Dex

I screw my eyes shut and try not to move. Let her think I’m asleep. Perhaps then she’ll leave me in peace.

It’s unnerving to wake up with someone standing over the bed, let alone in a witches’ cottage. Perhaps it’s true that she merely wanted some tea, but that doesn’t explain why she was staring so intently at my face.

Something behind her ice blue eyes told me she meant more than she was letting on, but I can’t bother myself with that. There are already far too many things for me to worry about, without adding some sharp-tongued hedge witch to the list.

She’s every bit as diffident as her mother is welcoming, and I’m glad it’s the older woman I’ve come for. I’m not the kind of man who idly suffers bitter words, even from the prettiest of lips.

Then a strangled cry cuts through the silence. It’s a sound I know only too well. I’ve heard Princess Livia whimpering in the small hours often enough to know what’s happening.

The girl is crying.

It takes all my resolve not to roll over and snap at her again. What I need is quiet, and the one sound that makes me tremble floods over me.

No matter how she tries to stifle them, the girl’s sniffles reverberate in the low room. Before long she’s crying in earnest. The cottage is too small to hide even the most modest sound, and soon her tears wash into the corners and echo back to meet me. They infest the spaces between my ribs, making me regret being so curt with her.

I should apologize, I think, but for what? I did nothing but state a simple fact. Livia’s return to health is paramount, and I would separate a hundred mothers from their daughters if that’s what it takes.

Another muffled sob stabs through the darkness, and I double over trying to ignore it. A tiny voice in my gut tells me I was a brute to speak so harshly. But what was I supposed to do? The mad mage and I ride at first light, and it’s impossible to sleep with someone padding around the house all night.

Though I’ve slept through worse. After so many nights spent in the open field of battle, a pallet on the floor of a cozy room ought to feel like a down mattress. But somehow I can’t get comfortable.

Whenever I’m on the point of drifting off, images of Livia’s face peer at me through the shadows. The illness has made her so pale it’s like she’s a ghost already.

If only I could reassure her. Reach out and touch her frail shoulder, telling her to hang on. The help she needs is just beyond the horizon. I can almost conjure her hopeful expression, but it always sours as she fades further away.

I was reluctant to leave the palace with her in such dire shape, but there was no option. There has to be someone who can cure her within this realm, and I’ll ride every inch of it if it means saving her.

It’s exactly the kind of thing the old emperor used to say, and look what it did to him. At the same time, I’ve learned deeply what drove him to think that way. Watching a loved one sink slowly into death could drive any man to madness.

The young hedge witch stifles a low groan, twisting my insides. I almost consider rolling over to say something tender to ease her misery, but it wouldn’t do any good.

No words can soothe breaking up a family.

The sun will rise, and I’ll cart her mother back to the palace as planned. Pray God her reputation is well earned. Every time I ride in quest of a healer, my greatest fear is that the princess will be gone when I return. That thought rides beside me like a phantom, driving me to the limits of my endurance.

I pushed Chimera until we were both panting with exhaustion. By the time the flickering windows of this cottage came into view, I was ready to drop from my saddle. Chimera’s bridle was thick with froth, and he was grateful for the stream that ran through the scrub alongside the hovel.

A rest should do us both good, and yet I can’t make myself sleep. Doubts steal to the edges of my borrowed blanket, tugging the corners to keep me awake.

By rights I shouldn’t have stayed the night.

The ride back to the palace is long—more than a day’s journey—and a night spent here is precious time lost. And yet, I was strangely powerless to resist Maud Halphen’s invitation.

Anyone could see she’s unwell herself. The path through the woods is steep and uneven, a hard climb for even the hardiest constitution. Dragging an infirm old woman through the damp night through such conditions would be cruel.

Besides, it wouldn’t do for her to falter along the way. If she falls ill—or worse—all this will have been for nothing. No, I need her in fighting shape upon my return.

If I had known of Maud Halphen sooner, perhaps I could even have saved the late queen. Livia’s mother wasted away under the same illness, and the old emperor rode on quests exactly like mine. He was willing to do anything to cure her, but the queen withered and pined until there was nothing left to save.

The sickness began shortly after Princess Livia was born, and it consumed her with the malicious steadiness of a low fire. Whatever one might say about Queen Sinéad, she was undeniably vibrant. Bursting with a vitality that enthralled the late king. When that began to falter, he became obsessed with her restoration.

His attempts grew more and more desperate until finally he lost his life in the pursuit. Many men boast that they would gladly give up their lives for those they love, but he actually did it.

And lost his queen anyway.

Which leaves Livia a royal orphan of sorts, struggling to regain her strength in the face of the very same sickness that claimed her mother. To see that same pallor on Livia’s face shatters my heart. She has Queen Sinéad’s eyes, and watching them go from hazel to gray is wrenching.

Don’t think about it, I tell myself. Get some rest. You’ll need it.

I try to focus on anything else to chase away the invasive thoughts creeping into my mind. The girl’s tears have slowed, and without them battering my brain, I breathe a bit easier. Even so, I search for mundane things in hopes of lulling myself to sleep, from the lumps in my mat to every threadbare spot in my thin blanket. Or the way the window pane rattles in the casement against the night wind.

All that does is make me imagine Livia taking a chill while I’m away. What if this same wind whistled past the shutters and under her coverlet? I can almost hear her teeth chattering and her feverish breath.

Banish the thought.

Inhaling sharply, I’m greeted by a rich tangle of smells. Herbs and animal hides, and the rich, dusty scent of paper. The house is piled with countless volumes, and I assure myself that the key to unlocking Livia’s illness is somewhere among all these pages. If only there were time to leaf through and find it.

Yet, I’ve been well assured that if anyone can manage it, it’s the mad mage. There’s a stillness about her that speaks of wisdom and quiet confidence.

Without her even having to say it, I sense she knows how to help. It’s a far cry from the overstuffed arrogance of the string of doctors we brought in when Livia first fell ill. Each one vowed on his medical bag that she would be right as rain within a few days. And each one packed up and slunk away when it was clear they had failed.

Before long no physician dared test his skills. It was time to turn to the supernatural for guidance. And one by one each sorcerer, enchantress, and master of the dark arts has failed.

First with the empress, and then her daughter.

But I can’t stand by and watch Livia cross the same dark bridge into the nether world. If need be, I will ride in conquest of every magical kingdom in existence. I’ll round up every magician, mage, witch, or necromancer I can find. If they walk beneath the sun or practice beneath the moon, I’ll find them and bend them in service of a cure.

No cost is too high.

And in a business like this one, precious few are to be trusted. Men are greedy and lazy, and I know full well that a palm full of silver could be enough to send a messenger back alone.

So I ride myself. Alone. This way, if the mission fails there will only be one person to blame. My shoulders are broad enough to bear the weight of defeat, but losing Livia would break my back. For once in my life, losing isn’t an option. And there is no grimmer or more fearsome adversary than Death himself.

Somehow I have to beat him at his own game.