43. Paris

Amad bird worshipper.

Four days later, when we arrived at the capital, the guard at the palace gate certainly looked at me as if I were mad, but lords in Urial seldom rode up to the gate on horseback unless they'd gone out that same day for sport. Not after disappearing for weeks, coming back with Nemedans in tow.

Perhaps I'd gone a little strange, but there was no mistaking Killian for anything but what he was—he sat straight in his saddle, looking every bit like the wild, barbaric Nemedan that we had always assumed they were.

I simply knew now, having spent days in his company, that even if he looked capable of cleaving a man in two, that wasn't his first impulse.

Though if the guard gave him another sneer, he might consider it.

Still, with some convincing, I proved that I was indeed at least familiar enough with the palace to be allowed entrance. That did not, however, mean we were given free run of the place.

There was no way into the palace without getting the notice of King Albany, and we were ushered into the throne room for me to explain myself.

There, at least, I was recognized.

We were announced, and the whole room sent silent. Gathered lords and ladies, those who lingered near the king, hoping to win his favor, turned toward us to watch the spectacle unfold.

My mouth went try, and—gods, I'd never stood before the king without knowing that Hector was nearby. Knowing that he was ill had the unexpected consequence of forcing me to face King Albany alone.

Well, not alone. Brett stepped closer to me, and I could feel the heat of his body radiate against the back of my arm. He had the good sense not to reach for me, but just having him there made this easier. I lifted my chin and stepped down the long carpeted walkway toward the throne, the Nemedans alongside me.

Once I had gone to one knee before my king, I looked up to see a twitch of his sneer before he mastered his features.

"I sent you to Nemeda," King Albany announced from his throne, "to secure us a treaty. Instead, you bring us guests. Do they carry promises?"

Killian's scoff was so soft that I hardly heard it, but the arch of his brow was clear enough—he was unimpressed with Albany's presumption.

"No, Your Majesty."

King Albany hummed. "So you've returned without fulfilling your duty to Urial and its crown."

I swallowed, unsure what to say. "My sister—" I began, my voice too quiet in the cavernous throne room.

I wanted to tell him that my family required me, beg for his understanding in light of Hector's illness. Somehow, I did not think my king would offer me sympathy in that.

Before I could turn pitiful or maudlin, Brett stepped forward.

"You expect to forge an alliance with Nemeda but would bar us entry to your court?" Brett cocked a brow, sounding snappish. In all our time together, with all his soft concern, I'd stopped thinking of him as Chief Brett and begun to think of him as—as someone else. Someone soft and caring.

It seemed that was a side of himself that he reserved for people who were worth the effort. Somehow, I numbered among them. It seemed that my king did not.

On his throne, King Albany flustered. From the corner of my eye, I saw Killian's lips twitch.

"Lord Paris has spent weeks learning my people's ways, assessing how Urial's innovations might serve us. We are here to discern the same, unless you would tell us that you've levied the insult of sending us a diplomat to provide for and negotiate with, lacking any real intention to follow through on your proposal."

Brett's smile had turned sharp. Perhaps on that singular day, in that singular room, while sitting on his own throne, it would do King Albany no harm to tell the Nemedans that he did not value them or their supposed wealth or wisdom. But if it got out that King Albany opened negotiations with other countries without taking the efforts seriously, it could damage trade from all sides.

Albany's nose flared, his fingers flexing on the arms of his throne until his knuckles turned white.

"Don't be ridiculous," he said, voice brittle and anger flashing in his eyes the same as it'd done the day he'd sentenced me to journeying to Nemeda in the first place. "We are delighted to have you. I'm certain Lord Paris can tell you everything you need to know about Urial's goods and innovations."

Soon after, he dismissed us, and I walked fast through sparsely populated hallways, leaving Brett and Killian to catch up to me on their own.

I needed to be home. I needed?—

I knocked sharply on the door to my family's suite, and it swung in a moment later, Helena on the other side. Her dark brown hair was usually braided and piled high on her head. Now, the braids hung loose. She looked tired, bruises around her reddened eyes.

I swear, they swam with tears when she saw me. "Oh, Paris," she cried, throwing her arms around my neck and dragging me in.

I hugged her back, squeezing tight. She felt... slighter than I remembered, like she hadn't been eating. Like she'd been too worried.

Her breath shook, her whole body trembling as she let go of some of the tension that'd been holding her upright. Good, good—I was there, and I'd—well, I didn't know what I'd do, exactly, but I thought that Brett and Killian might.

They were chiefs. Leaders. If I was a mess, at least I'd brought people with me who were capable.

She held me back and let out a breath, blinking fast and forcing a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "I'm so glad you're back."

Her gaze drifted to my side, to take in the Nemedans in my company, and she blinked, eyes so wide that I could see the whites all around her warm brown irises.

"This is Chief Brett of the Hawk Clan who—" I glanced at him and bit my lip. In that moment, it was too much to tell her everything that'd transpired. That was a story for late at night, holding warm glasses of mulled wine in front of the hearth, nestled into the couch under the same blanket to catch up. "Who's been hosting me in my time in Nemeda. And Chief Killian, of the Crane clan farther south. They're—they're friends, and too kind to let me travel here alone when you said that there was trouble."

Helena's expression was pinched, her lips a tight little moue. She nodded at them. "Thank you for seeing my brother safely home," she said to them before turning my way again. "There is trouble. Hector's only getting worse and—and King Albany is making a play to, well—" She shook her head. "It doesn't matter. Come in, come in."

She ushered us inside and promptly locked the door behind us. There were no servants, which was... strange. Our family had always had them, never doubted we could afford their pay and care. So either things had taken a turn financially, or there was some other reason for Helena to send them away.

"Hector?" I asked, looking around. There were books and papers piled on every surface—business that my brother usually took care of that seemed to be making a purposeful attempt at overwhelming Helena in her isolation.

My sister glanced at the door to his room, cracked a few inches open in case Hector called for something.

"Excuse me." I stepped away from all of them, knowing that if I could find Hector, he would tell me that everything would be all right. He'd explain it all away and assure me that he had it under control, as always.

Only, when I came to his door, it was dark beyond, only a light from the hearth casting long shadows across the uncharacteristically cluttered room.

I could see the lump of my brother's form in the bed, noted the stark white of his face surrounded by mats of his once lustrous black curls. But worst of all, I heard his breathing, slow and shallow and halting.

"Hector?" I whispered.

But he didn't respond. He didn't even open his eyes, and my limbs went colder than they'd felt riding horseback across the country in our desperate attempt to get to him.

I stood there, stuck in the doorway, too scared to go to him and too terrified to step away. If I did, it'd feel too much like letting go already, but I was trapped. I couldn't move, and a sob caught my breath in a sick parody of Hector's own rattle.

My brother was going to die.