Page 20 of Angel in Absentia
“It took you long enough,” he replied in a stern bark, body frail but gray eyes still full of that impossible stoniness. “Now,” he said, “an heir.”
Predictable. As always.
“There’s one thing I need to do first,” she said, determined as she leaned toward him.
“Yes, marriage,” he replied gruffly.
“I just went on a nine-month campaign,” she shot back, “or did you not hear?”
“You better be preparing for another nine-month campaign,” he groveled without humor. “Next week. Your marriage. Children.”
“Historical victory,” Clea said, raising her brows at him.
“I can name leaders right now who might have accomplished the same, but only one of them can give the Hart family an heir,” he said without pause, shifting in his loose, blue gown and easing up straighter against the headboard of the bed. “It’s all arranged.” His expression held a peculiar intensity now.
She watched her father evenly, truly taking him in for the first time. His skin was dull, his cheeks sallow, his eyes dark. He would die soon.
She didn’t know why it had taken so long for the reality to sink in, why his death had seemed like such an impossibility. Maybe after losing everyone else, she never imagined he would die too.
She’d gotten so resistant to the message of marriage over the years that she’d been unable to accept how it had changed.
In the wake of his fading health, it now clicked that in his urgency, he didn’t just want her to have children.
He wanted her to have a family.
She examined the grayness of his eyes, and for the first time, despite how fierce and stubborn he was, she recognized that he was, in fact, weak. Even his iron will could not sustain him much longer.
They’d argued furiously and almost constantly. He’d pushed and pushed and pushed, and though it had sometimes felt like a punishment, she saw now that he was using the last of his energy on her. As imposing and domineering as he could be, there was a form of love there, the love that he was capable of.
What else could he offer her?
She exhaled.
“The last thing I want to do, I need to try and do,” she said. “Let me try and heal you one more time.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“You’ve tried twice. You failed. It’s time you accept that. Healing has its limits,” he replied sharply.
Healing has its limits.
Her father had always considered healing an art for children who didn’t yet have the capacity to channel ansra for offensive pursuits. He’d quoted the limits of healing more times than she could count, and yet she’d managed to surpass each barrier in the past beyond healing their dreadful illness.
This was the last one, and that repeated phrase now only made her eager to leap that hurdle.
“You’re to marry the Prince of Ruedom in a matter of days,” he continued again.
“I’m going to heal you,” Clea continued with conviction.
Now, he was the one who didn’t answer.
She’d tried several times before, determined to destroy the curse. Despite the fact that her own legend told that her curse had miraculously healed as she’d healed others, Clea was convinced that it was possible to heal their families’ illness somehow.
“This city needs an heir. We’ve waited long enough,” he said, as if healing him and producing an heir were mutually exclusive. Clea knew the truth of it was that he was exhausted and determined not to leave his bed. He’d resigned to die already, though she knew he would never admit it.
“You had a victory in Virday,” he said. “I know you don’t understand the urgency, but this is perhaps the most important front we fight on. People need hope. You brought them the victory of Virday, and now you will bring them a wedding to unite the cities, and then children. Others win on a battlefield,but only you can win here. Restrain that restless spirit, Clea. You already risked too much by going to Virday. You won. It’s a tremendous victory, but had you died, the cost would have been abysmal. It was a risk we all agreed to take, but it ends there.”
