Page 136 of Across an Endless Sea

Forty-One

Rhoswyn

I’ve been lying in bed for hours, staring out at the star-painted sky beyond my window, praying for sleep, but it’s no use.

After Kitarni’s apology, I’ve made peace with my failure to charm Caed and my decision to let him go, but those are the least of my immediate worries. I can’t forget about the way Bree practically ran away from me earlier, or the ceremony tomorrow that will make my place in all of this official.

Once I’m crowned, the lives of all of these people are my responsibility. Their safety, happiness, livelihoods… Of course, they were my responsibility before, but somehow, the coronation makes it all so much more real and even more daunting.

And Bree all-but ran away from me when I asked him about his past. I keep pushing him too far, too fast, and guilt is gnawing at me.

It’s well past midnight when I give up on sleep. Slipping from the furs on my bed, I tug a shawl around my shoulders and pad out into the garden.

When I went to bed, the púca was perched at the far edge of the garden, wings held tight to his back like a gargoyle overlooking the city. Hopefully, he’s still there. I can apologise, and then perhaps sleep might finally take pity on me.

I pass the trees and reach the gently gurgling fountain, straining in the darkness to see him. Then, when my eyes can’t pick out his silhouette, I reach for his bond, only to find it distant.

No one’s here. I’m alone with only the empty, cold view of the city below and the stars above for company. Bree must have left.

Swallowing my disappointment, I approach the edge, pause, and then sit, letting my legs swing over the edge as I take in the view below. Around the grand temple, people are still running around like ants, preparing for tomorrow’s ceremony. The inner city is abuzz with anticipation. Everyone is waiting for tomorrow.

The pressure is like a noose around my throat, making it hard to breathe, so I turn my gaze to the horizon.

In recent days, the outer city has stopped burning, leaving only an inky ring of darkness around Elfhame. The sight sends a shiver down my spine. If the Fomorians are no long busy burning and looting, then what are they up to?

“You should rest before your coronation.”

I whirl, clutching my shawl in a death grip until I finally spot him. Amber eyes glint in the shadows, and beneath them, a silver blade flicks around his fingers in a practised pattern as beautiful as it is deadly.

I wait until he looks away, silently confirming his identity before I speak.

“Drystan.” I swallow. “I didn’t realise anyone was—”

“If you think you’ll ever be left alone while Caed is out there, you’re sorely mistaken.”

I flinch, then curse myself. Only Drystan can bring out this side of me, and I hate it.

“You can’t sleep?” he asks, flicking the knife back up into the sheath on his arm.

I shake my head.

“I’m worried I won’t make a very good Nicnevin,” I mumble. “They’re all down there, preparing for the coronation, thinking that I’ll be like Maeve or Mab or Titania and I’m just… me.” I pause, then huff.

Drystan is silent for so long that my cheeks start to heat. What was I thinking, confessing such a stupid, insecure thought to the least understanding member of my Guard? Jaro would’ve offered some comfort, Lore would’ve distracted me, even Bree might’ve offered quiet reassurance. But Drystan won’t spout soothing falsehoods to ease my fears. He’s too blunt for that.

“You’re worrying for no reason.”

I gape at him. “No reason?”

“Even the worst Nicnevin ever would be ten times better than the current minor royals.”

“What? How?”

“Cressida is a bitch. Eero’s a manipulative asshole, and Cedwyn…” His eyes darken, and a small flame spurts to life at the tip of his ear before he swats it out. “Cedwyn is a paranoid prick.”

So the compliment isn’t really a compliment at all. Why am I not surprised?

“Aiyana isn’t bad,” he continues, “But she is as unpredictable as the season she rules over. Hardly a good trait for a queen.”

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