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“That was so good,” she praised, showing me her smooth hand. “It’s incredible,” she continued, “I took months to be able to heal so well, and so quickly.”
“This is good, right?”
I’d be able to heal my men in no time. Maybe even before the memorial—just in case.
She nodded vehemently, “Very,” but her smile faded, “Well—it’s good, but it really isn’t any use if you can’t access it unless you’re touching another healer. We’re rare. I doubt there are more than four or five in the entire Night Court.”
I rocked back on my heels, all the wind ripped from my sails.
“Call for Alaric,” Aisling said after a moment of thought, “I want to see if you can heal him without contact.”
It was no use.And Alaric flayed his skin open for nothing. It wasn’t easy to watch either. I had to turn away when he did it. And then I was so desperate to heal him I couldn’t bring myself to focus. I barely managed to draw the Grace out even enough for me to feel it was there without Aisling touching me. And after several hours, Aisling said we should stop before I exhausted myself and ended up healing Alaric herself.
Little did she know I was already beyond the point of exhaustion. If I had less pride, I’d have asked Alaric to carry me to bed. My eyes burned, and my bones were heavy as though filled with iron.
I hardly remembered how I got into bed, much less how my robe had vanished, or my hair had come undone. I laid next to Alaric under the cloudlike covers, lulled by the slow rise and fall of his chest and the steady throb of his heartbeat.
He stroked my hair lightly, and even though my eyes were closed, I knew he was deep in thought.
“What is it?” I murmured.
He sighed, “It’s just—are you sure I can’t change your mind about going to the memorial?”
I gave my head a small shake, “No.”
He sighed again, “Such a stubborn girl.”
“Best get used to it. You’re stuck with me.”
Alaric’s hand halted in its soothing, stroking rhythm. A small sound of complaint vibrated in my chest and he resumed brushing his fingers through my hair. Over my scalp.
“Sleep now, my queen,” he whispered into the dark. His power over emotion seeped into my skin, further settling my bones, bringing me calm. Peace.
“If you insist on going to the memorial, then we must prepare. Tomorrow we will—” Alaric kept talking, his voice a low monotone, blending seamlessly into the sounds of the breeze dancing in from the terrace.
I moaned at the beauty of his Grace. It encapsulated me with warm security, like a blanket impervious to the evils of the outside world. It left me aching to fall into that soft, beautiful dark. Wishing I could live in it. In the painting of absolute peace swaying behind my eyelids. So beautiful.
So… perfect.
Chapter Fifteen
“Apeasant would never wear that,” I said to Kade, who held up a simple gray dress for my approval.
While the others rested—getting ready for our training session that afternoon, Kade was tasked with helping me find something suitable to wear to the memorial.
Kade tossed the dress down onto the bed, atop a pile of numerous other rejects. “The material—it’s too fine. And the seams are too perfect. Anyone could see expert hands made it. It probably cost more than most peasant families earn in a week.”
He grunted. “Then what do you suggest. These are the simplest things Darius had.”
An image of the short man with the smiling face and the ancient eyes flashed before me. I hadn’t seen Darius in weeks—not since before he finished redecorating my entire royal chambers.
“You got these from Darius?” I said, incredulous.
“Where else would I have gotten them?”
I folded my hands in front of me, trying, and failing not to giggle, “So, you’re telling me you got clothes to dress me as a peasant from the best tailor in the entire kingdom?”
He gave it a moment of thought, “Right,” he said, averting his gaze, and then, “Any idea where we could get something more… ugly?”
