“I am not finished exerting myself by far,” he said, giving Colin a dark look. “Cummings!”

“Sire?”

“Send for General Harborough, Castellan Sperren, and Captain Mapstone. I don’t care what they are doing or how inconvenienced they are.”

Cummings bowed and left by the side entrance. The time that ensued was interminable. Zachary sat in his chair with eyes closed, resting, perhaps collecting his thoughts. If any of them tried to speak, he silenced them with a curt gesture.

Estora had seen Zachary angry before, but this was deeper, colder.

Laren wasn’t sure what was going on, only that Destarion had sent one of his journeymen to inform her she ought to see Ben. At first she’d been alarmed until the journeyman smiled and told her it was good news. A lightness spread over her, and she outpaced both the mender and her guard as she raced to the mending wing.

She found him sitting up in bed sipping broth. He was pallid and thin, but very alive.

“Captain!”

She collected herself, but could not help grinning. “It’s about time you woke up, Rider.”

“I know. I’m starving, but all they’ll give me is broth.”

Laren stepped all the way into the room and pulled a chair over to his bedside. “Perhaps you’ll remember what it’s like to be a patient when you’re well again and treating others.”

He glowered. “If my patients want steak, I shall give it to them.”

They laughed, then Laren asked, “Does Destarion know what changed, what allowed you to awaken? We were digging through the old case histories to see if we could find some way to help you, but found nothing.”

“I did not awaken all at once, or so I’m told,” Ben said. “And I’ve no idea how much was dream, and how much was real, but my connection to the king weakened until . . . until I was no longer needed.”

“Connection? You were connected to the king all this time?”

Ben nodded. “I was . . . I was trapped. His body fed off me, off my healing ability. I remember darkness mostly, but sometimes I was aware of a thread of light leaving me. And then sometimes I could hear someone reading to me—or to him, rather. I could hear other voices, conversations. And then—”

He blushed furiously. “Was Karigan back by any chance, er, visiting with the king?”

“No,” Laren replied. “She’s been in Blackveil. We’ve heard nothing from her.”

Ben seemed perplexed. “A dream then, I guess. Sure seemed . . .” He cleared his throat, still blushing. “Him, not me. Dreaming.”

Laren crooked an eyebrow. That kind of dream, she thought. As amusing and a little alarming as it was, she was more concerned about what it meant for Zachary if Ben was no longer providing him with healing energy. No one had told her anything. She’d not seen even Destarion for days now and wondered if they’d forgotten about her. She was about to ask Ben what he knew about it when a Green Foot runner appeared in the doorway.

“Your presence is requested in the throne room, Captain,” the girl said.

Laren rose, wondering if she’d find out Zachary’s fate, and, finally, her own.

JUDGMENT

Laren’s guard sputtered and cursed as he tried to keep up with her. He was not the youngest of soldiers and limped with a bad knee. Too bad, she thought. Confined to a room too long, no matter how spacious and comfortable, it felt good to be on the move, uncaged and stretching her legs to full stride, the blood pumping through her veins, even if she feared what may lie at the end.

She halted before the throne room doors to catch her breath and straighten her shortcoat, her guard stumbling up behind her. She recognized the Sergeant of Doors standing before her, with his vast ring of keys hanging from his belt. She nodded to him, and he nodded in return. To her guard he ordered, “Dismissed.” Then he and an underling opened the throne room doors for her to enter. She did so without looking back.

She strode down the runner as fast as decorum permitted, passing through columns of sunlight slanting through the tall windows that alternated with shadow. The light, the dark; the warm, the cool. She saw others there waiting for her, Castellan Sperren leaning on his staff of office, General Harborough whose blocky form was unmistakable, Master Destarion with his mender’s satchel slouched at his feet, and Colin Dovekey, whose black garb made him sink into shadow.

Estora sat upon her throne chair very still, seemingly turned to stone, her expression blank. Laren could not help but feel for her, placed as she was in so complicated a position.

Laren had taken in the assembled in mere moments as she walked, but her attention fell mainly on him. Zachary slumped in his chair next to Estora, his head bowed into his hand. Joy quickened her stride. He was awake! Out of bed even! It took great restraint for her not to run to him and hug him, but protocol did not allow it. Right now he was the king, and she his servant.

Her joy was also tempered by concern for the way his shoulders sagged, his thinness and pallor. He’d always been robust and strong and it was difficult to see him looking, to her eye, almost fragile.

When she reached the dais, she dropped to her knee with head bowed. “Your Highness . . . es.” She bit her lip at almost forgetting there were two now.

“Rise, Captain Mapstone,” Zachary said, his voice as she remembered, though the tone somehow quieter. “Rise and stand beside me as you are accustomed.”

When she stood and looked upon him, he smiled warmly at her and her eyes blurred with emotion. When she moved to his side of the dais, he added, “You are looking well. I had been told,” and now his tone was acerbic, “you’d been indisposed.”