Page 45 of Seaspoken

I stand in the middle of the room, trembling. How did this night go so terribly wrong?

A pitcher of water sits on a washstand near the bed, with a threadbare towel folded beside it. I douse the towel and wring it out, then settle onto the bed beside Keliveth. There’s too much blood, and it needs to disappear. I gently sponge it from his skin, careful not to touch the wounds that still look too raw.

Falamar didn’t even give him fresh bandages. Maybe it’s not necessary with healing runes at work, but it seems wrong to me. I go to the wardrobe and sort through Keliveth’s meager stash of clothing until I find a tunic with frayed cuffs and a tear in the hem. I shred the old garment into strips. The sound of each snapping thread satisfies my anger just a little.

If he wakes. If he wakes.The words play over and over in my mind. Tears stream down my cheeks as I bind the bandages around him. I don’t bother brushing them away now. There’s no one to see, no elven lords to judge me as weak.

At last, when I can do no more for him, I stretch out beside Keliveth and pull the blankets over both of us. My hand comes to rest over his heart. I cling to each feeble beat, praying the morning brings new hope.

Iwant to sleep, butan unsettling whirl of thoughts keeps my tired eyes from shutting. I stare up at the starry ceiling, with memories of Falamar and Lord Thëalanin's conversation running through my mind like a nightmare.

Here in the quietness, I think of all the things I wish I had said to them. But would there have been any point? The nobles had nothing but disdain for me and Keliveth. Even if Keliveth recovers, do we have any chance of negotiating a peace treaty with these haughty elves?

Even that thought seems strange now. The joy of the Shantura celebrations and my worry over the mate challenge seem a world away, as if everything was a beautiful dream. How much I’ve cast aside in the space of one night! And now, I know the truth.

Keliveth might be all I have left in the world.

In the end, he is all I want.

Exhaustion finally overwhelms me. Suddenly, I jolt awake—for I had fallen asleep. A pink morning sky fills the window, where stars shone seemingly moments before.

“Keliveth?” I push myself up on one elbow and look hopefully at him. Some of the color has returned to his face. I brush my hand over his brow. His skin is less cold than before.

But he doesn’t stir. My heart sinks all over again.

The hinges of the door creak. I realize it was the sound of the turning lock that awakened me. I sink back down beneath the blanket and watch as Falamar steps into the room. He wears fresh robes, but his long green hair is in tangles and there are shadows under his eyes.

I think of the maps and papers I swept off his council table. He probably spent the rest of the night planning his next attack against my people. I grip the folds of the blanket in my hand.

At least he has kept his word and returned to check on Keliveth.

It’s something. But it isn’t nearly enough. The bit of rest I gained has set my thoughts in order. I’m finished playing into this man’s intrigues.

I glimpse several soldiers standing outside in the hallway. They don’t enter the room. I might never have another chance to speak with Falamar without his lords hovering over him. I’m not going to waste it.

As he starts to crouch down beside the bed, I open my eyes wide and look him in the face. He draws back, flinching in alarm.

I don’t look away. A moment later, he hesitantly bends forward again. He reaches for the bandage at Keliveth’s side as though to check the wound, but his focus stays on me and his fingers fumble.

I know that look, and I hate it. It’s the expression of one who believes I’ll claw him when he’s not looking—of one who refuses to see me as anything other than a savage creature.

I bare my fangs and let out an angry hiss. Falamar recoils so quickly he stumbles into the wall.

“Damn it, woman, I’m not going to hurt him.” He runs a hand through his hair, mussing it further. “I just need to make sure he is still healing, like I told you.”

“Do you fear me?” I keep my gaze locked on him while he hesitantly comes forward and kneels by the bedside.

The elven king lifts the edges of Keliveth’s bandages just long enough to check whether the mending runes are still doing their work.

“If you do not want the elves to fear you,” he says at last, “perhaps you should stop snarling at us every time we come near you.”

“You chose to fear me long before I ever bared my teeth at you.” I push myself up on my forearms so that we are face to face. “You chose the first time I stood at your gates with an offering of friendship. You saw me as your enemy, and so that is what I became. Now Keliveth and I have given you one last chance for peace, and you’re squandering that too.”

Falamar sits back abruptly and brushes his hands on his robes. “Are you blaming me for the atrocities your people have committed?”

“No. I’m holding you accountable for your own. You are of Sovarthian House, a descendant of high kings. You are supposed to be noble and strong like your forefathers. You could choose your friends and your enemies with wisdom. You could silence your petty lords and honor your Dalzana prophet like you’re supposed to. But you feareverything, and so you make yourself nothing.”

“Keliveth would be perfectly safe if he wasn’t such a star-cursed fool.” Falamar folds his arms. “You should be thanking me. The lords didn’t want me to heal him at all.”

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