Not Amryssa, though. No, she’d saved me, back when I’d had nothing and no one.
Now I lowered myself beside her, taking the seat closest to Olivian. Once he tired of his staring contest with the torchier, he might start talking, and I liked to act as a buffer when I could.
“Last night was awful,” Amryssa murmured. “I swear someone’s turned my stomach inside-out.”
“Tell me about it.” I tipped milk into my coffee. Steam arose, pulling my attention up to the spotted mirror above the sideboard, which cast my reflection back at me.
The milk pitcher slipped from my hand and thunked against the table. Holy Zephyrine, I looked like shit.
My black hair hung in clumps. The skin of my face sagged as if dripping from my bones, and the melting-candlewax effect only served to sharpen my already severe nose. Dried blood crusted my chest, and my brows were little more than dark slashes over the haunted pits of my eyes.
I hunted for my napkin. A quick scrub cleared the rusty flakes from my chest, but the girl in the mirror was still haggard enough to look forty instead of twenty-seven. Beside me, Amryssa appeared almost untouched, as if the heavens had beamed down a bright ray of light.
Well...whatever. I wasn’t here to impress anybody. I tossed the napkin aside.
Amryssa lifted her tea. She sipped tentatively while I rubbed soothing circles against her back. Her shoulder blades mapped out ridges and valleys beneath my palm.
Damn, but she’d gotten skinny. I really would have to coax her into eating more and staring out the window less.
Amryssa’s cup clinked against its saucer. “And what of the prince?”
I glanced down the length of the table. Olivian stared blearily back, apparently invested enough in my answer to have abandoned his confrontation with the torchier.
“He got in last night,” I said slowly. “I watched Kyven pull up from my balcony.”
The seneschal grunted. “And you instructed him? Told him how to chain himself?”
I gnawed at my lip. “I told him everything he needed to know.”
Not a lie, really.Die screaminghad pretty much summed it up. But tossing in a few legitimate details to make things more convincing wouldn’t hurt. “He sent his attendants inside, first. There were two of them—one tall, one short. I’m sure we’ll be meeting them soon.”
Or not. The nightmare had snuffed Kyven from existence like a beetle crushed beneath a bootheel, and the royal attendants—if they’d survived—would probably flee back to the capital at once. If I were them, I wouldn’t have lingered in Oceansgate a moment longer than necessary.
Olivian nodded, seemingly satisfied, then frowned down at his plate, as if surprised to find it empty.
A rare sense of charity welled up. Normally, I steered clear of the seneschal’s struggle with lucidity, but now I’d killed his plans. Stabbed them through the heart. The least I could do was offer him eggs. “Are you hungry?”
His gaze snapped up, as if he’d already forgotten me. In all likelihood, he had. “Hungry?”
“Yeah. You know...food? Coffee? Tea? What would you like?”
“I...” His eyes flicked back to the torchier and narrowed. “Anything.”
I slurped more coffee and dragged myself to standing. “Amryssa?”
She stared down at the delicate creases spider-webbing her palms. “Do you ever wonder? What might come out if someone drew on you with a knife?”
I jolted. “What?”
“Everyone says it would be blood, but I think I’d spill brown earth and blades of grass, instead.”
I surveyed Amryssa’s place setting, then reached for the knife Miss Quist had included and whisked it out of reach. “Well, then. Why don’t we use our forks to slice our sausage this morning?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
I shook my head. Even in the best of times, Olivian and his daughter didn’t boast the firmest grips on reality, but today, they’d ventured further afield than usual. But maybe food would speed their recovery. At the very least, it would help pad out Amryssa’s pitiful frame.
I filled two plates with eggs, sausage, and biscuits, then deposited one in front of Olivian and the other before my best friend.
