Page 98 of Shadows and Roses

She shook her head. "I want him to know as soon as possible."

No more waiting. Never again.

He bowed his head over the box. "My Queen."

She hesitated. "If you eventually conclude that he’ll never be ready, send the box back."

"I’ll do everything I can, my Queen."

"I know. Thank you, Octavius."

She glanced at the closed door, then walked away.

—

Octavius’ reports continued, arriving every other week.

Spring broke the cold, flowers bloomed. Castien worked on his garden every day.

He read books.

And he very hesitantly, very subtly suggested that he missed music.

Her heart soared every time he asked for something more and bled every time he didn’t ask for her. But he was healing, and she was familiar with patience.

This latest request was a dangerous one: knives. Octavius watched him carefully. At first, Castien used the blades to carve wood. Octavius sent her a few of the discards—beautiful birds with detailed feathers, flowers almost life-like. She marveled at the soft appearance on the hard surface.

Then Castien asked to be taught to use the knives as weapons. A strange weapon. Not daggers—knives, specifically. Small, thin, single-edged blades. Octavius didn't share his theories about the reason for this particular weapon. Healer’s confidentiality, he said. She had her own terrible suppositions.

Chapter 27

Castien

"Lordling!"

Castien glanced up from his garden, blinking at a figure striding up the path. "Damon? What are you doing here?"

His friend leaned against the cottage’s nearest wooden pole. A familiar grin spread on his lips as Damon looked him over. "Visiting you, what else? Had to make sure you’ve all your limbs attached in the right places. You will not believe how difficult it was to convince your Queen to let me see you! I had to threaten—"

"That was my decision. You’re welcome." Octavius stood from his seat on the porch, scowling and pulling Castien aside. "Are you fine with him here? I meant to ask. He wasn’t supposed to arrive for another few days."

"I think… Yes. It’d be nice to talk to someone else once in a while."

The healer grunted. "I’ll be inside. Shout if you need me."

Damon watched him leave. "No one trusts me. Does he think I’m going to hurt you, after all that effort to get you back?"

Castien brushed off his hands and rose to his feet. "Thank you for that. After our last conversation, I wasn’t sure you… well."

"Cared? You wound me. Wherever you find yourself, politically speaking or otherwise, you’re still my friend." Damon raised a brow at the garden. "Is that lettuce? What are you— Growing green things, of course, you are. You live in a fairy-tale cottage, you know that?"

Castien smiled, gesturing toward the small table. "The rebel leader calls a lordling sleeping in the palace a friend? What would your movement think?"

"By all accounts, you did quite a bit more than sleep. But I don’t care what they think." Damon shrugged. "The others wanted to come, too—Jerrl, Kevam, all of them. Your healer is overprotective, insisted you shouldn’t be bothered. You seem well enough to me."

Castien examined the dirt beneath his nails. His hands were still so damn weak. "I have better days. A moon ago… I wouldn’t have wanted you to see me then."

Damon eyed him, glancing around the cottage grounds. "Has your Queen visited?"

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