Raisa turned to face him. Amon’s expression mingled wariness and hope. She extended her hand and cupped it under his chin, now rough with early morning stubble. She felt him swallow.

Leaning forward, she pressed her lips against his, gently at first, then more firmly. She reached her other hand around his neck and pulled him closer, fingering the cropped hair on the back of his neck, tracing the bone and muscle there. She pressed against him, feeling his heart accelerate against her chest.

He slid his arms around her, pulled her tight against him in a desperate embrace.

Something rippled between them, and Amon began to tremble. A violent shudder went through him, then another. He broke away and doubled over, clutching at his middle. Sliding sideways to the floor, he lay there writhing and gasping for breath.

“What’s the matter?” Raisa said, though she already knew.

“Blood of the demon,” he whispered. He raised his arms, covering his throat as if to ward off unseen attackers.

“Amon!” Raisa knelt beside him, pressing her hand to his forehead. It was clammy and cold, pebbled with sweat. “N—no,” Amon said, turning his head from side to side, dislodging her hand. “I’m sorry. Don’t…touch me. Please.”

Raisa snatched her hand away, and Amon doubled up in misery, moaning, “Sweet Hanalea, forgive me,” he cried, his face contorted in agony, tears seeping from the corners of his eyes. Convulsions rolled through him like waves breaking on a steep shoreline. “Sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

Raisa ran and pulled her pillow from the bed and tucked it behind him so he wouldn’t smash against the brick hearth. She covered him with her cloak, because now he seemed to be shivering.

Gradually, the seizure eased. Amon’s body relaxed, his eyes fluttered shut, and he slept.

Raisa put another log on the grate and sat with her back to the fire, close to Amon but not touching him, watching him sleep. She felt cold and numb except for a dull ache under her breastbone, and her eyes were finally dry.

The new dawn found the princess heir awake, exhausted, and completely empty of dreams.

C H A P T E R  T W E N T Y - O N E

A VERMIN
PROBLEM

A few weeks after Han’s first meeting with Abelard’s group, Han and Dancer walked back to the dormitory after supper.

Dancer sat down at his worktable and opened up one of Firesmith’s books. Spools of gold wire, bars of silver, and semiprecious stones surrounded him. He’d spent a trunkload of money on flash materials. It was good they’d managed to sell off their trade goods at the markets.