“What’s the matter with him?” Buffont asked.
“Stay with him!” Molly called as she left.
The servant laid him down. “I heard a loud crash in the king’s chambers. When I got in with the ale, I found him like this on the floor with her trying to pick him up.”
“Griffin, help me. Get them out of here,” Maggie whispered to him.
“I’m not sure it matters anymore,” Griffin said.
Maggie gaped at him.
Bradyn seized. He gasped, trying to catch air into his lungs, then went into a stiff trembling, bounding off the cot like a fish out of water.
“Molly!” Buffont called helplessly.
“Move!” Maggie yelled, shoving the big servant out of her way.
Griffin pulled Buffont so Maggie could get around him too. She clasped her hands, threading her fingers, then cradled Bradyn’s head, covering the wound, but he was moving so much it was impossible.
“Griffin! Hold him down!”
“What she’s doing?” Buffont asked.
“Saving his life.” Griffin sat on Bradyn. He grabbed his hands and held them by his sides.
Buffont leaned on Griffin, trying to push him off. “You’re hurting him more!”
A guttural growl exploded from Maggie, shutting him up.
His head in her hands, Maggie took a deep breath of cool air from the open window above the cot.
“Look at her eyes,” said Buffont with awe.
The deep blue glowed in the dim cove. Once again, Griffin found himself asking the same question. What is she? She gasped, her eyes slamming shut, then she let go. “It’s done,” she said, breathless.
Bradyn remained unconscious.
“Bradyn . . . ,” she coaxed, tears brimming. “Please wake up.”
Griffin shook his legs. “Bradyn. Wake up!”
Bradyn gasped as if freshly born.
His father knelt beside him, hugging him, crying harder than Griffin had ever seen a man cry before. “I thought we’d lost you for sure, lad.” Buffont smiled through his tears at Maggie. His hand patted hers, which was coated in a fine layer of his son’s drying blood. “You did that? You healed him?” Buffont opened his mouth. Nothing came out. He squeezed Bradyn to him.
“You’re crushing me, Da.”
“I cannot believe you’re alive,” Buffont exclaimed. “Thank you,” he said to Maggie.
“I don’t deserve your thanks.”
“She nearly killed me,” Bradyn said, without malice. From the looks of his wide eyes and big grin at Maggie, he didn’t mind in the least. “It was brilliant.” He smacked his father in the arm. “It was like—boom! Knocked me clean across the room with a brilliant blast of light!”
Buffont frowned at Maggie.
Griffin’s mouth fell open. If Maggie could do that . . .
“He hit his head. He doesn’t know what he’s saying,” Maggie said, laughing. “It was Xavier, remember, Bradyn?”
“We’re here!” Molly burst into the kitchen through the alley door. Sander wasn’t in the hall. Molly had roused him from bed. He was in a yellow sleeping gown. His silver hair was pointing in every direction, and he was barefoot.
When Molly saw Bradyn standing, she scolded him. “Were you playing a trick on me? What is wrong with you, boy? I thought you were dead!” She reached for his head to check it.
“I’m fine, Ma.” Bradyn swatted her hands, trying to ward her off, but she kept coming. She twisted and turned his head. “Gah! Woman, can you not do that.”
“No. You were lying there. Your hair is still matted with blood. Let the physician have a look at you.”
“Listen to your mother,” Sander said, shaking his head. “Had her so worried, she wouldn’t let me get my shoes on.”
Bradyn opened this mouth, about to give Maggie away, but stopped when he saw her sternly shaking her head. He gulped.
Buffont exchanged a confused stare with Griffin, pushing Bradyn at Molly. “Not in the kitchen. Take him home, Molly.”
“I don’t need to go home,” Bradyn griped.
“Move . . . ,” his mother insisted.
Once they were gone, Buffont brought Maggie a bucket and rag so she could wash the blood off her hands. She sat down on the cot, dipping and scrubbing. Griffin sat down beside her, close enough that he could feel his leg against hers. The proximity set off a jolt that was both comforting and disquieting at the same time. He scooted farther away.
“Please don’t tell anyone what happened here,” Maggie asked Buffont.
He chuckled. “I’m not sure anyone would believe me.”
“Walk me back to my room?” she asked Griffin with a look of determination.
She wanted an explanation. “Of course.”
They walked through torchlit hallways in silence, the only sound coming from their visible breath. Temperatures plummeted, skating through fall, plunging into winter with a vengeance.
Griffin glanced over his shoulder several times.
“What’s wrong?”
“Checking to see if we’re being followed,” he whispered.
“And?”
Griffin shook his head but was still grateful when he turned down a familiar corridor. Not a single guard was posted in the passageway leading to her door.
Maggie closed the door behind them and locked it. Then she checked behind the screen. “No Petal either.”
They were alone, for now.
“Strange to find no soldiers,” Griffin mused. “Raleigh has barely left your side since you arrived. He knows the truth, Maggie.”
She frowned slightly. “I may have tipped my hand on accident in the Hinterlands with him, the same way I did with Buffont just now, only I wasn’t entirely sure he saw.”
“You never said.”
“What would that have changed?”
She was right. Griffin bit his lip, contemplating. “If Raleigh knows, then so do the prince and the king.”
She shook her head. “Not the king. He called Raleigh an old cur. He threw him out of his chambers in the tower, refusing to let him stay for the performance.”
“That explains why Raleigh punched the door. Then struck me.”
“Why?” Maggie tried to look at Griffin’s cheek, but he moved her hand away.
“It was coming for a long while.” Griffin stepped away from her. “But he knows we went to see Rendicryss.”
“What? How?” She sounded accusatory.
“I certainly didn’t confess to it! Could be Perig got caught taking bribes or Raleigh had you followed. Or Jori. He’s certainly obsessed with you.”
The fire snapped, putting an end to the argument, but not the tension. Minty-sweet eucalyptus burned, killing the cloying rose oil scent. A short reprieve, but appreciated. If Griffin never smelled another rose, it would be too soon.
Maggie shoved a chair closer to the heat and sat down. She picked at the blood marring her orange dress. “You should go. I’ll only bring you more trouble. Especially after what happened tonight.”
Griffin had no doubt Maggie could take care of herself. His gaze lifted to the door, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. No matter how much his head told him to run, his heart refused.
Griffin poured wine, handing Maggie a glass, and took the other seat. He greedily drank it down. The numbness it brought was welcome.