Firebrand
Page 203

“Yes, you are broken,” Nyssa said. “The old you would have gotten up long ago and faced the world, no matter what.”
Karigan closed her eyes, but Nyssa was there in her mind, as well. There was no escape, no relief.
“As for your companions,” Nyssa continued, “they are getting sick of you, having to wait on your every need and listen to your whining.” She played with her whip, twirling it through the air so that it sent droplets of blood spiraling in every direction.
Karigan loathed herself, her weakness and dependence, so it was no surprise that her caretakers would loathe her, as well.
“Right now they are huddled together talking about what to do with you,” Nyssa said. “More than likely, they just want to get rid of you. Go ahead, take a look if you don’t believe me.”
Karigan crawled on her belly to the tent opening and peered out. Standing by the fire and speaking in hushed tones were the three: Estral, the king, and Enver. They did not look happy.
“I think your king is very disappointed in you,” Nyssa said, “the weak and self-pitying whiner that you’ve become.”
“I am not,” Karigan whispered. She crawled back to her bedding. “I am not.” But she could only imagine what he thought of her.
Nyssa simply shrugged, for she didn’t have to say anything.
“I am not.” But Karigan no longer believed herself.
“I am concerned,” Enver said, “that the Galadheon’s wounds are not healing as quickly as I would like.”
The three of them stood by the fire. Zachary looked from Enver to Estral, their faces full of concern.
“Are her wounds festering?” he asked.
“The physical wounds, no,” Enver replied. “Her spirit is another matter.”
“She won’t eat,” Estral said, “and just wants to sleep, but whatever sleep she gets is very poor. She is no longer interested in songs or stories, and she doesn’t even get angry anymore.”
“That is so,” Enver agreed, “and if she won’t eat and her sleep does not improve, it won’t matter if her wounds are festering or not.”
Estral looked near tears. A sense of helplessness pervaded the air.
“What can we do?” Zachary asked.
“I have tried everything I know, Firebrand, as has Lady Estral.”
They looked at him as if he might have the answer, but he was no mender. Clearly they thought he could do something. He was a king—he should know what to do, but he felt wholly inadequate.
“I will talk to her,” he said. It was all he knew to do. Talk, and lend comfort and support.
He poured a cup of tea and paused at the tent’s entrance. “Karigan,” he said, “I am coming in.” He didn’t give her a chance to protest, just pushed his way in.
He found her as he’d last seen her, lying unmoving on her stomach, but her face looked more pale and lacked animation. He sat down beside her.
“I brought you some tea.”
“Thank you,” she murmured, but she didn’t even flick her eye open.
This was not, he thought, like her at all. “Can you talk to me? Tell me what is wrong? Enver says your wounds are healing, but . . .” He didn’t know what else to say.
“Broken,” she murmured.
“What’s that?”
“Broken.”
“What do you mean? What is broken?”
“I’m broken.”
“Oh, gods, Karigan, no you are not. Why would you say such a thing?”
“Because it is true. I am sorry to be such a burden to you. You don’t have to—”
“You are no burden,” he said softly. How could she even think it?
“But—”
“Rider,” he said sharply, “you are no burden. I will do as I wish. If I am sitting here beside you, it is because I choose to. Now, you will drink this tea.”
“But—”
“It is an order.”
Her eye widened at that.
“Let me help you up,” he said more gently.
He assisted her into a sitting position, hoping he did not cause her additional pain.
“You—you shouldn’t,” she whispered. “Just let me be.”
“Why should I let you be?”
“You are the king.”
He pressed the cup of tea into her hands. “Ah, you think I should be off doing other kingly things, like sitting on a throne and ordering people about. My dearest Karigan, taking care of my subjects is one of my kingly duties.”
She sipped her tea, then gazed up at him. She looked so sad and haggard. “I can’t imagine you bringing tea to all of your subjects.”
“Perhaps not.” He smiled. “There would not be time for anything else. And I must admit, you are a special case.”
She looked away. “Please, you mustn’t think of me as special. This thing between us . . .” She shook her head. “Estora is your wife, and she is a good person, whole.”
“What? What do you mean whole?”
“Look at me,” she said. “Useless. I can’t even sit up on my own. So weak, my back . . .”
“Karigan, Karigan,” he murmured, “strength and stamina can be regained. You are the strongest person I know, even now. Not many could endure what you have. You and Estora, well, you are two very different people.” He paused, searching for the right words. “If I could change it all for you, if it were in my power to spare you, I would do so. If I could trade places with you, I would. But I can only be here with you, and I will tell you this: you are not broken, and every inch of you is dear to me and whole.” He took a long breath before continuing. “I once told you how I felt about you. It was a couple years ago atop the castle roof.”