The Mayaware's reign must end.
In a world of demonic beings with a hunger for human flesh and thirst for blood, Hesi Renen knows it well. When her siblings are taken to the harvesting farms, she must do everything she can to get them out, even if it...
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Hesi drew the blanket around her shoulders tighter. The darkness in Kharta's basement was a grim reminder of what she lived through, of a fate she narrowly avoided. She drew her knees to her chest and stared at the mud and sand caking her bare feet. Her memories were hazy, but maybe Kharta dragged her from the royal palace to this room. It was as though she wasn't present when it happened. For the next hour, she did nothing but sit on the corner.
Kharta gave up talking to her, retreating instead to the one thing he knew best—medicine. Perhaps it was the trace of his Djarean roots—he briefly mentioned he witnessed the Great Shadow's beginning—but the steward possessed enough skill to rival the stingiest traveling apothecary from Ser-Ib.
A steaming cup edged into her periphery. She raised her chin from her knees to trace a hand, an arm, and finally, a face. His smile was gentle—something he didn't give her since they met. Since she drank poison and boiled her guts, and since he admitted things he shouldn't have, he gave her that smile more often.
What did it mean?
"Not in the mood." She averted her eyes and studied the dust carpeting the floor instead. Was he not fond of cleaning? Though who in his right mind would obsess over smooth floors when he settled in a basement where the entire desert could fall on him? "The last thing on my mind right now is tea."
He set the cup down inches from her toes. The steam curling from it never looked so inviting, but she already refused. It would look moronic to go back on her word. "The High Prince, then?" He sank next to her and pressed his back against the wall.
"How did you know when to come?" She didn't look at him. Her fingers picked at the fraying ends of the blanket around her shoulders.
"Since Mensa's accident, I have waited outside whenever the brides enter," he answered.
She cocked an eyebrow. "The High King approved it?"
Kharta's shadow, reflected by the faint moonlight, shrugged. "He trusts me to do the right thing for his kingdom's benefit," he replied. "I worked my hands off to get to this point. It's time I reap the benefits."
"You know how to bide your time, Noble Steward," she said with a grin. With her head turned away, she doubted he saw it.
A sigh bled off him followed by a silent sip. Ah, right. Tea. She chewed on her lip and scratched a nail against the stone floor. Nevermind if small particles seeped into her nail beds. She'd wash them later.
"I have a target on my back now," she continued aloud, her thoughts raging with glee out her mouth. That was why she was quiet. "I know about the prince, and I'm never drinking that amnesiac."
His eyes flicked towards his work tables where vials cooled in racks. He wasn't just working on the inventory; he took over the royal pharmacy too. It wouldn't surprise her if he controlled the healing quarters as well.
