Of Whispers and Daggers ✓ [TLRQ #2]

Chapter 56.1 - Aster

Wispy dreams assail me—dying soldiers, a glowing staff, black-robed assassins, the marriage... Mostly, though, I just sleep.

The sleep and dreams suddenly fall away into the very real sense that someone is in my room, and I snap awake. Three figures hover to the side of me, and I jerk back in bed, raising my powderless hand to cast. One of them shoots to their feet.

"Aster."

I blink, trying to focus my groggy eyes. "Riszev." Relief courses through me, and I rest against the pillows. Behind her stands an attentive Leavi, and at the foot of the bed is Ollem. Carefully, I push up, sitting against the headboard. My eyes flick between them.

Riszev glances at Leavi and the serv—at the two servants. "You may leave. Ollem, tell the doctor that your master is awake."

Leavi's eyes flick over me, but she inclines her head and goes. Ollem bows and backs out, and Riszev closes the door behind them.

My questioning gaze comes to rest on the Princesse Consort as she settles back into the armchair that's in here for some reason.

"Were you—" I shift. "Were you all just watching me sleep?"

She shakes her head. "Waiting to see if you would wake."

Unsettled, I adjust to sit facing her, on the edge of the bed. "How long have I been out?" And what's happened in the meantime?

"A day."

There are a thousand things to do. I shove up, then stumble. Stupid.

Riszev stands to take my shoulders. "Sit."

"No, I—"

She gently pushes me down. It doesn't take much.

"Riszev, I need to talk to Reyan. The wall—and—let me go." I stare at her, sounding like a desperate child, but we're in the middle of a disaster, and I slept for a whole day.

"We still have two days left. Or so your wizard says?"

I stare at her. I didn't think my wizards—she must mean Solus. "Yes, but we need to figure out what to do when that time comes. Obviously our previous strategy wasn't good enough, and your people aren't going to arrive in time, Riszev."

Softly, she says, "I know." She sits down beside me, and I'm struck by how familiar she acts with me. Something in me longs to cringe away, but something else—quieter, more complex—forces me to stay still. Her eyes flick gently over my face. It should be an investor's apprehension, a manager's assessment, searching for damaged goods. Instead, her gaze reminds me of nights as a child when I practiced past my limits, striving to please Agraund, and Jeanna found me, weak and bloody-nosed, to tuck me back into bed.

I don't want this woman's concern or affection. I look away. "I need to go."

"Aster." My eyes stay fixed on the glow crystals in the wall and their mockery of starlight. They may shine, but there is no substance to them. They are not real.