Page 13 of The King's Queen

“You’d better start stitching yourself up before I give you something to whine about.” She doesn’t bother to tear her gaze from her new patient, and Finneas only pats my shoulder in sympathy. I jolt from the brute strength of the man, and he mumbles a sheepish apology. So our relationship always goes, Aiko and I mouthing off at each other, and Finneas watching amused from the background. To be fair, he gets his own jabs in there on occasion.

At the first pierce of the needle, my eyes water, blurring the dimly lit room. The girl’s face becomes a swirl of peach, purple, and pure gold. She looks like an oil painting that Mother has hanging in the kitchen, Raon incarnate. How ironic.

If there’s any beauty in her, it’s impossible to tell beneath the blood and bruising. Her lip is swollen, a hint of purple peeking out from underneath her curtain bangs. A slight trickle of golden blood dribbles from her nose, no doubt from the strain of the poison. That begs my next question.

“What’s a pureblood doing in Belam?” Finneas muses, leaning against the doorframe. His eyes trace her thin frame, her round face. He bites his lip in worry. A father without a child, as he’s always been.

“That’s what I was wondering.” The needle slides through my flesh again, and I begin to feel nauseous. Give me a knife, an arrow, a sword. Anything but a needle. “Don’t they normally stay in the palace? Under protection, right?”

“If they choose, but yes, normally,” Finneas confirms.

“She’s on the run,” Aiko muses, bandaging up the girl’s leg and tipping water between her lips. “Clearly noble, well fed, and groomed.”

“You make her sound like a pet.” I attempt a joke, but Aiko turns to me with a face of stone.

“Why do you think she’s running? She’s clearly desperate or else she wouldn’t have picked Belam. That place is teeming with criminals, no pureblood in their right mind would go there unless they wanted to be strung up to bleed out like a pig.”

“Or if the alternative is much worse,” Finneas agrees, and I nod. The way she had blindly stepped in to save me, she either has no self-regard or no knowledge of the outside world and its workings.

“Soft hands,” I note.

“And look at her shoes,” Aiko continues, the bandage now tied neatly. I look and notice what she has. They’re made for travel and of fine leather, but the soles are barely worn.

“The style is one that was popular years ago so they’re not new,” Finneas muses, causing Aiko and I to stare at him incredulously.

“What? I bought them for Aiko.”

“She is very clearly running from something,” Aiko continues our conversation, shaking her head slightly, “or someone.”

“Who would want to run from life in a palace?” I turn on Finneas. “Besides the security is insanely tight knit, no one gets in or out without the captain of the king’s personal guard allowing it.”

“Maybe she’s the exception.”

“Or he allowed it,” Aiko counters her husband with a quick remark. He pauses to consider it before shrugging his large shoulders.

“Whatever the reason, she’s here now. We need to decide what we are going to do with her.”

“I say she’s not our problem,” I say, glancing again to where she lay still on the table. I hadn’t even wanted her help, and in the end, she had been more of a hinderance. She saved me, and I saved her right back. Twice. We are beyond equal; she can pay me back by getting out of my hair.

“She won’t get far with that leg. Not without assistance.” Aiko brushes her own short indigo hair back from her face and rubbing her temples.

“Then send for an escort from the palace. You have the connections.”

“I won’t send her back to where she’s clearly running from!” The shorter woman gasps, clutching the girl’s hand. I run my own hand through my hair in exasperation. I knew she would respond this way. She did when she met Kya, anyway. I can’t blame her, not after all she’s done for me, but I can’t save everyone. Neither can she, the only difference is I don’t pretend I can.

I’m about to respond when a rustling noise startles us all. The girl shifts restlessly, her eyelids barely open.

“Mom?”

Aiko goes still, as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over her head. The room is silent, with only the faint sigh of the wind swishing through the heavily embroidered curtains. Finneas turns, ever so silently, to look out the window. His wife sniffs slightly before placing a pale hand delicately upon the girl’s cheek. In response, she brings her own hand up to cover Aiko’s, whimpering into the warmth.

“You’re safe, darling,” Aiko murmurs, so soft and kind.

The girl’s eyes shoot open at this, vibrant and electric blue, so much brighter in the candlelight than they had been in Belam. They widen with the same fear she had carefully kept concealed back in that alley. In a swift motion, she grabs a butter knife from the corner of the table, pointing it threateningly towards Aiko, pain highlighting my friend’s features.

“Who are you?” she hisses through gritted teeth, golden blood still dripping from her pert nose.

“We mean you no harm.” The older woman speaks slowly as if attempting to soothe a startled animal. Placating and amicable.

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