The Heart Forger (The Bone Witch #2)(36)

But the asha shook her head. “Kings and emperors need the people more than the people need them, princess. Kings are kings only because one ancestor was quicker than another to place a crown on his own head. Bravery and courage are not passed down through blood. Kings and emperors do not require valor or good works; all they require is submission.”

“But there is no one else fit to rule, milady.”

“In Odalia, they tell us that all men are made in Blade that Soars’ s image, and all women in Dancing Wind’s. What claim would he possess to hold the crown better than yours, princess?”





11


For two days, a line of worried doctors traipsed into the prince’s bedchamber and traipsed back out again armed with conflicting diagnoses. King Telemaine held a vigil by his bedside, but not even Princess Inessa or Lady Mykaela was allowed entry.

I divided my time between waiting anxiously in the hallway and sitting in my room, desperately searching for something, anything, within Aenah’s Faceless book that could help the prince. “What good are you?” I finally sobbed, flinging it in a brief fit of rage. What was the use of Scrying and puppets when they couldn’t save the prince?

Kalen had taken the events worse than I had and was reduced to pacing Kance’s hallway, rejecting food and rest. “I can’t think about eating at a time like this, Tea.” He looked like he hadn’t slept since the prince collapsed.

“You’ll become as sick as His Highness without anything in your stomach.” I shoved bread into his hands. “Do they even know what’s happened to Prince Kance?”

Giving in to my bullying, Kalen accepted a piece. “Nothing yet.”

“Why not ask Althy to help? She’s the best healer among the asha.”

Kalen sighed. “Politics. Lady Altaecia is a Kion asha, and as friendly as they are, to ask for help from a neighboring kingdom is a sign of weakness.”

“But not at the cost of the prince’s life!” I insisted.

“I wouldn’t put my son’s life over the needs of the kingdom.” For all his bulk, King Telemaine could walk silently when he wished to. Kalen jerked to attention. “Lady Mykaela, however, has taken a look at him, even she was at a loss.”

“Can’t we do anything?” I pleaded.

He smiled kindly at me, though his eyes were heavy with fatigue. “It warms my heart to know that Kance has friends he can trust. But his illness is beyond our understanding. The doctors can find nothing wrong with him, save for his heartsglass turning an unusual gray. All he does is sleep.”

Dread seized my gut. “Gray? He won’t wake up?”

“So they say. The best doctors in the kingdom and they have no idea. Lady Tea?”

I was already backing away. “I’m sorry, Your Highness. I have to go.” I tore down the hallway, heart pounding. A sleeping sickness. Where had I heard that before?

Kalen caught up to me easily as I reached the gate. Fox, so attuned to my emotions, was already there astride Chief. My horse-familiar pawed at the ground, eager to be off.

“Where are you going, Tea?” Kalen yelled behind me.

“To see Khalad!” I vaulted onto Chief, who was intelligent enough to pick up on my thoughts. Soon, we were cantering into the city, leaving the Deathseeker staring after us.

Khalad was hunched over another one of his creations when we burst into the room. He started but deftly caught the delicate heartsglass before it fell. “Please knock next time, Lady Tea,” he said sternly. “This new heart has a very rare memory. It’s not every day you find one over a hundred years old—”

“Prince Kance is ill, Khalad,” I gasped out. “They say it’s a sleeping sickness!”

Khalad’s eyes widened, his expression suddenly stricken. “Kance is sick?”

“He has been for two days! His heartsglass turned gray right before my eyes! Wasn’t that a symptom of the sleeping sickness the old forger was investigating?”

He flushed. “But that’s impossible! The master was certain there would be no such cases in Odalia.”

“That’s not how illnesses work,” my brother objected.

Khalad rummaged through a pile of books in one corner of the room, returning with several parchments.

“Master conducted a thorough investigation,” he explained, unrolling one of the parchments. “There have been four known incidents so far. Baron Cyran of Istera: age twenty-three. He went to bed one night and couldn’t be woken the next morning.” He uncovered another. “The Earl of Mancer, from Arhen-Kosho: age thirty-eight. He was out hunting boar when he suddenly toppled off his horse. Here’s another: a royal princess from the house of Weixu, of Daanoris: age sixteen. She fell unconscious in the middle of a ball.”

Khalad swiftly unfurled the last parchment. “The Marquise of Thanh, one of the smaller city-states of Yadosha. The marquise was sixty-seven, though still in good health. He drifted off while giving a speech. None could be roused, their heartsglass a muted gray.”

“Different ages, all of noble blood. Physically healthy,” I said, scanning through the reports. “But they don’t seem to have anything else in common.”

“There is one attribute.” Khalad sounded grim. “Master said they were all descendants of the Five Great Heroes.”