Chapter 2
And then he said, in the voice of a man knowingly grasping at straws, “That’s why I need your help. Henry is dying.”
Lily stared at him in shock. “The king—?”
“We think it’s something magical. The physicians have tried everything. I thought you could help. Maybe. I know you worked with Lorre; I thought—I don’t know.” He exhaled. It sounded genuine. It sounded like anguish, broken as a mirror.
Lily ignored the casual mention of Merry’s father, though as always the name sparked a deep-seated anger in her bones. Memories like the fleeting intoxication of strawberry wine and summer sun, eaten up by winter.
Outside, beyond the dirty glass windowpane, the rain tumbled and splattered and mourned.
And the king was dying, and Lorre was gone, and she was all they had left. She heard herself say, without conscious thought, “Of course I’ll come.”
The bleak amber of his eyes warmed slightly at that.