Page 240 of Fallen Nocturne

“That makes me even more worried.” I remember asking Lucien about Garrett while he was briefly in his elven form. His answer still frightens me.

Garrett Clayborne is the person he hates most in this world. If Garrett ever stood before him again, Lucien said he would not hesitate to bury a dagger in his heart or tear out his throat, depending on which form he happened to be wearing.

I had been too shocked to ask what Garrett had done to deserve such hatred. Even Shade does not know the whole story. All he could tell me was that Lucien once accepted a contract involving House Clayborne.

Whatever happened between them, Lucien has not forgiven it.

“Coinneach marked both of them before they left. If either is in danger, I will know,” my husband assures me.

I watch until Shade and Lucien disappear beyond the city walls. I hope Shade finds his mother. I hope the Guild honors its promise, and I hope Lucien finds the warlock who cursed him.

Most of all, I hope they all return safely. Garrett included.

I turn to Svenn. “I’m going to visit Aelfric,” I say, then kiss him goodbye.

“Give him my regards.”

I squeeze his hand once, then leave him in the courtyard and make my way toward the healing wing alone.

I have been visiting my knight every day to help with his therapy. The war took so much from him, but he refuses to stay broken. He is claiming his strength back one painful step at a time.

When I arrive, Taryn is supporting Aelfric beneath one arm while he stands between two wooden rails. Sweat darkens his golden hair at the temples, and his hands clamp around the bars, trembling with effort.

“One more,” the healer says, bracing herself beneath his weight as he attempts to lift his injured leg. “Just one more. You can do it.”

Aelfric grits his teeth. His face goes red with effort, and his leg trembles, but it lifts. Only a few inches.

Taryn notices me in the doorway and gives Aelfric one final encouraging smile.

“Her Highness can help you finish for today,” she says. “Try not to overwork yourself.”

Aelfric grunts something beneath his breath as she bows and excuses herself from the room.

“That was good,” I say. “Better than yesterday.”

I move to his side and slide one arm around his waist. His hand settles over my shoulder, and I feel him fighting not to lean too hard. We make it to the chair in small, unsteady steps. I ease him down, but his hands still find the armrests before he drops the last few inches with a sharp exhale.

“I still can’t walk,” Aelfric mutters, frustration heavy in his voice.

“You will,” I promise. “The matron said it would take another week. You’re getting stronger every day.”

“Not fast enough,” he mutters.

I almost smile at that.

“Come on,” I say, tucking the blanket across his lap. “There’s somewhere I want to take you. If you’re up for it.”

“Where?” he asks.

“The memorial gardens,” I say quietly. “To visit Siofra and Darstan.”

Aelfric’s expression turns sombre. His hands tighten around the arms of the chair before slowly relaxing. Grief passes across his face, followed by something quieter.

“Yes,” he says. “I’d like that.”

The memorial gardens are on the western edge of the palace grounds, a place to remember our fallen warriors. Markers fill the grounds in long, uneven rows. Some are carved from stone while others are made from wood. A few are elaborate, covered in family crests and inscriptions, but most are simple. Each one represents a life lost in the war.

There are far too many.