“But isn’t there an investigation to be done?” I turned back to face him.

“The King, Kasper, and Bayle are handling it right now,” Kennet reassured me. “You can join them tomorrow. But for now, I think it’s best if you get some rest.”

I shook my head. “I’m fine. I don’t need rest. I need to figure out what’s going on.”

“Bryn, take a break when you’ve earned it.” Kennet sounded weary, probably growing exhausted from trying to convince me that there was more to life than work. “And by Ægir’s might, you’ve earned it.”

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Kennet was close enough that I could breathe him in again—the heady scent of the sea and fresh rain and ice. He smelled of water in all its forms, so wonderful and soothing.

Without thinking, I leaned into him, resting my head against his chest, and he responded by wrapping his arms around me and holding me to him.

“I’m sorry if I come on too strong.” His words were muffled in my hair as he spoke. “It’s just that this palace can be awfully lonely day after day. But I don’t want anything from you that you don’t want to give.”

I buried my head deeper in his chest.

“You smell like home,” I whispered, realizing too late that my inability to lie had also become an inability to filter. Words were tumbling out without hesitation. “But not like the house I grew up in.”

“It’s water that you smell,” he explained, his words muffled in my hair. “And water is your home.”

Home. It was the last word that echoed through my mind when sleep finally overtook me that night.

TWENTY-FOUR

afflicted

I remembered nothing from my dreams, but I couldn’t shake the fear. I was sitting in my bed, in the strange darkened room of the Skojare palace, covered in a cold sweat and gasping for breath, and I didn’t know why I was so terrified.

Kennet had slipped out after I’d fallen asleep, which was only proper. But I missed the comfort of his presence, and I realized that in spite of all my best intentions, I now considered Kennet a friend.

“Bryn?” Kasper cautiously pushed open my bedroom door and looked in. “Are you awake?”

“Yeah.” I sat up straighter and used the blanket to wipe the sweat from my brow. “Yeah, you can come in.”

“Are you okay?” Kasper asked. Even in the darkness, my distress must’ve been apparent.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” I brushed it off. “What do you need?”

“I know I told you to rest, and I understand if you want to—”

“Just tell me what’s going on,” I said, rushing him along.

“We’re going to check out Cyrano Moen’s house, and I thought you’d want to join us.”

The clock on my nightstand said it was nearly midnight. “Now? Why haven’t you already gone?”

He let out an irritated sigh. “I don’t know. Bayle insisted that we do all this other pointless stuff first.” He shook his head. “Honestly, I want you to join me so I can have another set of eyes that I can trust.”

“I’ll go with you.”

I hopped out of bed, and Kasper turned away since I’d been sleeping in just a tank top and underwear. I hurried to throw on a pair of jeans and a shirt, and then we left my room.

Cyrano Moen’s house was three miles from the palace, counting the long walk on the dock that connected the palace with the mainland. Storvatten itself was a strange, quiet village with no street lights and no real roads to speak of, just dirt paths meandering through the darkness.

Most of the houses were burrows—squat little houses half-buried in the ground with thatched roofs and moss growing up over them. Cyrano’s was no different, but unlike the other houses surrounding it, his actually had the lights on.

The front door was open, and five steps led into a living room. Bayle was already inside when Kasper and I arrived, looking around the small space. The house was round, and everything inside it was visible from the front door—the living room, the kitchen, even the bedroom in the back corner where a crib sat next to a full-size bed.

“Cyrano had a family,” I realized, and guilt hit me like a sledgehammer.

“Neighbors said they left earlier today,” Bayle said, then motioned to discarded clothes on the bed and a pacifier on the dirt floor. “By the look of things, I’d say they went in a hurry.”

A picture hung on the living room wall of Cyrano with a lovely young wife and a small, pudgy baby with a blue ribbon in her hair. She was an adorable baby, but there seemed to be something off about her eyes, something I couldn’t place.

That wasn’t what struck me, though. It was that this man had a family, one I’d taken him away from.

“Bryn.” Kasper touched my arm, sensing my anguish. “You were protecting the King.”

“What was that?” Bayle asked, looking over at us.

“How old is the little girl?” I asked, not wanting to let Bayle in on my private feelings, and pointed to the picture.

“A little over a year, I think,” Bayle said. “Cyrano talked about her from time to time. Her name was Morgan, and I think she was diagnosed with some sort of disorder a few months ago.”

“Disorder?” I looked at him. “What do you mean?”

“I can’t remember what it was.” Bayle shook his head. “Something with her brain. She started having seizures, and she couldn’t crawl because she didn’t have any strength. And there was something with her eyes. They kept darting all around.”