12
The time of the note has come. Two Quiets from the night at the Court.
I spend the Quiet in Daein’s bedchambers as usual now. He’s gentle with me, playful and tender. He teases me about the growing swell of my belly, but I’m not embarrassed, not when he litters it with kisses.
Maybe I eat too much here. He feeds me well.
But when the time comes and he falls to sleep, I slip out of the bed and dress myself quietly, then sneak out of the castle.
Any of the guards who watch me too closely will only assume I’m headed to the lake. And that’s where I go first. I sit there a while to divert suspicion.
Then, I head deeper into the gardens.
I walk to the hot springs.
I’ve never been down this far before. It takes me a while—and a few turnarounds—to find my way.
Can’t say why I’m doing this, going to meet the iilra. Maybe it’s my chat with Terry that’s pushed me to see what the iilra are offering me. Or even that the prince is growing warmer and warmer with me, yet the threat of him never fades. Perhaps it’s that my affection for him swells as much as my fear of him does.
But the longer I wait at the springs, pacing under the covering of a willow tree, the more the library plays on my mind—his promises of a collection just for me.
If I’m only to stay for another four weeks (minus some days), then why should a book collection be started for me, especially when I can’t even read?
It makes no sense. Not if I want to hold onto the hope that I’ll be home soon.
And even if he does let me return to the farmhouse, what’s to say he won’t come back for me? Will he just allow me to lead a normal life? Marry and have children?
What if I don’t survive that long...?
The thought strikes me like a spear through the heart.
My sickness will return.
Once I’m free of this castle and the prince who haunts it, no more white powder will be fed to me. My sickness will sneak back into my body and then what? I’ll die, maybe even before I get the chance to marry and secure my future. There will be no future to be had.
Starting to sink into my mind, the terrifying thought comes to me—is the prince my only path to life? Without him, I will die. With him, I might die.
But he battles my sickness with the white powder. He keeps me fed, clothed, bathed, and healthy (for now).
Am I overlooking the safety he offers me for the familiarity of home?
Just as I start to doubt my reasons for returning to the village, I hear the faint crackle of leaves being crunched beneath soft-soled boots.
My gaze jerks up as the willow tree branches are swept to the side like light, feathery curtains.
A cloaked figure sneaks into the covering with me.
“Do you know what I am, young human?” It’s a woman’s voice, feminine, like the sharp side of a polished dagger.
Spidery, gloved fingers rise to peel back the cloak’s hood.
Fear bolting me in place, I can only watch as she reveals her beautiful and sharp face to me. She keeps the hood resting on her hair, masking its colour, and sticks to the shadows. Still, I see enough of her for her beauty to steal away my breath.
Numbly, I shake my head in answer to her question. From Daein’s brief description, I have a vague idea, but not exactly what that means.
“I am iilra,” she says, her sharp voice low. “Sisterhood bound to the Royal Court and the Gods.”
I blink once, twice, my heart hammering in my chest. Can only manage a quiet nod.