Blackveil

“Would you consider delaying them?”

“No. That is another form of deception. Zachary would want the lord-governors notified as soon as possible. My Riders go out tonight.”

Colin straightened, looking thoughtful, and suddenly he was once again the level-headed advisor she had worked with since he took over from his predecessor, Devon Wain-wright. “You have made your position clear, Captain. You have given me much to think on.” He drifted away to speak quietly with Destarion.

“Thank the gods.” Laren was wrung out from the day’s events. As if the life-threatening injury to Zachary was not enough, all the conspiracies had infected even one of the steadiest men she knew. He might be right about an early wedding alleviating some of the turmoil that awaited the announcement of the king’s heir, but a deathbed wedding? It wouldn’t help much.

Please don’t let it be his deathbed, she thought. Tonight, after she sent her Riders out, she’d light a candle down in the castle’s chapel of the moon. She had not done that in what, years?

“Captain?”

She looked up, and there was Destarion with a teacup in his hands. “Any change?”

“Not yet. Lady Estora still sits with him. I brewed some tea—thought we could all use some. It’s been a trying day and I fear a long night ahead of us.”

“Thank you,” she said, accepting the cup and taking a sip.

Destarion smiled and made a small bow before stepping away.

Tea really was just the thing. The warmth of it soothed her. She wrapped her fingers around the cup and tried to relax as the menders came and went from Zachary’s bedchamber.

She gazed about Zachary’s dressing room. It was really a well-appointed drawing room, with dark wood paneling and furniture upholstered in pliant leather. Paintings of ships on the sea hung on the walls, along with portraits of Zachary’s beloved terriers. It was all very much him and she wondered what touches Estora would have brought to it, what life children could bring to the monarch’s wing. She had little doubt Zachary would have made a wonderful father. The loss of what was, and what could be, threatened to drown her.

He was not dead yet, and damn it all to the five hells, he’d better not die and leave her here on her own, not after all they’d been through together. She finished the tea, thinking it was time she prepared the message that must go to the lord-governors before someone else concocted another scheme. She stood and the room spun.

“What . . . ” She staggered trying to find balance. Her teacup smashed on the floor, and suddenly she noticed that no one else held one. Hadn’t Destarion said he’d brewed everyone a cup?

The room tilted and she began to fall. The strong arms of Weapons caught her.

“Not feeling well, Captain?” Colin asked, suddenly standing before her.

“Dizzy,” she mumbled. “Tired.” Rather beyond tired. She was slipping away . . .

“It’s been a hard day for us all,” Colin said. “I’m sorry about this.”

“We’re sorry.” It was Destarion standing next to Colin.

Her brain was muddled, but not that muddled and she fought against losing consciousness. “The tea! What have you ...”

“Rest, Captain,” Destarion said. “You’ll feel better soon.”

A vast darkness sucked the light from her eyes. Everything dimmed until there was nothing. Nothing at all.

IN THE BEST INTEREST OF THE REALM

Estora did not know how long she sat beside Zachary’s bed, but the daylight that had poured so readily into his chamber earlier was now diminished. He did not awaken, did not speak.

Her desire to stay with and comfort her mother in the wake of her father’s death had warred with her own need to be with Zachary, but her mother had urged her to go to her betrothed. And so here she was, where her heart told her she must be.

Here in the relative peace of Zachary’s bedchamber was she able to grieve in solitude for her father. The mender said the wound had been so severe that they could not have saved him even if they’d been immediately upon the scene. She suspected the Rider-mender, Ben, could have saved him with his magic, but Zachary came first. That was the way of things.

With some surprise she realized with her father gone she was now the lady-governor of Coutre Province. If Zachary recovered and they married, the title would pass to her sister next in line, and Estora would become queen as planned. If Zachary did not survive, she would remain the lady-governor and return to Coutre to lead the province in its affairs.

She did not wish to return to Coutre. It was a revelation, but she’d become very fond of Zachary, his compassion, his courtesy, his strength. She’d also enjoyed learning about the challenges of running the realm, of trying to solve land disputes between farmers or ensuring troops were properly provisioned on the northern boundary. Day in and day out she witnessed Zachary dealing with cunning political minds. He was as sharp, or sharper, than they, and she admired his intellect, loved how the problems stimulated her own mind. She especially enjoyed when they worked out the problems together, often discussing and analyzing them over tea after an exhausting day of meetings and audiences.

She supposed she could take on the same challenges in Coutre, but he, Zachary, would not be there. It would not be the same.

She gazed at him now wondering how anyone would want to harm him. He was a just king, a good man. He had endangered himself today to ensure she was not hurt by the assassin. He’d shielded her with his own body. If he hadn’t, might he be safe now?