A Ghost in the House of Iron

Chapter Eighteen

The queen's chambers are uncomfortably warm, the pungent smell of burning herbs making it difficult to breathe. Flowers have been placed in ornate vases around her bed to brighten up the space, give it a sense of life. But they have started to wilt, petals browning at the edges, stems drooping under the weight of the heavy blossoms. The cloyingly sweet scent is noticeable even underneath the smokiness of pine and sage. Somehow, it smells like death.

There are three wizards in the room, kneeling within a large chalk symbol on the ground. They are chanting softly, eyes closed. The king sits in a chair by the bed, facing away from the doorway, head bowed. I can hear him sob intermittently. I know from the others' reports that he's been there for the better part of a week. He hasn't eaten, hasn't truly slept. He seems determined to waste away along with his wife.

I watch the wizards as I walk towards the queen's bedside. They don't acknowledge my presence in any way, but I'm nervous since my run-in at the University. The wound across my palm has fully closed up, but the purplish scar still stings when I use my hand for anything, a reminder of my carelessness. Based on the descriptions I've heard, none of these men are Bastian's uncle Ellerin. Supposedly the Master Pneumatist has already done everything he could for Lady Katalyn. They're saying she is beyond the reach of even magic, now.

Despite the roaring fire and the heat of late summer, the queen is bundled in what looks like dozens of blankets. Her skin is moist and frighteningly pale except for dark shadows beneath her eyes, which are closed in sleep. I can see them moving beneath the lids, darting back and forth in fitful fever dreams. Occasionally her whole body will twitch or tense up, only to sink once more into stillness. She has been locked in this state for days now.

Like Aurelius said, there is a strange blue tint to her lips. Not a bruised sort of blue, or the stain you get from eating too many berries. This blue is vivid, brighter than forget-me-nots. Aurelius told me that Ezebel was fixated on this symptom in her hunt for a cure, that she kept repeating it over and over before shutting herself away in her apothecary. Blue lips. That makes it sound like she's already dead. Like she can't get enough air. Does she feel as though she's suffocating? She doesn't wheeze or gasp for breath. She seems to barely breathe at all.

It's impossible to ask her how she feels while she's trapped in restless slumber. I hope she isn't suffering. She's always been so kind to me. The queen is so gentle, full of grace, yet she has a spark of fire in her that reminds me of my mother. She thinks the world is beautiful, that life is meant to be lived to the fullest. That kind of optimism is contagious. But it's been fading, these last few years. Ever since the disappearance of her son. The prince I was tasked to watch over, who disappeared in an explosion of fire. Lady Katalyn never recovered, and it's my fault. It was my failure.

I put a hand lightly on the king's shoulder. He looks up at me with bleary eyes. "Ah, Ezebel's little lass." At first he sounds calm, sort of detached. He sniffs. His voice becomes a thin, desperate plea. "Can you save her? I know you're just a child, but I will ask anyone. Please. If you can-" He can't get through the sentence without breaking into a sob.

"I can't," I say softly. "I'm sorry, Your Highness." But maybe I can help you. I don't say the last part out loud.

I go over in my head what I'd done to Gregorius, the way I'd changed him, pushed some sort of mental state from myself into him. Made him grovel before me. Then I close my eyes, focus myself, use all of my training to build up a sense of peace. Like floating in a glittering pool of starlight, held safely above the gently flowing currents, arms and legs splayed in four directions. Surrender. Relax.

Then I open my eyes and push that feeling out with a slow exhale. I will it out of me, to wash over the king in a wave, sink into him, a rush of tingling serenity.