Page 81 of Starchaser
I sigh, starting down the opposite corridor. “Long—”
“Yes, I know,” he says, following close at my side. “It’s a long story. We have a long walk back to your chambers. Care to tell me what you were doing in the city? Late at night? With the princess of Hellion? Wearing…this?” He tugs at my cloak, shooting me a pointed look.
“You first,” I shoot back. “Why won’t you tell me what’s in that sachet?”
His nostrils flare. “Because it’s none of your business.”
“None of my business?” I scoff, coming to a halt. “Henry, look at me.”
He keeps walking.
“Henry, please.”
He stops. Turns.
“What?” he snaps. “What do you want me to say? That I can’t sleep unless I havethis?” He fishes the sachet out of his coat, opens it for me to see. The fragrant pink petals have been crushed into a fine pulp, the scent of peppermint nearly overwhelming.
Sorrowsnaps, I realize.
“I see her—every time I close my eyes—” His voice breaks on a sob. “I see Dorothy, dead in my arms. And I’m tired, Aster. Of all of it. I just want to sleep. I just want to… to hold her again. To see her smile. To hear her voice. I’m useless without her. It makes me sick.” His lip curls as tears stream down his porcelain cheeks. “I don’t—” He rubs furiously at his eyes, and the words crack, splinter, shatter as he says, “I don’t think I will ever love again.”
“Henry, don’t say—”
“How can I?” He touches his scar where it cuts a jagged line over his jaw, his fingers trembling. “There were no secrets betweenDorothy and me. She knew me—all of me. The good and the bad—she loved—” He presses the heels of his palms into his eyes, shakes his head. “She loved the broken parts of me so much that I felt if only when I was with her that I could be whole again.”
My heart sinks, and where Henry’s laughter has always given me hope that we escaped theDeathwail, his tears leave me feeling as if I’m still trapped in the dark hull of the cannibals’ ship, overwhelmed with despair. And I realize, then, that for all the grief I’ve felt—for my brother, for my father—I do not know the pain of losing a lover. I have not felt the cleaving of my soul the way Henry did the night Dorothy lay dead in his arms.
“Please.” The word comes out on a whisper, and I reach for his hand. “Don’t say that.”
He steps away from me, out of reach. “I think everyone would be better off if I had stayed behind,” he says, his face hardening. “I’m no use to anyone here.”
“You—” I start to argue, but he holds up a hand, cutting me off.
“I’ve made up my mind,” he says, his voice hollow as he looks off down the dark passageway. “When all this is over, I’m going to go somewhere I can be alone, where I can’t cause my family any more embarrassment.”
I open my mouth, but before I can say a word, Henry turns his back to me, stalking off down the passageway, and as I watch him go, the corridor feels colder than it did before.
When I finally make my way back to my room, my feet are sore and my muscles ache, but I ensure that my balcony doors are locked. Icheck them once, twice, three times before peeking my head out of my front door to make certain that Charlie and Lewis are all right.
“Char—”
I stop short when I’m met with strange looks from two guards I don’t recognize.
“Is something wrong, my lady?” one of the soldiers asks, his expression neutral.
“Oh,” I say, my pulse hammering in my throat. “No, I just… do you know where my guards have gone? Their names are Charlie and Lewis Oberon. They’re here every night. They—”
The guards share a look, and my stomach twists into knots.
“They’ve been reassigned,” the second guard says.
“Where are they now?” I demand, clutching the doorframe so hard I fear it might splinter in my grasp.
The guards share another look, sweat glistening on their brows.Good, I think,two people with enough sense to be afraid of me.
The first guard clears his throat. “They’ll be staying in the barracks until after Holy Winter’s Day,” he answers. “It’s unusual for new recruits to ship out so quickly, but the king—”
I slam the door, my knees suddenly weak. I move toward the entrance to the servants’ passage, intent on finding Mother or Margaret or Will, but as I turn, I notice the white piece of paper lying face up on my bed.
