fingers Isyllt still held. Sweat cooled on Isyllt’s brow.
“The plague is sorcery. Another attempt to weaken the city.” She let go of Dahlia’s hand and pulled the covers tightly around the girl’s neck. “I broke its hold on her.”
Mekaran released her; her shoulder throbbed where his fingers had ground flesh to bone. “You nearly killed her.”
She nodded, unclenching her aching jaw. “I’m no healer,” she repeated. “But it worked. She’s still sick, but the taint is gone. The jaundice should clear soon—if it’s anything like the real bronze fever, her urine will be bloody when it passes. Keep her warm and full of soup and tisane—she’s strong enough to fight the rest.” Or so she prayed.
Mekaran’s frown remained, but his shoulders slumped. He added fuel to the brazier before leading Isyllt back to the kitchen.
“What do you need my help for?” he asked as he poured tea. He set a cup in front of Isyllt, followed by a plate of yesterday’s bread and honey.
Between sips of tea, she explained about the murdered women, the riots and the growing unrest. “The last thing the city needs during the demon days is rioting. Violence and destruction will draw spirits like a beacon, and only further these demons’ plans.”
“And this demon witch who made the plague is the one who killed Forsythia.”
It wasn’t a question, but Isyllt nodded anyway. “Between you and Ciaran I thought you might talk some sense into the instigators. Once we deal with this sorceress they can march on the Justiciary all they please, but not in the next five days.”
Mekaran stared at the mug cradled in his broad hands. “I know some of the leaders. I’ll talk to them. They’re angry, though, and the marigolds who refuse to help them are a likelier target than demons no one has seen. Pray they listen.”
Isyllt laughed grimly. Her prayers were spread thin these days, and she knew the sort of answer she was likely to receive.
Nikos wasn’t in his chambers, and rather than hunt him through the palace Savedra settled in to wait. His room was cold, the air heavy with ash and incense—he didn’t often pray, but the doors of his shrine were open now, the burners streaked with ashes. She hoped the saints were listening.
She knelt in front of the cabinet, letting the scent of sandalwood and myrrh ground her as she gathered her wits. She’d waited too long to tell him and the story had grown too convoluted. A coup she could understand, even Varis’s misguided need for revenge on the Alexioi, but demons and stolen corpses—
Footsteps broke the spiral of her thoughts and she straightened her shoulders. The connecting door to Ashlin’s suite swung open, and Nikos entered with the princess at his heels. Savedra’s carefully planned explanations crumbled in surprise, and she drew back into the shadows to regroup. Neither of them turned in her direction.
“What is it?” Nikos asked when the door was latched behind them. His face was drawn, his voice strained. He inspected a bottle of wine on the sideboard before he poured, and Savedra smiled in approval—she’d insisted he seal all his bottles, and always check them before he drank.
“I’m sorry to trouble you,” Ashlin said slowly, waving aside an offered goblet. “I know this isn’t a good time for distractions.”
“You’re my wife,” he said with an exasperated laugh. “You’re allowed to distract me whenever you wish. Some might even encourage it.”
Ashlin didn’t so much as smile. Savedra knew she ought to speak before she eavesdropped further, but her tongue was frozen.
“I’m pregnant.”
Nikos’s mouth opened and closed again. “Are you sure?” Savedra felt as though she’d turned to stone.
“This is the third time. I know the signs.”
He drank before he spoke. “Forgive me,” he said after a long swallow, “but—”
Her mouth twisted. “But how can that be, when we haven’t shared a bed since I lost the last one?”
Savedra’s hands ached, clenched white-knuckled in her skirts.
“I would never accuse you….”
“It’s true, though. It isn’t yours. I’m sorry.” She squared her shoulders, a soldier facing discipline. “I didn’t mean for it to happen, and I won’t dishonor the oaths I swore any further by lying. I know the odds are poor that I’ll keep it any longer than the others, but I thought you should know. If you wish to begin divorce proceedings—”
“Slow down, please. You’re making my head spin.” He set his goblet aside. “Most state marriages last at least five years before public scandal and divorce. But if you’re that