Of Whispers and Daggers ✓ [TLRQ #2]

Chapter 49.2 - Aster

All through the reception, I feel sick. The guests—laymen excused—followed me and Riszev, dressed now in her usual attire, to the Great Hall.

The cold penetrates the room more than I expected, and my body hangs wearily on my bones during the dancing. At the beginning of the event, everyone dined at the long table that had been carried in, and despite my hunger, I could hardly stomach eating. The meal wasn't as large as the welcome dinner, and when the servants pulled the tables to the sides of the area, no food was left setting out to snack on during the celebration.

Riszev is a somewhat awkward dancer despite being fairly light on her feet. She hesitates as we glide as if occasionally forgetting the steps. It feels wrong to hold her hand, her waist, as we dance, though I've danced before with many women. It's different knowing that the woman in front of me is supposed to be my wife.

As the celebration nears its close, the headache that has been growing behind my eyes ever since the meal throbs. Stress and sleep-deprivation are finally taking their toll, after twenty-five days of late nights, battles, and cutthroat politics.

Just as Riszev and I had the first dance of the event, we must conduct the last one, and as we spin, dizziness rises in me, no doubt from the headache. I stumble and murmur an apology to the Consort.

"No harm," she says.

I nod, swallowing my nausea. Riszev is technically leading, but considering I know the steps far better than she does, it's not hard to skip the middle section of the dance. She likely attributes her fumble on that step to misremembering rather than me shortening it. The Morineause onlookers undoubtedly notice, but I don't care. I need to rest. Otherwise, I think I'm going to be sick.

When the dance is over, the guests line our way to the door, and the stars painted on the ceiling shine down on us. We leave, and once we're a few halls away, I pull my elbow out from under her hand and lean my back against the wall. I just need to stop moving. I try to breathe slowly, hoping to quell the feeling of illness.

"Are you alright?" she asks.

Silently, I nod. The nausea is fading, though the headache and weariness remain. We stand for a moment longer before setting off again, heading to a suite in Courtier's Circle.

Our new room.

Revulsion builds in me again, but I push it down. Is that what I'm so sick about? Sharing my room, my life, my days, and my nights with this stranger? All that is mine—all that is me—belongs to her. If ever I was my own, I surely am not now. Disgust and regret greet me when I wonder what she's going to do once we enter.

She pushes what should have only been my door open, and I follow her in. In the past week, servants organized this suite, removing various items from my previous one to put here and transporting her things here as well. Her things don't belong here, but they are here.

It doesn't matter.

Overall, this room is set up rather like my other, but it's smaller and doesn't have a dining table. If we weren't at war and if my new wife weren't going to whisk me far, far away, we wouldn't be living in this suite. But it would be a waste to prepare the entire house for a couple that won't stay there, and I need to be in the castle anyway.

The suite of the ruling Second Son doesn't have a separated bedroom, so I don't even get to inhabit the suite my heritage owes me, and I never will.

I rub my temple and hang my rapier belt beside the door. I still don't feel right, but at least I don't think I'm going to throw up anymore.

"Are you sure you are well?" she says. "I thought that dance was longer, and you were very fast to leave the Hall."

I pull in a deep breath. When I answer, my voice sounds like someone else's—calm, casual, and certainly not numbly drowning. "Yes. I apologize. I just have a headache."

"Oh." She nods, then steps back. "Unless you have anything to discuss tonight, I will go to bed." She takes another hesitant step away. "My country trusts your word, and yours trusts my signature—the rest of our marriage can wait until we reach Retra."

I blink at her. Then it clicks, and my face burns. I nod. "No, I don't have anything to say. I'm, ahm. I'm going to see what books they brought over." I cross to the bookshelf, and she slips into her bedroom.

They included the slip of a book my nursemaid used to read to me, but it's wedged between two others as if forgotten and unnoticed. My finger brushes the old spine. Lexis for the Star Prince...

A shout shatters the air.

Fear jolts through me, and I shoot for her bedroom door. My head swims with the sudden movement, but I shove inside. Riszev's flat hand jabs at a cloaked intruder, but he grabs her wrist and twists. She falls off-balance toward him, but before I can speak to cast, her other hand snaps out, thrusting into his throat. He staggers back, unbreathing. She twists, kicking him just below the ribs. He falls, and still dizzy, I pull my casting knife.

She draws a dagger from somewhere as he swipes with his foot, catching her behind the knee. She falls but rolls away from him as she goes, out of reach of his own short blade. He scrambles above her, and she thrusts her dagger into his chest.

Wide-eyed and gaping, he falls to the side. She leans over him. "Who sent you?" she demands.

He stares at her. Then his hand snaps to the side, and he wheezes, "Et væ." A candleholder from the bedside table slams into her head. She falls, and I stutter forward.

Blood running down the side of her face, she yanks her dagger out of him, and his wound gushes. His eyes roll into his head.

Relief swells in me, followed by crashing worry. I stumble to Riszev's side and drop to my knees. She turns to me, and I press the corner of my cloak against the cut on her temple.

Her breaths come hard, and though she handled herself seamlessly during the fight, her eyes now are wide and uncertain. I wonder if this is the first time she's ever really feared for her life.

"It's okay," I tell her softly. "Are you hurt?"

Lips pressed together, she shakes her head.

With my free hand, I pull off my cloak. "Keep the pressure. I'll go get Reyan. He's just a hall away, alright?"

She nods, and I go.

They tried to kill her. My jaw clenches as I hurry to Reyan's room. My knuckles rap hard on his door in time with the pounding in my head, and I don't stop until the wood swings out from under them.

Worry twists his face into a scowl.

"Someone tried to assassinate Riszev. He's all-but dead in our floor."

He snatches his sword belt from beside the door and strides down the hall with me.