Page 156 of Crown of the Courtesan

I watch the Cliodna through the window. “Have the healers brought Rett’s fever down yet?” I ask, but a sinking feeling in my stomach already knows the answer.

“Slightly. Last time I checked, he was sleeping, which is good.”

I hear Lir yell, “…marry her then, but don’t expect me to watch…”

Valora’s expression grows serious. “Are you certain this is the path you wish to take?”

“Honestly? No—but I’ll choose it just the same.” She hugs me, and I let out a little laugh-cry, telling her, “At least I’ll stop receiving marriage proposals if I marry Ashland.”

“My girl, I don’t see any way around it this time. But at least look on the bright side: more time for training,” Valora says resignedly. After a moment of contemplation, her voice grows low. “You know, as Witch-Queen, you’ll have the freedom to train your powers to their full extent. The Witch-Queen is co-ruler, not bound to the rule of the Witch-King.”

That sentiment slowly sinks into me as I mull over the implications. “Valora, why are you always so kind to me? After all my stupid decisions, don’t you tire of me?” I ask, trying not to get choked up.

“I save my anger for the battlefield and my composure for my friends. The men could learn a thing or two if they implemented the same patience—seeing how we all make mistakes.”

Friends?

My stomach squirms. “I keep thinking that Ashland is making a terrible mistake. What if your sister comes back…”

Valora looks at me sympathetically. “That was a long time ago, and many things have changed since then.”

“Will you tell me what happened?”

“Zarina found her true calling in midwifery and returned home to the Solarian Court to pursue her dream of being a mother. Something Ash could never give her. Promise me you won’t worry about her. She’s living her life, and so should you—so should Ash.”

Outside, the shouts rise to a crescendo before abruptly stopping. Valora and I share a worried glance.

“At least that part is over,” I whisper as guilt twists around me for rejecting Lir once again.

Valora clears her throat and motions toward the garments that are still draped across her arm. My hand still aches, but I’m getting better at hiding my pain, only wincing for a second as I close my eyes and blindly select the faded black gown with silver stitching. It seems fitting in a way, as this feels more like a Death Ceremony than a wedding.

My heart races as she helps me get ready, carefully fastening each clasp and lacing the black ribbon on the bodice. All of this would end in misery and death, no matter what I choose.

“Are you all set?” Valora asks, tying a matching velvet ribbon around my neck as I release my hair into loose spirals.

Looking back at the shelves of ingredients and herbs, I nod as I replace my circlet. Not wanting to linger, I open the cottage door only to meet Rett’s sweating and scowling face staring back at me.

Rett sways unsteadily in the doorway, his orange, feverish eyes burning with turmoil. Burgundy hair sticks to his forehead. He blocks my path with his arm, which ends abruptly in a bandaged stump tinged with red.

“How can you marry him?” His voice strains and rasps. “After refusing me? Am I really that repulsive to you?” He clutches at the dirty, sweat-stained clothing hanging off of his weak body.

I stiffen, clasping Valora’s steadying hand, searching for the right words. He slams his fist into the exterior wall, his face contorting as debris and snow fall.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” I whisper. “I’m sorry. I’m trying to fix it now, for the both of us.”

“Don’t you see? If you marry him, he wins—” He sways closer, the stench of fever and body odor emanating from him.

“Mind yourself and return to the ship, princeling,” Valora warns.

He ignores her, staring desperately at me. “Please, Tabitha... don’t do this...”

Lir’s stern voice cuts in, “That’s enough.” He strides around the house, one hand on his cutlass as he grasps Rett’s shoulder with the other. “It’s time to leave.”

One withering look at the cutlass that previously severed his arm is all it takes. Rett shoves Lir in the chest, then sways back and forth aggressively before lurching toward me. Not wanting to be pinned against the cottage wall, I scurry into the snowy yard, shaking.

Rett throws a wild punch. Lir deflects easily, catching Rett’s fist in his grip. Over Rett’s frustrated growls, Lir shouts, “Calm yourself! The fever clouds your judgment.”

Spit flying from his mouth, Rett roars, “How do you fight like this if you’re blind? What sort of magic is this?”