Ruenen sighed, then raised Marai to her feet. He resumed his earlier princely stance, but his eyes danced with affection. He didn’t look away from her, not even as he addressed Raife. “Please escort Lady Marai to her chambers, and return once she’s settled. I need your immediate assistance with these loyalists.”
“I can help,” Marai said.
“You can barely stand,” said Raife.
“But what if—”
Raife led Marai from the room, the chill once again taking hold, her arms empty without Ruenen. She couldn’t make it back up the stairs, so Raife’s arm slid under her legs and lifted her off the floor. He carried her all the way up, and back to her room.
Strength abandoned her by the time she made it to the bed. Marai flopped into the sheets. Thora pulled the blankets up to Marai’s chin, then stroked a strand of wild hair out of Marai’s face.
“Sleep, Storm Cloud. I’ll wake you if there’s any trouble.”
Marai was about to protest, but Thora’s healing cobalt magic seeped into her pores, and sleep pulled Marai under.
Chapter 38
Marai
Harmona drew Marai a bath. The young maid avoided her gaze, staring modestly at the floor, bobbing up and down in frenetic curtsies. Harmona had sprinkled orange peels and flower petals in the water, along with lavender oil. It was deliciously fragrant and warm, and the water soothed the aches and pains in Marai’s rundown body. No bath had ever felt better. She soaked until her fingers and toes shriveled like dried apricots.
For the first time in many years, Marai felt optimistic. Hopeful. Anticipation tickled her skin and throbbed in her veins. There was a life worth living here. Maybe Marai could become someone different, too.
A soft rap sounded at the door. Harmona scuttled over and pulled it open, revealing Keshel. Marai had barely given him a second glance earlier in the Witan chamber, but now she could clearly see the scratches and bruises across his face from the battle; an indigo shadow encircled one eye. His long hair was draped in such a way to hide it.
Keshel noticed her gaze flicker from injury to injury. “These are but small wounds. Thora needs to be helping others.”
He looked her over then, and Marai knew he was observing the prominence of her bone structure, the hollowness of her face, after days of not eating. Her body still craved food, but Thora had warned that Marai needed to eat slowly and in small amounts for a while.
“You look well,” he said. “When you didn’t wake, I thought I’d—we’d—lost you.” A pink tinge came to his cheeks. He then produced a smooth wooden cane from behind his back. “Do you want to take a walk with me?”
Marai grimaced at the stick, but knew she’d never make it on her own two feet with legs as unsteady as a newborn foal. She snatched the cane from Keshel’s grasp and hobbled into the hallway.
“I heard you’ve been hard at work,” she said after several minutes of silence. “And that you’ve been wandering off alone for hours.”
They’d made it down the main stairs and into the garden. It was awash with color and beauty, so opposite of what the garden had been before. Marai breathed heavily as her pace slowed, taking in the strong floral scent of gardenias. She stumbled to a bench underneath a blooming trellis of vines and wisteria.
Keshel gazed around the garden, staring at everything but her. “The wandering is . . . sometimes, I need some space to think, is all.”
He was being cagey. What is he hiding? Had he had another vision?
“And I’m busy because I must do my part while I’m here, so that when I leave, you’re protected.” Keshel’s fingers stroked the soft petal of a pink rose bush next to him, perhaps reminding him of Kadiatu. Marai couldn’t help but see her face in every bloom and bud.
“Why must you leave at all?” she asked. “You’re needed here. Respected. Why leave somewhere you can finally call home?”
Keshel’s eyes slid to hers. “I cannot call Nevandia home, Marai, not until I see more of this world, and learn what I can.”
Marai’s anger flared. “What else do you need to learn, Keshel? There are hundreds of books in the library here. It’ll take you months to get through them all. And you’ve created a sanctuary for magical folk, and convinced another kingdom to open their hearts and minds. Stay, and continue to lead this growth.”
“Are you asking because you want me to stay? Or because Ruenen and Nevandia need me?”
The question caught Marai off guard as Keshel’s dark eyes searched hers.
“Of course I want you to stay. You’re my family, one of the few people I trust. I don’t want you to leave.”
Keshel’s face hardened briefly. That wasn’t the answer he wanted to hear, but he’d already known, or he wouldn’t have asked.
“I’ve had recent visions. Dark magic isn’t gone. This land may be free of it, but elsewhere in the world, others are using its power. The shadow creatures Rayghast created survive. Darkness will keep spreading, but we cannot stop it if we don’t know how. Something is coming. A war is brewing between light and dark. How can we prevent someone else from tapping into that power again?”
Another war. Dark magic didn’t die with Rayghast. Its power slunk beneath the earth, lying in wait for the next zealous, destructive soul to tap into it. Someday soon, Marai would face it again.
“There’s something important we’re missing. I need to know why I can see,” said Keshel. “Why you are so powerful, despite being half-fae. When I’m satisfied, I’ll return here. To you.”
Marai knew she had a part to play in this decision. If she’d asked him to stay, promised him something, he would have agreed, but Marai could promise Keshel nothing. Because she’d already given her heart away so thoroughly that there was never any coming back. Marai could never belong to another. She knew that now.
“Then I expect letters. Frequently. Detailing your findings.”
Keshel’s lips twitched. His eyes softened. “Yes.”
“You should look into Andara.”
Keshel froze. “Why?”
“Other fae escaped the massacres. The weres traveled to Nevandia with one, remember? And I met another on the docks in Cleaving Tides, and he told me that Andara might hold answers. Perhaps they’ve all been hiding over there.”
Keshel’s lips formed a thin line, as if holding back a remark. Instead, he nodded. “Maybe.”
Marai narrowed her eyes in suspicion. Cagey again, but she decided not to question him further. Perhaps this was merely Keshel’s way of dealing with grief. A melancholy washed over Marai as she heard a duo of thrushes chirp in a nearby tree.
