Page 95 of Between Smoke and Shadow

The guard lifts his hand in a lazy, dismissive gesture. The royal releases me, and I surge forward again.

“A healer?—”

“He’s right, creature,” the guard says. He’s bald with a sloping nose and a deep crease between his eyebrows. He tightens and releases his fist, tiny flickers of magic sparking with each movement. “Elites and royals only.”

“It’s not for me,” I say. “The prince! The prince needs a healer.”

“The princes are dead,” he says. He flinches as he speaks, but he otherwise remains still.

“No,” I say. “He’s alive. I will take you to him. I just?—”

Someone, maybe that same royal man, grabs my shoulder again. They wrench me backward, and I stumble, falling onto myass and then struggling back to my knees. I can feel my heartbeat through my entire body.

They’re not going to help him. They’re going to let him die.

“Go on,” the guard says. “These people are anxious. They’re looking for something to distract themselves, and if you stick around, that’s going to be you. I’m too fucking tired to keep them from beating you. Sogo.”

I swallow, but I can’t back down. I can’t leave. Harrick will die, and if he dies, I will too.

I scramble to my feet and lunge forward, clasping both hands around the guard’s wrist. He blinks at me in shock, the magic sparking brighter from his fingertips.

“You will get me a healer,” I say. I raise my voice, until I’m yelling, until I’m louder than I’ve ever dared to be. “I am your queen—and you will get me a healer! Right. Now.”

“Wyhel, it’s fucking deranged,” the royal man says, lurching away from me.

“Three seconds,” the guard says. He stares at me, and despite my veil between us, I’m terrified he might actually kill me. “Three seconds to release me, or I’ll end your pathetic, worthless?—”

“Unhand her.”

My head jerks toward the familiar voice. The Architect said everyone was dead, but she sounds like…

“Princess Tora,” the guard says. He turns toward her, probably to point out I’m the one holding him, not the other way around.

I’m too busy staring at Harrick’s sister to know if he says anything at all. Tora wears a frilly red dress that’s been torn and muddied. Her usually plaited hair is messy and tangled around her face, but there isn’t a spot of damage on her.

If she was hurt, they’ve already healed her.

I’m still staring, eyes wide, when she pushes between me and the bald guard. Her hands wrap around my shoulders, crushing me into a tight hug. I freeze, too surprised to return the gesture.

“You’re alive,” I say. My mouth bobs a few times as I try to decide what to say before finally managing, “He said you were dead. That you were all?—”

“Where’s my brother?” she interrupts. She pulls back to look at me, her pale violet eyes cataloging me from my wet hair to my bare feet. “Is he alive?”

“He’s alive,” I say, choking through the words. “He’s alive, but he needs a healer. Please, believe me.”

“I believe you,” she says. She tucks my hair behind my ear with a touch far too gentle for someone like me. I can only imagine how the royals are staring, whispering at the two of us. I don’t have the energy to look. “Let me get Joran.”

Before I can reply, Tora sweeps back into the infirmary, glaring down the bald guard as she passes. It’s only seconds, and she’s back. She’s joined by a heavyset healer, dressed in simple black clothes, and a maskless Joran. His hair is red, like Caleah’s, but brighter. It sticks up in every direction like a wild flame.

“They’ll go with you,” she tells me. “I need to stay. Dae isn’t doing as well as the rest of us, and I…I want to be here when he wakes.”

“Okay,” I say, but I’m rooted in place. My mouth dries as I peer into the infirmary. I can’t imagine the frenzy that’s bleeding through every level of Savoa right now, only that most of it is my fault.

I killed the Architect. Harrick killed Malek.

I’m overcome with the realization that might be unforgivable, even if Harrick is strong enough to claim his throne.

“Tora,” I say, shaking as I step toward her. She doesn’t lean away in revulsion like I fear, instead placing a hand on my shoulder as she comes closer. I whisper, turning my head so only she can hear. “It was me.”

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