POV: Mara
The healer dims the lanterns to keep the Regent’s pulse steady, but the room feels brighter anyway—too bright, like the walls are waiting for someone to scream. Every shadow is sharp. Every breath feels loud.
“Keep her tilted,” the healer murmurs. “Let the lungs clear.”
I lift the Regent’s shoulders carefully. Her hair brushes my wrist—silver and soft, nothing like the steel she pretends to be. Her skin is clammy. Her pulse jumps like a frightened animal.
“Come on,” I whisper. “Don’t let Seris write your ending.”
Cael hears that. The bond tightens like a noose and a lifeline all at once. He stands on the other side of the bed, fists curled so tight the scars on his knuckles whiten.
“This was meant for me,” he says, voice low, raw.
“No,” I answer. “It was meant for her—because you love her and Seris wants to break the things you love.”
He closes his eyes. Just for a heartbeat. It’s enough to break me a little.
The Regent stirs, only barely. A small sound escapes her, like she’s trying to wake through wet sand. I stroke her temple.
“That’s it,” I murmur. “Stay. We’ll fight the rest.”
Pia slips into the room with a basin of clean cloths and cheeks streaked with tears she refuses to acknowledge. “Changing,” she says thickly. “Her fever’s climbing.” She hands me a cloth. I press it to the Regent’s brow.
Cael leans closer, voice trembling at the edges. “Mother,” he whispers. “Don’t be stubborn. Please.”
Silvie clicks her tongue, a scolding meant to hide fear. “She’s too stubborn to die tonight,” she mutters.
“I hope she heard that,” I reply.
We fall into a rhythm—cloth, tonic, tilt, breathe, check pulse again.
Hours pass. Not gentle ones.
Jax returns with a fresh report, whispering so he doesn’t disturb the fragile quiet. “Found the first servant,” he says. “Alive. Drugged and shoved behind storage crates.”
“She didn’t do it,” I say immediately. The bond flares—agreement from Cael and something like pride.
“She didn’t,” Jax confirms. “She’s scared out of her mind, but she swears the tray was swapped while she blinked.”
“And the second?” Cael asks.
“Gone,” Jax answers grimly. “Likely bought. Possibly dead.”
Silvie hands him a cup. “Drink. You sound like gravel.”
He gulps it without argument. The steam curls around his jaw like tired ghosts.
The Regent coughs—sharp, violent. Tonic spills down her chin. I grab a cloth and wipe gently. Her eyes slit for a breath, unfocused but there.
“Cael…” she rasps, voice barely a thread.
He grips her hand so fast his chair skids. “I’m here.”
“Don’t…” Her eyelids flutter. “Don’t let her… unravel…”
Her voice disintegrates. But the fear in it doesn’t.
Cael bows his head over her fingers. “I won’t. I swear it.”
The bond slams with the force of what he isn’t saying: I’ll burn kingdoms to keep her breathing.
I place my palm lightly on the Regent’s wrist. “Rest. We tightened the world around you. No one gets in.”
Her breath evens. Not safe. Not steady. But patterned again.
Pia whispers, “She’s fighting.”
“She always fights,” I say, smoothing her hair. “But she shouldn’t have to alone.”
Cael looks at me then. Really looks. His eyes shine with a fear I’ve never seen from him—fear of losing the person who taught him to stand.
“I can’t lose her,” he says softly, like the sentence might break if he speaks it too loud.
“You won’t,” I answer, shifting to sit closer. “Not while we keep watch.”
Silvie tucks another blanket over the Regent. “We’ll need fresh water,” she says. “And ginger root. And a prayer or three.”
“We have more than prayers,” Pia mutters, glancing at me pointedly.
Too pointedly.
Cael’s head snaps up. “No,” he says immediately. “Not her. Not again.”
I blink. “I didn’t offer—”
“You were going to,” he says, voice shaking. “I felt it. The bond—”
“Cael,” I whisper. “If she crashes—”
His jaw cracks with tension. “You nearly burned yourself sealing me. You won’t trade pieces of yourself for her.”
“I’m not trading,” I say. “I’m lending.”
“Same thing,” he counters, breathing hard.
The healer cuts in. “Let her try—if the Regent’s heart goes off-pattern again. Not before. Not freely.”
I nod. Cael does not.
“She’s not touching any bond magic tonight,” he says, voice low, iron, terrified. “Not while I’m breathing.”
We settle again. Cloth. Breath. Tonic.
Jax drags in a cot for Cael. He refuses. “I stay here.”
I touch his arm. “Then sit,” I say. “You’re swaying.”
“I’m fine,” he lies.
“You’re leaking fever through the bond,” I whisper, guiding him down. “Sit.”
He collapses into the chair like gravity remembered him. I pull another blanket over his lap. He watches me through half-lidded eyes.
“Don’t leave,” he says.
“I wouldn’t even if I tried,” I answer.