“How did the females treat you this time?” he asked. “Did they, um, throw ’tude?”
There’d been no pushback from the sewing circle—by now everyone knew their sorceress queen could bespell them—but Lanthe had gotten some attitude.
After she’d faced down the females of Omort’s court and vanquished a sorceress like Hettiah, those Vrekeners had been a cakewalk. “No, I shut that down.” Remembering one of Sabine’s favorite sayings—if one shows me fear, he shows me respect—Lanthe had returned the ’tude and then some.
In other words, her clothes had been rush-ready! The dresses were plain white, but when she wore them with the necklace . . .
Not too shabby.
Of course, her current dress was white—and ink. “Anything new about Aristo?” Every day, more Vrekeners found the courage to divulge horror stories about the previous king and his three trusted knights. Those four had been a scourge on the Lore, hiding behind a cloak of righteousness.
“It’s everything you warned me of.”
As king of a people who believed in chastity until marriage, total sobriety, and forthrightness in all instances, Aristo had kept several love nests, drunk like a fish, and lied about his behavior.
She’d thought she would feel vindicated when Thronos comprehended these things. Instead she hurt for him. He was ashamed of his blood relative, feeling responsible.
“Things can only get better, right?” he asked.
“Speaking of which, I got a response from Bettina today.” The queen of the Deathly Ones had reported progress with her Vrekener phobia, but she’d still been less than enthusiastic to meet with one.
That hadn’t stopped Bettina from inquiring about the dragon gold. “She requested a detailed description of the medallion with a weight estimation and a photo if possible. So we’ve got her on the hook. Go, peace!”
Though his eyes remained closed, his lips curled. Yet then he tensed up again. “I regret that you have to give up your treasure.”
At least she’d still have her silisk gold keys.
“As soon as things settle down here,” he continued, “I’ll replace the medallion with something even greater.”
Another queen might have said, “Oh, you don’t have to do that, my goodly monarch, for I reap satisfaction just from assisting whenever I can.”
Lanthe? She cried, “Okay! And that has to be in addition to the ring you already promised me.” She worked her hands to the edges of his broad shoulders, massaging there, making his wings ripple from pleasure.
“Duly noted,” he said wryly. “And your letter to Sabine? How far have you gotten?”
“Only to Feveris. I might have spent a bit of time describing the gold temple. In any case, I want the Reader of Words to scan it before I send.” She bent down and pressed a kiss to his neck. “Our story’s pretty epic.”
But she had a chapter she wanted to add: the “Thronos’s Eternal Pain Ends” part. She couldn’t change the past, couldn’t magically transform their current circumstances—but could she make his old injuries better?
She’d hesitated to use power on him; ensorcelling his pain away would be a huge risk. For instance, in combat he might need pain to recognize how bad an injury was, or to remind him of blood loss so he could adjust his tactics for weakness.
Lanthe would have to straight-up heal him. Though she’d become an expert at this when she was a girl, she hadn’t needed to use those commands for ages.
Plus, back then, Sabine hadn’t been frozen into her immortality yet; she’d been more . . . malleable.
With Thronos, Lanthe would need to take her time. An unresisting patient would be ideal.
Her sorcery heated the air when she whispered at his ear, “Sleep, Thronos.” He passed out at once, body gone lax on the bed.
She rose to remove his boots, inspecting his lower right leg. The muscles on the inside of his ankle were contorted, as if he’d sprained them to a supernatural degree. Even with his body at rest, the tendons were knotted so tightly, they pulled his foot inward.
His calf was equally bad. She probed the bunched muscles with her fingers.
Total healing? She cracked her knuckles. She had to at least try.
Blue sorcery began to shimmer in her ink-stained palms as she brushed them over his flesh. “Heal,” she commanded as she massaged him.
Heat sprang from her hands, seeping into him. She could see currents of it beneath his skin, blue swirls. “Heal.”