Page 58 of The Twisted Throne

Jor coughed again into his sleeve, then shook his head and went to secure the doors, Taryn already stoking the fire.

“Fopdoodle?” James asked, shifting Ahnna’s weight so that the angle of her neck was better, the scent of her hair filling his nose, though it was tinged with blood.

“Overheard that one earlier, and I’ve been dying to use it,” the Veliant princess said with a grin. “Was it an apt moment?”

“Quite.”

She laughed, her distinct Veliant eyes glittering in the light that reflected off the window glass behind them, then her expression grew more serious. “You need to do something about yoursecurity. Your soldiers are lazy and distracted, half of them slightly drunk. I have something of an expertise in these matters, and thus far, I’m not impressed. I fully intend to write a strongly worded letter to my sister the queen.” She gave him a feral smile. “Of Ithicana, for clarity. Two of my sisters are queens.”

“There will be changes made.” He was angry as he was unsurprised at her appraisal of the Sky Palace’s security. The traffic of nobles and their servants in and out of the palace was extensive and not subject to half as much scrutiny as it should be, and Ahnna had nearly died because of it. “Do you want me to put her on the bed?”

“No, this is a better angle.” Digging inside the doctor’s case, she examined the labels on the various packages of herbs, then gave an approving nod before murmuring, “Taryn, when that water boils, make a tea of this for Jor. It will help that cough, but it tastes awful. Don’t warn him or he won’t drink it.”

“You’re dreadful, Bron,” Taryn muttered, setting down a steaming bowl of water and then taking the packet and placing a pinch of it in an empty cup. “Is there anything else you need?”

“The sedative we gave her is a strange one,” Bronwyn said, dipping a piece of clean cotton in the water and then allowing it to cool. “Pieces of reality will reach into her dreams. Things she hears. Things she feels. I think it might be wise to sing to her until true sleep sinks in.”

“I…” Taryn’s cheeks flushed, her eyes flicking to James, obviously uncomfortable in his presence. “I don’t know what would be the right—”

“The one you sang to soothe the cattle,” James interrupted her. “She liked that one.”

The young woman stared at him, likely wondering how he knew that piece of information, but then she nodded. Handing thecup to Jor, she said, “This will help your cough, but you need to drink it all.”

The old man sniffed at it suspiciously, then said, “I’ll keep watch outside.” Taking a mouthful, he made a face. “This is disgusting.”

“So is your cough,” Bronwyn retorted. “Drink it, old man. We need you tonight.”

“Too old for this,” Jor said, but he left with the cup in hand.

Silence stretched after the door shut, but as Bronwyn lowered the cloth to clean the still-bleeding wound, Taryn began to sing.

James immediately understood why the cattle had followed her through the bridge without complaint: Ahnna’s praise was no exaggeration. At first, her voice was as soft as a whisper. Yet it held the power of a spell, the words like a sigh of the wind as it echoed between the stone walls of the bedchamber. A lament if he’d ever heard one. A song that cut to the soul. Knowing his scrutiny would not be welcome, James lowered his gaze to Ahnna, his stomach tightening as Bronwyn pulled back the ruined silk of her tunic and cleaned the blood and remains of the poison from the deep slice next to her shoulder blade, the knife having reached into the muscle.

“Squeamish?”

“No,” he muttered, trying to rein in the fury building in him that she’d been hurt so badly with him right there. That the assassins had caught him so unaware. But when he was in Ahnna’s presence, it was as though he saw no one but her.

Bronwyn lifted another cloth that was soaking in a tincture she’d made, and as she pressed it against the injury, Ahnna whimpered and stirred. The Veliant princess winced, catching hold of Ahnna’s wrist to check her pulse, shaking her head. “Keep her calm.”

Fear rose in his chest that the poison would yet claim her andthere was nothing he could do about it. So James did the only thing he could think of and ran his fingers over her hair. Smoothed it back and tucked it behind her ear, the gesture rising from a barely remembered memory from his childhood. Of his mother singing to him after a nightmare, soft hands stroking his hair. A sort of comfort that had died with her.

Ahnna steadied under his touch, and he would have stopped, because touching her in such a fashion was not appropriate, but Bronwyn murmured, “Do what you need to. I have to make sure I get all the poison out.”

Then she poured the tincture into the wound, flushing it clean. Ahnna tensed, and he again smoothed her hair, the texture like silk beneath his fingers, the braids pulling loose. As Bronwyn worked, he unraveled the lengths, pulling them to the side to keep them out of the blood, his fingers brushing the skin of her back. A faint line ran along the base of her long neck, the skin above sun-kissed bronze, the skin below pale as milk, and he traced it, knowing that it meant endless hours outdoors.

Her back and shoulders were corded with muscle, slender but taut, and those muscles flexed as Bronwyn pressed the needle into her flesh. “Steady,” he murmured, watching as the princess’s deft fingers bound the severed flesh together, past caring that Ahnna’s legs were sprawled across his or that she was nearly naked from the waist up. Only caring that she would wake from this to piss him off with her endless jabs at his propriety and manners. That she would turn that smirk on him again, leaving him grasping for a worthy retort to some clever barb that she’d deliver with no hesitation.

Bronwyn pressed a clean cloth to the wound, and he lifted Ahnna slightly so that she could wrap a length of bandage around her, securing it in place. “We should put her in bed to rest now.”

Carefully, James rotated Ahnna’s still form, keeping his eyes on the ceiling as the tattered remains of her tunic fell away. Getting his own legs beneath him, he rose, then walked by memory to the bed, still staring at the ceiling.

“Set her down.”

With Taryn’s song still filling the room, he lowered Ahnna onto the bed, not looking down until he heard Bronwyn cover her with the blankets. Ahnna’s face was pale against the blue silk of the pillows, hair spread out around her in loose curls of walnut and amber and bronze, long lashes pressed against her cheeks. So painfully beautiful that James’s breath caught in his chest, his heart not allowing him to look away even as propriety demanded he do just that.

Bronwyn’s sigh drove his eyes upward, fear making him believe that Ahnna’s prognosis was worse than he’d hoped. Except the Veliant princess wasn’t looking at him or Ahnna. Her eyes were fixed on Taryn, enraptured by her song.

As Taryn finished, Bronwyn wiped a sleeve across her eyes, then rounded on James, chin up. “Well, thank you for your assistance. You can go now.”

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