back to its usual bustling order soon, even the passageways in this wing won’t be as easy to slip around in.
Most of the people in this castle are trustworthy, but that’s not reason enough to risk Zaina’s life if Ulla discovers she is still alive. It’s more than that, though, this sinking feeling in my gut. I know that part of why Zaina is so determined to stay “dead” is because she doesn’t know if it will be true before this is all over.
As if I spoke the thoughts aloud, Estrid takes one of my hands, a familiar gesture she hasn’t made since we were children.
“I was sorry to hear about the Lady Zaina,” she says gravely. “She was unique, but she seemed fierce. I think the two of you would have complemented each other...in time.” The side of her lip pulls up.
She doesn’t call her Consort, and I know it’s as much kindness for my wife as it is a gentle chiding for me. It almost makes me smile. The inhabitants of this castle have retreated so much into themselves under the strain of the poison, and now regain their personalities as well as their bodies.
I want to tell her she is right.We do complement each other. She is the half of me I never knew I was missing.
“Thank you,” I say instead, and she inclines her head.
“The last few years have taken their toll with losses,” Bjorn says, and I’m reminded that his brother did not live long enough to see this cure. “I am grateful, My King, that we can be out from under this at last, and finally begin to grieve, to heal.”
I nod, clapping him on the back. His perspective is interesting, that this is not the end of healing but the beginning. He’s right, of course.
Something else he says sticks with me, though, about us finally being out from under this. We beat Ulla only after a great cost, and still, I know that she will not let this stand. How long will it be before she comes after my people again? Before she discovers Zaina alive? And how will she try to strike next?
Those are problems for tomorrow, though. I can talk defense and strategy and all manner of things with my council, but they deserve this day to celebrate, to recoup, and as Bjorn said, begin to heal.
I only wish I could feel like I am healing instead of this impending sense of doom.
Chapter Fifty-Three
Zaina
Leif delivers a late breakfast, likely letting the king rest after a long night. I am nearly bowled over by his shock of short, silver hair on a pale, unlined face with discerning navy eyes. I can’t help but wonder what the others in the castle look like, but of course, I can’t let them know that I’m alive long enough to risk seeing them.
Frustration and restlessness course through my veins. I know Einar can sense it, and I hate myself for ruining this moment for him.
“What is it?” he asks.
“What is what?” I hedge.
He levels a look at me, and I sigh.
“You should be out enjoying your people instead of spending every spare moment locked in a room with your pretend-dead wife.” I pause, not sure how to say the rest.
“And you?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” I admit, clenching my fist around the handle of my teacup. “When I thought I was going to die, I knew my sisters would be as safe as they could be, and you would be as safe as you could be, and that was the best I could do. But now...I hate the idea of leaving them in her clutches, but if I try to get them out and she discovers me, they will be in far more danger than they are now.”
“And you’ll be back where you were, chained to her will by your love for them.”
“And you,” I add in a quiet voice. “Even if I don’t go, she will discover I’m alive at some point anyway. She won’t just sit on the other side of the world and accept the fact that she was beaten when she tried to teach you a lesson. When she sends someone here or worse, comes herself, she will find out that I’m alive.”
