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Her frown deepens. “But—”
“Never mind. It’s idle chatter. Nothing more.” I lean down to kiss her, coaxing her lips apart to taste her mouth one last time before I pull away.
“I’ll miss you,” she says, and I sense a burst of panic inside her, as if she didn’t mean to be so honest.
“Good. I’ll make up for lost time when I’m back.”
Heat ignites in her gaze with that promise.
“Don’t look at me like that or I’ll end up staying.” The baby below stares up at me, her eyes unfocused as she suckles. “Lucky.”
Gracen chuckles, but I’m not lying. I could easily find an excuse to abandon my responsibilities for another day or two. I nearly died last night. I would have if not for this mystery caster. I’m not eager to risk my life again so soon. Rhodes could hold the line until I arrive.
But time is not on Islor’s side, what with Neilina threatening us as well.
With one last lengthy kiss, I peel away.
“Oh, Atticus?” she calls out when I’m at the door.
I’ll never tire of hearing my name on her sweet voice. I want to hear it on her moans again. “Yes?”
“Some of the mortal children have ailments, and I was hoping Boaz could spare the priestess for an hour to tend to the worst of them. This morning, if possible. I’d like them to be comfortable.”
“I will order him to do so.”
A slow sigh slips from her lips. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”
“Not as much as I appreciate your help with them.” She took on a ballroom of children without complaint and with compassion I would never find in my kind. From what I hear, the crying has mostly stopped. “You know, you would make a good queen.” It’s a flippant comment, without any thought. But the moment the words are out of my mouth, I mean them. All the courtly requirements and political hoops, she could learn. Consideration for the plight of mortals as we navigate this potential new world, she could teach me.
She laughs, but the humor falls off when she sees me not joining in. “I am a mortal baker, Atticus.”
“And I have never been one to follow the rules.” Nor have I ever had these sorts of fantasies. Now, though, my pulse surges with anticipation.
I leave Gracen in my room and, for the first time in my life, I wish for a speedy battle just so I can return to her quickly.
A border of soldiers surrounds me as we approach the gate, their swords drawn and arrows nocked. The portcullis is already raised, with guards waiting to release the chain as soon as we’re through.
“Do you feel it?”
“Feel what?” Kazimir’s sharp eyes rove the windows and doorways. I know he blames himself for what happened last night. It will be a long time before we can pass a building without his extra caution.
“The energy in this city. It’s off.” I’ve patrolled these streets countless times on horseback as the commander of the king’s army. Even at the height of paranoia and fear, just after Ybaris murdered my parents and Romeria was in the tower, when buildings smoldered and bodies collected, and a thousand whispers told a thousand different stories, it did not seem this tense.
“It’s because of what happened to you last night. You are on edge.”
“Maybe.” But the air feels thick and heavy, the crowd barely restrained, their gazes full of poorly disguised malice.
It’s as if something is about to explode.
It feels wrong to leave Cirilea in this state, and yet I have no choice. Much bigger threats to Islor await me out there.
Boaz stands at the gate with a small company of guards forming a ring, their swords drawn and aimed outward at anyone who might think to charge now.
“Fight well, Your Highness.” He offers a curt bow. “The king’s guard will hold your city until your return.”
“I trust you will.” I urge my horse forward, but then remember. “Send the priestess to administer healing to the mortal children in the ballroom this morning.”
“Healing.” His perpetual scowl claims his face. “What healing do they need? We have mortals left to mark—”
“We can spare an hour.” Frankly, we can spare more. “Whatever she asks for, you give it to her. Understood?”
His jaw clenches. “As you wish, Your Highness.” But it is clear he does not agree.
I knew there might be a day when I would have to reconsider Boaz’s role in Cirilea. Perhaps when I return, I will make some changes. Until then, at least Boaz will follow my command.
“Let us make haste.” My small processional of twenty soldiers moves ahead, past Cirilea’s gate. The heavy chain sounds as the portcullis drops behind us, and our horses kick into a steady canter.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
ZANDER
“Daylight up ahead!” someone shouts and a chorus of cheers echoes.
