5: Jorin

The salve put me to sleep. It had some herb in it that made me sleep without dreams. But the moment it wore off, I was wide awake.

I woke to the sound of wind rushing outside, to Kenet frantically pushing at the north-facing window to get it shut. Wait, no, the south-facing window. I was disoriented, unaccustomed to waking up in my own bed instead of his.

He managed get the latch closed, and then the sound of his breath was louder in the room than the storm that was coming.

“Kenet.” My throat was dry; I could barely speak.

He hurried to me, nearly spilling the water in the pitcher in his haste to pour some into a goblet. I sat up too quickly, trying to snatch the cup from his hand before he could drop it, and felt a welt tear open across my shoulder. I could not hold back the hiss.

Kenet knelt gently on the bed next to me and I sipped slowly, until the tightness in my throat eased. Then I set the goblet aside.

“I’m worried,” he said, his face wan and his eyes puffy from crying.

I had never been able to convince him not to cry for me. Not after all these years.

“I’m afraid they’re going to take you away from me,” he said then.

“Ah.” I let my eyes fall closed. When the king had ceased beating me a year or two earlier, I had wondered then...