"What did you do?" Kestrel said, soft and disbelieving. He ran his hands over his chest, amazed at how rich and warm his brown skin appeared, no longer ashen. "How did you—"

"You were suffering a lack of aura. I amplified what little remained in your veins. Gave you a boost, as it were. Your aura should begin regenerating at a normal rate on its own."

"You can do that?” Kestrel asked. "Even without an energos?"

Aramy gazed to the side, folding his arms. "Yes. It's amazing what you can figure out through trial and error. If there are no books...no tutors..." His voice lowered. "You make do by yourself."

Lady Dulmer had called Aramy’s powers strange. Back in the library, Kestrel hadn’t understood Aramy’s motives either, whether he’d been offering help or a warning. But it didn’t matter, did it? Mysterious as Aramy might be, one thing was clear: he had used his aether to save Kestrel’s life.

It was real. It was solid. Something Kestrel could hold on to in this slippery court of vipers.

“I can’t thank you enough, Lord Basquiale,” he said.

"Don't thank me." Aramy shook his head. "As I said, I did this to repay you. I should be thanking you, Lord Knight."

Kestrel swallowed. So rarely in his life had anyone thanked him for anything. But now he had saved the Prince’s Consort. Not to curry favor with the prince, but because he’d wanted to. No, needed to.

“Well, I’ll take my leave. I wish you a speedy recovery, Lord Knight." With a rustle of silk, Aramy lowered into an elegant bow. Kestrel's heart pounded.

Then Aramy turned toward the door. Kestrel almost called for him to stay, but wisely swallowed the words. And he would not spit them out.

Instead, he said, "Kestrel."

"Come again?" Aramy fell still, though he did not turn around.

"Kestrel. That's my name."

For a long time Kestrel thought Aramy wasn't going to answer. As the seconds slipped by, he started fearing a healer would walk in on them.

"Kestrel." At length, Aramy spoke. His voice was soft, contemplative. "I always did like kestrels more than doves."

With that, he stepped into the hallway and shut the door behind him. Kestrel stared at the door, wondering if he hadn't dreamed the whole scene.

No. It had been real. The steady pulse of his aura made that more than clear—as did the hint of moonflowers he tasted with every breath.

The next day, the mystified healers let Kestrel leave. He wasted no time barreling out of the doors, hoping to never have to see the infirmary again.

Each step forward made his heart sing. He didn’t even feel stiff from lying in bed for so long. The sights and sounds of the palace seemed clearer than ever—there a gardener singing as he tended a rosebush, here the red-plumed birds flitting among the olive trees, and high in the sky the pink streaks left by the retreating daybreak. If it weren't for Aramy, he might never have been able to experience any of this again.

The thought made his chest tighten. Aramy had only repaid a life debt, nothing more. Now it was all in the past and Kestrel could never speak of it to anyone.

The thought filled him with a fluttering sadness. How many secrets would he carry to the grave? But at the same time, he felt that Aramy had revealed something of himself back then, something he'd never shown anyone else. If they were going to keep this secret, they would do it together. It was strange, but it made Kestrel feel less lonely.

“Good morning, my lord.” Kestrel blinked when he saw Josten approach. The servant stopped at the other end of the path and bowed. “I bring a message from Lady Dulmer. She thanks the First for your speedy recovery.”

The First? Had she spent so much time at court that she no longer swore to the Winds? With a chill, Kestrel wondered if his mother had done the same.

“It’s good to be back,” he made himself say. “Um, so where is she?” He felt like it was perhaps the fifteenth time he’d already asked that question.

“Resting,” was Josten’s sadly predictable reply. “Now follow me, my lord.”

With that, he darted toward an arbor-shaded side path. Which rather confused Kestrel; he hadn’t been here long, but he already knew the way to his quarters and this was not it. Still, he didn’t hesitate for long before following Josten. Maybe this was a shortcut.

But when they emerged from the arbor, they approached a building Kestrel had never seen before. It towered four stories high with windows the size of grown men. Bougainvillea in full bloom spilled over the balconies, splashing the marble façade with vivid pinks and purples.

Josten led Kestrel across the finely manicured garden, then up the wide, shallow steps to the entrance. When Kestrel saw the dragons-and-staff carved in relief above the doors, his heart stopped.

"Wait a minute," he said. "Is this the royal—"

He didn't get to finish before the footman opened the doors and Josten swept right on through. Kestrel stared around, heart thumping. They'd entered a vaulted hallway floored in white marble, its walls lined with dozens of mirrors. In them, he saw himself reflected over and over, his wide, fearful eyes.

The click of footsteps made him jump. Kestrel had enough time to see Carnelio Azed approach before his instincts kicked in and he sank into a full bow, fingertips pressed to the floor.

"Your Highness," he and Josten murmured together.

"Now, now!" Carnelio's deep laugh reverberated in his bones. "No need for such formality so early in the morning.”

Kestrel's stomach knotted. Winds, he hadn't known the royal court had protocol about proper bows for different times of day. But Carnelio didn't seem offended, so Kestrel rose to his feet.

The instant he did, Carnelio descended upon him and smacked his shoulder. "My dear Lord Knight! What do you think, eh? The Royal Hall is truly a stupendous place to live!"

"Your Highness..." Kestrel scrambled for something to say, but that was difficult when the Crown Prince kept pounding his back. Had Carnelio called him here just to show off his home? That made no sense.

"Come with me." At last Carnelio let off his assault, only to snatch Kestrel's arm. Kestrel was too winded to do much but stumble along. "I made sure you got one of the best suites, the Gardenia Apartments; they're on the ground floor, with a view of the inner courtyard and a nice open veranda—"

Slowly, Kestrel began to assemble sense out of Carnelio's words. "Your Highness...I...I'm going to be...living...here?"

"Naturally!" Carnelio spun to face him, cheeks flushed from delight. Kestrel, who had thought the prince a rather stoic individual, felt like he'd been walloped on the head. "After you saved my bonded's life, it would be remiss if I didn't reward you properly.”

“Reward?” Kestrel looked around, but Josten was nowhere to be seen. “What do you mean?”

“It’s as I said,” Carnelio said, chuckling. “Apologies for not telling you sooner. I wanted it to be a surprise—and you certainly do look surprised! Now come, come! All your things have already been moved, the place has already been tidied up, I've got a servant setting up a light breakfast. We have so much to discuss!"

Surprised. Well, maybe Kestrel was surprised. But more than that, he felt a sick, sinking horror. When he’d come to court, he’d had no intention to stand out or make a name for himself; he had only come to advocate for Shanneray House. Now he’d caught the attention of both the Crown Prince and his bonded, and for something he hadn’t been able to control. A spur of the moment decision.

If his mother’s murderer was still prowling at court, all he’d done was make himself more visible. More vulnerable.

But beneath the doubt and the fear was the same hard certainty that had driven him to fight the assassin. Even if I didn’t plan for it, I’m glad I did it. It was the right thing to do.

Besides, it was clear his secret remained safe. He hadn’t attracted the wrong sort of attention, at any rate.

"Your Highness," he said as Carnelio steered him down the hall, "about the assassin..."

"We'll discuss it later," Carnelio said with an impatient flutter of his hand. "At the Circle meeting. An attack on the royal family is an attack on Senero itself. But for now, let's celebrate! You deserve it, Lord Knight!"

His eyes were shining, so bright, and it disturbed Kestrel. Something about the prince's fervor struck him as more than gratitude—it was almost desperate. Why?

All he knew was that he appreciated Aramy's reward a lot more.