Lynet ran toward the door of the bedchamber, not waiting to hear more. He’s dead. He’s dead like my mother, he’s left me to be with her, he’s dead, he’s dead. But before she’d reached the door, strong arms held her back. “Let go of me,” Lynet choked out. She fell to her knees, and only then did she see that it was not the huntsman, but Mina, who was holding her.
“Let the surgeon attend to him first, and then you can go in,” Mina was saying. Surgeon. Because he was torn open. Because he’s dead. Nadia would know. Nadia would tell her. She was speaking quietly with the huntsman, but when Lynet tried to catch her eye, she turned her head away.
“He’s dead,” Lynet said, the words repeating over and over again in her mind. He’s dead, he’s dead, like her.
“He’s not dead.” Mina put her hands on Lynet’s shoulders. “Listen to me. He’s lost a lot of blood, but he’s not dead.”
Nadia cleared her throat, gesturing to the door that Lynet and Mina were blocking. “I’ll do what I can to help,” she said.
“Go, then,” Mina commanded, and when Mina commanded, anyone would obey.
Nadia hurried inside the room, shutting the door quickly behind her. Lynet wanted to follow, but Mina was still holding her.
“So he’s alive,” Lynet said, testing the words, finding them so much sweeter than her previous refrain. He’s alive, he’s alive.
“He’s alive for now,” Mina said with a mix of sadness and relief.
“For now? But he—but you said—”
“His wounds were severe. The stag gored him. He may not be with us much longer.”
It didn’t make sense to her. There was dead, and there was alive, but Lynet didn’t know what to do with anything in between.
“Lynet, do you understand what I’m saying?”
“But he’s not dead,” Lynet insisted. She just needed to explain to Mina that she was wrong. Mama was dead, but Papa was alive. That was how it had always been. “He can’t die.”
“Anyone can die,” Mina murmured.
She stood, becoming again the queen that Lynet knew so well. Lynet didn’t know how to put herself back together as quickly as Mina; she stayed where she was on the floor, part of her believing that if she just waited here long enough, her father would come walking out through the door, alive and whole. Mina gave a slight nod to the huntsman, and he returned it and walked out of the room, leaving them alone.
Mina slowly paced around the room in silence. The dull gray light from the window made her seem faded and ghostly, lost in another world, and Lynet didn’t know how to bring her back. She couldn’t bear this silent waiting, though.
“They’ll be able to save him, won’t they?” she said, her hands twisting in the folds of her dress.
Mina sank heavily into one of the chairs by the fireplace, resting her head in her hands so that her hair curtained her from view. Then she lifted her head, looked into the empty fireplace, and said, “I don’t know.”
That’s not what you’re supposed to say, Lynet thought. Mina was supposed to help her, to offer comfort or reassurance—but lately, Lynet felt that she was the one who kept trying to comfort Mina, instead.
“Just tell me that he’ll be all right—”
“Lynet, I don’t know,” Mina snapped.
“Stop saying that!” Lynet shouted, her voice shrill with barely restrained panic. She rose to her feet, though her legs were trembling. She hated feeling so afraid, hated feeling weak and helpless to protect anyone she cared about. But how was she ever supposed to be brave, when Mina wouldn’t even look at her? “How can you just sit there?” Lynet said, the words bursting out of her. “How can you be so calm? You don’t even care if he recovers, do you? But then, why should you? You never loved him.”
Finally Mina turned to look at Lynet, her eyes cold, and Lynet’s anger shrank away, leaving her only with shame. “Mina, I didn’t—”
“You’re right,” Mina said, her voice low but clear. “I don’t love him. I thought I did once, a long time ago. But you’re wrong to think I don’t care what happens to him.” She hesitated and then she said, “You’ll be queen if he dies, you know.”
Queen? It was the last thing on Lynet’s mind. She would renounce any claim she’d ever had to the throne if it meant keeping her father alive. “I don’t care,” she said. “None of that matters to me.”
Mina smiled, a frightening twitch of her lips, and looked away again, her fingers curling against the chair’s armrests. “It’s so easy for you, isn’t it?” she said in a whisper. “If I’d had a father like yours growing up, maybe I wouldn’t care about being queen either.”
Lynet went silent, cursing her own thoughtlessness. She knew being queen meant more than a crown to Mina, but only now did she fully understand the inevitability of her losing that crown. Whether it mattered to Lynet or not, she would become queen on the day her father died—today or years in the future—and on that day, Lynet wouldn’t be the only one to lose something dear to her.
“Mina—”
The door to her father’s bedchamber opened before Lynet could continue, and both she and Mina turned as Nadia stepped out of the room. Her face was drawn, and there was light perspiration on her forehead as she took a few heavy breaths. “He’s lost a great deal of blood,” she said, looking only at Mina. “I’ve given him henbane, to make him sleep.”
“Could I…” Lynet swallowed. “Could I see him?”
Nadia sighed as she turned to her, but then she nodded. “He may not be coherent enough to speak with you, but you can go to him, if you wish.”
Mina rose from her chair. “I’ll let you go in alone. You need better comfort than I can offer you right now.” To Nadia, she said, “Call for me if anything changes.”
Once Mina was gone, Lynet had no more excuse to wait. She stood in front of the door, bracing herself.
“Do you want me to go with you?” Nadia asked her, placing her hand lightly on Lynet’s shoulder.
“No,” Lynet said. “Just … just tell me if he’s going to live. Be honest with me.”
Nadia’s hand tightened for a moment, and that gentle pressure was answer enough. “If he does,” Nadia said, “it probably won’t be for much longer. You should say good-bye now, just in case. And Lynet—”
Lynet turned, facing her.
“About earlier, when we were talking in the workroom—”
Lynet shook her head, shrugging Nadia’s hand off her shoulder. “Not now. I don’t care about that now.”
Before Nadia could respond, Lynet slipped into her father’s bedchamber, shutting the door behind her. As soon as she was inside, she shivered, her whole body recoiling from the motionless form resting on the bed. She had thought nothing could be worse than the crypt, but now she knew she was wrong.
But she forced herself to move toward the bed. The thought was floating in her head, though she felt too guilty to articulate it, that she needed to be quick, in case he died while she was standing there.
The wound at his side was heavily bandaged, and his skin was sallow, but her father looked peaceful in his drugged sleep. Pleasant dreams, Lynet hoped. Hesitantly, she reached for his hand, but it took her three tries before she managed to touch him. She’d thought he was too far gone to wake, but at the touch of her hand, he groaned, and Lynet snatched her hand back. He was alive, at least. Dying, but alive, still alive.