Bone Palace, The - Amanda Downum Page 0,85
court physician had scolded her after inspecting her stitches and changing the dressing on her arm. A bottle of opium-laced wine sat on the table beside her, as yet unopened—she needed her wits more than a surcease of pain at the moment.
Nikos and Ashlin had traded their normal places. He paced the length of the carpet at the foot of the bed, and she leaned against the doorframe, arms folded tight. Savedra couldn’t bring herself to look at either of them. “I never should have put the princess at risk,” she said to her lap, to her scabby white-knuckled hands. “It was foolish and thoughtless and—”
“I take my own risks, thank you,” Ashlin snapped. The talon scratches were stark and red on her cheek and brow. She was pale, despite her unabated temper, eyes shadowed. “None of this is your fault.”
She meant more than demon birds, but Savedra couldn’t accept the absolution. She carried a store of little secrets daily, like a child’s cache of treasures, but this one was too big, too heavy.
Distant voices rose to fill the silence, the sound of shears and wheels and rakes. In addition to the looming solstice celebration, the palace staff now had an extra strain. A rider had passed Savedra and Ashlin on the road back from Evharis, and they had seen the dust of a marching army blurring the sky behind them. The king would be home soon.
Nikos stopped his circuit and lifted a hand before either of them could speak again. “There’s no point in recriminations. I’m only happy neither of you was harmed worse. What exactly did you find, anyway? The secret history of the vrykoloi?”
He joked, but Savedra’s mouth pinched too tight to smile. She caught herself fidgeting with the edge of her bandage and dragged her hand away. Ashlin stayed quiet, waiting for her to speak. Something blossomed behind her breastbone, so hot and sharp she wanted to cry. Saints help her. She’d dared one foolish love; she wasn’t sure she could survive another.
“Please,” she said at last. She couldn’t lie, not to him, but neither could she lay the inadequate story bare. “Let me keep this for a time. It’s… a family mystery. Let me look for answers before I share it.” Her hands twisted in her lap, till her stitches itched and throbbed. “Forgive me.”
“Vedra. Love.” Three swift strides brought Nikos to her bedside. He cupped a hand against her cheek, tilting her head up. “You’ve done nothing that needs forgiveness. Keep your secrets. I trust you.”
She was her mother’s daughter. She didn’t flinch. That felt as damning as any lie. “Thank you,” she whispered. From the corner of her eye she saw Ashlin flinch for both of them, turning her face to the wall.
No, this wasn’t a secret any of them could survive.
Despite her promises of rest to the physicians, Savedra was out of bed within the hour. Her maid frowned and tsked, but helped her bathe and dress and pin up her hair. She needed armor as well as wits to face her family.
Fog drifted heavy through the streets, and even with her cloak and the shelter of a carriage, she was chilled through by the time she reached Phoenix House. The last light of evening glowed behind the rooftops, tinting the grey haze with sepia and rose. The maid directed her to her mother’s study, where Nadesda and Sevastian sat with the remains of a quiet supper and letters sprawled on a table between them. Sevastian’s sleeves were rolled up, his shirt open at the throat, and Nadesda wore a dressing gown and her hair unpinned, sable coils unraveling across her shoulders. The quiet domesticity caught in Savedra’s throat.
Her father rose to embrace her, his beard tickling her cheek with his kiss. “You look exhausted. I thought you were going to Evharis for your nerves.” A teasing smile accompanied the last.
She tried to smile back, but it felt more like a grimace. “Hello, Father. I’m sorry, but I need to speak with the archa.” The rudeness of it made her throat ache, but she didn’t have the strength for a pleasant visit tonight.
Sevastian’s brow creased but he nodded. “Of course.” He caught his jacket off the back of his chair.
“Father, I am sorry—”
He smiled ruefully and laid a warm hand on her shoulder as he passed. “I knew she would be archa when I married her. One grows accustomed.”
When the door clicked shut, Savedra knelt before her mother’s chair and winced; she’d