Page 128 of Spark of the Everflame

I blinked down at my body.

“Whose clothes are these?”

“Yours were destroyed. I—my cousin changed your clothes.” He at least had the wisdom to look a little mortified. “She’s a woman—my cousin, that is.Shehelped you.”

A glimmer of memory surfaced.

Pants. She—she normally wears pants.

Luther had asked some cousin to strip me down and dress me. Worse, they must have bathed me—there wasn’t a speck of dirt to be seen. My hair was clean and soft, falling free in milk-white waves. Even my nails had been scrubbed and filed to a delicate arch.

And I was indeed wearing pants. Sleek and darkest blue, made of some thick, stretchy fabric I’d never worn before, with hard armor sewn into the thighs and hips that reminded me of the Royal Guard’s uniform. On top, a tunic three sizes too large hung off my bare shoulder, smelling of that same woodsy, musky scent I’d caught earlier.

“Are you still hurt?”

My gaze snapped up. “Hurt?”

“It was difficult to tell if your injuries were serious. I’d planned to call for Maura when you woke.”

I frowned. “Injuries?”

I flexed each of my limbs, pushed up my sleeves to examine my arms, ran my fingers along my neck and face—no wounds, no swelling. Other than some soreness and a lingering stiff neck, I felt no worse than after a night of hard drinking.

“I... I think I’m fine. I made it through the night, so probably nothing internal.” I shot him a good-natured scowl. “You shouldn’t wait to call for a healer for a mortal, you know. We aren’t like you Descended. Our bodies don’t always heal just because an injury didn’t kill us.”

He gave me a strange look. “You really believe that, don’t you?”

“Believe what?”

“That you’re not...” His voice trailed off with an awful sadness, something that seemed too close to pity on his face.

A furious buzzing filled my head—a war of whispers and memories, questions and accusations. I avoided his eyes, tucking in the tunic as I fought the invasion of unwanted suspicions threatening to break through my carefully constructed walls.

My feet shuffled awkwardly. “I should get home. My father must be out roaming the streets looking for me by now.”

“I sent a message to your family.”

I stilled. “You didwhat?”

“I suspected they would be concerned if you didn’t return, so I spoke with the palace courier. He said he was familiar with your family. I had him send them a message that you were safe and staying here for the night.”

I groaned and rubbed circles into my temples. The palace courier—Henri’s father. The only thing worse than my father knowing I’d spent the night at the palace was my fatherand Henriknowing I’d spent the night at the palace. I had no idea which of them would be more furious.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

I sighed, shoulders slumping. “No, it... it was a thoughtful gesture. Thank you.”

I spotted my boots lying beside the bed, but I didn’t move to grab them. Suddenly I had no desire to leave this room and face the world beyond.

Sorae’s shrill cry rang out again. Luther was right, she didn’t sound sad—but she didn’t sound worried, either. Her drawn-out trill sounded urgent, impatient.

“Before you go,” Luther said, “would you mind tending to the King? He’s been acting strange since last night.”

I hesitated. “I really shouldn’t...”

“Not even a brief look?”

“I—I don’t have my supplies. And Maura, she... I’m not—”

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