Ever the Brave (A Clash of Kingdoms Novel)(29)

“Said he found her in the woods . . .”

“. . . scars on her wrist . . .”

“. . . breathing, but her eyes won’t open.”

I hurry past them, scaring them once more, and turn down the hallway to the healer’s room.

“What happened?” I approach Leif and Omar, who are standing beside a bed.

Omar turns, the angry slashes of his brows lifting in surprise. “Your Highness, the situation hasn’t yet been assessed. I’ll come report once I know what’s going on.” He glares at Leif. “And why Leif thought it was a good idea to bring an unknown girl into your castle.”

“She’s dying.” Leif’s reddened face is drawn tighter than I’ve ever seen. “Where else would ya have me take her?”

“She could be a trap. Or at the very least, a threat.” Omar spins back to face the younger guard.

“A threat? Open yer eyes. She’s a wee gal. She cannot be more than thirteen.”

“I can see that, but have you forgotten what happened yesterday?” Omar’s jaw flexes.

Nona, the healer, rushes into the room from an adjoining door, carrying a bowl of water and white towels. A man follows behind, a local healer named Hagan that I’ve not seen since the week I spent in the castle healer’s care.

“Omar.” I cut into their ongoing argument. “Let the healers do their work before we determine whether she’s a threat.”

I can tell Omar isn’t pleased by the way his lips tense and whiten. Empathy isn’t his strength. But I suppose it makes him an excellent captain of the guard. He questions Leif about the girl and where she was found.

“I’d just rotated shifts with the guards at the base of Mount Avemoir. The girl came stumbling through the trees. I saw her collapse. Before she lost consciousness, she asked for help.”

“For what?” Omar says at the same time I ask, “From whom?”

Leif shakes his head. “Don’t know. Said ‘help’ a couple of times between short breaths. Then her eyes closed, and they haven’t opened since.”

Nona and Hagan move around us, examining the girl. Her skin is tawny, but it lacks the usual warmth from someone with a similar tone. The gray pallor makes her look frighteningly close to death.

Nona tells Hagan to make a brew before she turns back to the girl and lifts her lids. Unfocused orbs of silvery-blue gaze at nothing. Breath stutters out of the girl’s pale lips.

Nona’s mouth pinches. “Come on, girl. Don’t leave us,” she whispers.

Hagan returns with a small cup of brew, but sets it to the side of the bed when Nona points out the girl’s wrists. Hagan emits a small gasp.

“What is it?” Omar crowds the healers.

Nona turns the girl’s arm to show two burned circles with four small dots on the inside of her wrist. The puffy, red skin makes it appear as if someone’s branded her with an iron.

I start to repeat Omar’s question when a fragment of a memory returns.



“Did it work?” Jamis walked over to Phelia and pushed the length of her hair off her shoulder. He lowered his head, his lips touching the spot where the fabric of her dress met her neck.

She drew in a slow breath and stared out the window of my private quarters, eyes calculating, hard, and icy. “Must we always meet in here?”

“He’s a puppet.” Jamis waves his hand in my direction. My body is a lump under the blankets of my bed. “And if he wasn’t, you could inflict enough damage to erase his thoughts, couldn’t you?”

Phelia lifts one shoulder.

“Now tell me, have you figured it out?”

“Not quite. The girl died too quickly.”

“Were you able to use any of it?”

“I lit a candle.” Phelia crosses her arms.

Jamis approaches and rests his hands on her shoulders, squeezing.

Phelia steps away.

“What happened?”

“She died too fast. There wasn’t time.”

Jamis scowls. “That’s what happened to the last girl. How will I explain another death?”

Phelia spins around and whips out her arm, pulling the draping sleeve of her dress up. Black marks crawl over her skin. Semicircles, points, snaking lines. “The rune wasn’t right. Stop thinking about the inconvenience. This is a breakthrough. I’ve almost figured out how to keep the girls alive long enough.”

Jamis smiles. “That’s what I want to hear. But tell me, love, how many more times will you try? You’ve completely disfigured yourself.”



I rub my temples. I’ve seen the girl’s mark before, in my bedroom chamber. My gaze flicks from the rune on the girl’s arm to Hagan, whose shrewd gaze holds understanding.

“Come on, girl,” Nona pleads, swiping the medicinal brew on the young patient’s lips. The girl doesn’t respond. Her breaths seem to labor a little harder. Nona whispers the same encouragement once more as the rest of us around the bed hold our breaths.

One more rise and fall of her chest holds our attention. And then nothing more.

Even the muscles in her face slacken.

We wait. A couple of minutes pass, perhaps more. We’re all under the young girl’s spell, hoping for a change that isn’t going to happen. Eventually, Nona moves. She drops her chin to her chest and places a hand over the girl’s eyes, murmuring a prayer of passing.