Page 58 of Prince of Night and Storm
—Romeo and Juliet, Act 3, Scene 5
Ileave for a few moments of quiet, but turn when footsteps approach behind. Baba leans down to kiss my forehead, his hands settling on my shoulders.
“Wü mwega? Every time you leave to fight, I lose another one of my lives.”
It’s a joke between us, the number of lives my human father owns. Since Maman died, his aging process has returned to near mortal rates. At seventy, he looks an ageless fifty. Fit, healthy and strong, the most handsome man I know, but approaching middle-aged.
I squeeze his hand. “You waste your time worrying about me.”
“Is it ever a waste for a father to worry about his daughter?”He surveys my face. “Tell me how you feel about the possibility of peace. Can you sheathe your sword?”
“It's hard to feel anything about a possibility.”
“Is that what you believe? You were there. The Prince spoke to you.”
“He's barely awake, Baba. Who knows what he'll want when he's himself again?”
He sighs. “I want you to enjoy an uneventful life. Manage your cafés, find a husband and give me grandchildren.” He pauses. “To allow your dream of avenging your mother to die.”
“I definitely want to be more hands-on in my businesses.”That vision I keep closest to my heart. “Wouldn't you rather have a laptop than a grandchild?”
“That would be an enticing offer if the laptop was to accompany you to courses at the University. I believe you may find Political Science coursework rather more applicable now.”
I make a face, sliding into English. It’s the perfect language for crude speech. “Baba. The only scenario in which I sit still four hours and listen to lectures—even if they're yours—is if I'm half-gone with meds, and tied down.”
I’ve yet to tell Baba about the Vow—or anyone else. . .I've been selfish. My father will have to bury his daughter, for after today I know any attempt on Prince Renaud's life, no matter how I try, will end in my death. Either he’ll kill me, or the Vow will.
“In time I think I could give up vengeance,” I say quietly. “But Danon.” I know the look on his face. “What is it?”
“Do you remember what I told you about your brother?”
Lightning strikes my temples. I clutch my head.
“I love you, little thorn, and I am well. Hold the line and hold your own.”
“Nyawira? Another migraine, Maitu??1”
Rest, Rinne. Don’t walk into the storm. Let it pass.
Darkan?“I—” Itisdreary outside, cold rain instead of the warm summer squalls I enjoy.
“Wait, Danon!”
I catch myself before I lurch forward.
Papa utters something soft under his breath that could be an expletive. “I don't like this. These nosebleeds are coming on more frequently. Should you lie down? It’s been a long week for you.”
My brow furrows as fingers brush my temples and the pain dissipates. Baba’s hands are still on my shoulders. I realize I’m squeezing my eyes shut and open them, lowering my hand back to my side.
“I’ll. . .find some time to rest. You—were asking about Danon. I remember.”
When Danon was first taken, and years later when I felt I was strong enough to go after him, Baba took me aside and made me promise not to. To trust him. To let it go for now.
“What I asked of you hasn't changed,” my father says softly.
To donothingeven though my brother saved me. I only nod, because I can’t speak. We don’t know where he is, or if mounting a rescue will get him executed. We should have rescuedDanon years ago.
“I should have prevented his capture. I chose Numair and
