Page 4 of Ties of Shadow

“What is the meaning of this?” he slurred. “Why are you here?”

“I’m sorry I startled you, Father. I brought you your evening tea.”

He frowned at the tray on the far side of the room as he slumped into his chair with a putrid sigh. “Did you design to bring it to me cold? Get it here, girl!”

I briefly curtsied again and slipped around the tables. Setting the tray in front of him, I gathered his three sugars and cream and passed him the cup and saucer. “Here, Father.” Disdainfully, he took the tea and dropped more amber liquid from the bottle into the cup. As if he needed more.

His red-rimmed eyes peered over the rest of the tray. He grasped the remnants of the herbs I’d gathered, rolling them between his thumb and forefinger. “What is this? What stagnate hollow did you drag this out of? Is this supposed to help me? Help Her Majesty?”

“I…I’m sorry, Father, it was…that is, I had more, but the storm—”

“Excuses! She is dying, and you don’t even care.”

My heart beat heavily in my chest. “I’m sorry.”

“Not as sorry as the queen will be from her grave! Or her husband from the throne! I am constantly protecting you. All I ask in return is a bit of help and care. And you do this!” Father picked up the metal kettle faster than I could duck and threw it. The kettle went wide and hit the wall behind me. Hot water flew about the room, some seeping quickly through the thin linen of my back. I cried out despite my best efforts to stifle the reaction. He was too far gone to be reasoned with. I had to go.

“You know we need more.” He threw the tray next, though his stumble sent it wide as I crawled toward the door. It clattered to the floor. “Get back out there! And find more white thieves too. Don’treturn unless you have them and the racerbristle. Am I clear?” I scrambled up, grabbing the tray and the metal kettle, and turned to rush out. I felt the rumble of his loamer magic a second before the ground shuddered beneath me, destabilizing a table and knocking a potion bottle to the floor.

“Clean that up! And get this last potion to Her Majesty. She could die tomorrow because of your laziness.” He gestured to the half-filled vial by the door, the purple liquid sloshing in the latent vibrations as it stood in the cabinet on the wall.

“Yes, Father.” I hustled to grab the broom and finished in a moment, snatching up the potion and tea items as I slipped out of the room. As I left, I could hear him muttering and grumbling as he cradled the portrait of Mother he’d knocked over with his rumbling. I left him rubbing at his wrist and nursing his broken heart.

It was a small mercy that Chef was not in the kitchen when I returned the tray; she would have undoubtedly looked at me with pity. Even without magic, she could always see right through me. I clung to my mantras and my apathy like a shield when I dealt with him, but her big, sad eyes would undo it all.

Hardly breathing, lest my breaths break into uneven sobs, I barged into my room, pressed the door shut, and settled before my little mirror. A single tear betrayed me, falling with a pat upon the table. I smeared the tear with my thumb, frowning and trying to hide the evidence of my weakness.

That hadn’t been as bad as some visits. My blue eyes shimmered as another wave of tears threatened, the water making my eyes appear more cerulean than sky. It could have been worse. He was right, of course; the herbs were burned, and the queen was sick. I should have found a gentler way to wake him. I should have searched harder for theherbs. I should have cleaned my skin better. I failed so many of those who mattered to me today. I vowed to work harder tomorrow.

I closed my eyes, unable to stop the escape of two more drops.

“He loves me. He loves me. He is my father. I love him. I am here to help him. It is my purpose as a daughter. As a servant of the crown.” A breath seeped out between my teeth, slow and agonal. The mantras weren’t helping tonight. “He loves me. He is just grieving. He misses Mother. He…has a lot of pain from the severed soulbond. He would never hurt me. He loves me.”

My ears were ringing as I rose to cool my face in fresh water. I just wanted to be helpful. I just wanted—well, it didn’t matter what I wanted. My head throbbed; my throat tightened with emotions I refused to feel. Shaking my head to shed them completely, I reviewed my appearance in the mirror. I was Able Aelia, here to serve. Patting the potion in my pocket, I headed toward Her Majesty’s quarters.

I carried the precious cargo down the dark servants’ passages, popping out just before the royal suites. A guard watched as I passed, and another opened the queen’s doors so I could enter. The hallways for the nobles were almost as bright as noonday with the luz lamps that lined the walls. Unlike the prince’s audacious golden rooms and the king’s royal navy rooms, the queen’s rooms were a soft ivory laced with sage green, blush rose, and wispy gossamer fabrics. The room was lit by gobs of luz, and pans of healing oils dispersed pungent odors into the air. But despite our best efforts, the room still stank of illness. My eyes immediately prickled again. I blinked furiously before I moved past the drawing room into her bedchambers.

The nurse sat in the corner, twisting fibers onto a spindle, her eyes glazed and distant. A seer from the temple rocked back and forth on the balcony, muttering, chanting, and throwing some watery substance off the ledge in a prayer for the land to heal our monarch. She glancedback at me, and a shiver wormed its way down my spine. I smiled and curtsied rather than revealing my discomfort at her penetrating black gaze.

“I see a change coming,” the seer whispered.

“Aelia?” The queen’s soft voice whispered through the curtains of her four-poster bed and pulled straight the silken sheets. My smile bloomed into a genuine one—somehow, she always knew it was me.

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Coming beside her, I pulled the potion out with a little wave. “I have your medicine.”

The queen was pale, her cheeks sunken in, and her mouth dry and waxen. She was set up among a thousand pillows, making her diminutive frame appear even smaller, dwarfed by the comfort that propped her upright.

Her knobby hands reached for mine. “Ah, sweet girl,youare my medicine.” A cough wracked her, and the nurse rushed to dab at the trickle of blood that spat onto her lip. “You are good for me.” Her dry lips split into a grin. “Now tell me of the castle.”

And so I did. This was our near-daily routine these days. Before she got so sick, Leon and I used to play hide and seek in her rooms with some servant boy, to the queen’s great delight. She started having me over for tea in her rooms for my birthdays when I turned eight, even though she didn’t always feel well. Queen Gemaline was more than a monarch to me. She was like the mother I had lost so long ago. As I grew up, she grew weaker, unable even to be wheeled out to the sitting rooms, so I brought the tea and potions to her instead. I would tell her about the kitchen gossip, the weather in the lowlands, and the herbs I’d found that day. We would argue over which pastry was Chef’s best and predict which servants would be married next.

She asked me about the Mastersons. Her happiness that yet another couple found their match was something I was unwilling to steal away with my negativity. The queen often reached for my hands, earning a tut from the nurse and a scowl from the seer.

When I was ten, the queen had told them all off, claiming that she must know the inner life of the castle to rule well when she recovered. Now, they mostly let us be. I was harmless entertainment for the ailing monarch.

I told her about the wolf and my clumsy meeting with the forester. Her laugh was airy and weak, but my heart was pleased to ease her suffering, even for a moment. She retold one of her favorite tales about Leon, but I never minded. It was when they had gone to the coast, found my father’s herbal shop, and wooed him to the kingdom of Nuren with a job.

“So Leon leaped off the tree and landed on his bottom in the shallow water!” The queen chuckled. “Poor boy was so put out that his splash was not the epic explosion he had planned. He ran out to me, sopping wet and mud dripping everywhere as he rushed into my arms. Oh, we were filthy! I dare say as filthy as you were!”

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