Page 169 of The Mercy of Dawn

“She’s…detached?” It didn’t entirely make sense to Mikael. But if his mother seemed so sure of it, he’d believe her.

Runa nodded.

“A bit, but not badly. They used to bring people like her to the temple for sanctuary when I was younger. But some of them were alone for so long that we couldn’t do much to help them, outside of giving them a safe place to lay their heads. Cyril, though? She’ll be alright with a bit of time.”

Well, that was…not as reassuring as his mother intended it to be.

He glanced back out into Cyril’s room and quietly asked, “Is there anything I can do to help her?”

“You’ve never been one to sit idle, have you?” His mother smiled and squeezed his shoulder as she stepped over, a comb and hair tie in her other hand. “Let me ask you something first, though. Are you sure you want to help her?”

Mikael narrowed his eyes at her. What a strange fucking question.

“Of course I am.”

“This is a commitment you have to make, Mika. You can’t just say you want to help her, and then decide you’re tired of it all in a couple of weeks and move on to another warm body. She might not recover from that sort of cruelty.”

Another warm body? Fucking hells.

He opened his mouth to protest. He knew his reputation with commitment wasn’t shining, but—

“And I will not judge you if you say no, if you do not want to take that on. Wren will help her in the infirmary to get back on her feet, so don’t worry about that.”

There wasn’t a doubt in Mikael’s mind.

“I want to help her.”

Runa pursed her lips and studied him, nodding.

“Then you are going to need to spend time with her, and help her ground and engage her senses.”

Mikael narrowed his eyes at her.

His mother had a terrible habit of phrasing things like they were the most simple concept imaginable.

“And I would do that how?”

“Oh, my boy,” she chuckled. “Let her hear your voice and feel your touch. Take her to sit in the sun and have the kitchens brew her strong tea. Make sure she eats and walks too. Anything to help her feel connected to the present moment. And”—she tapped his arm—“you need to be patient with her, above all else.”

For her? Mikael could do all of that, and then some. He would take some long overdue time away from his duties and focus on making sure she had everything she might need. That was easy.

“I can do that,” he said. “All of it.”

“Good.” His mother smiled at him, some measure of pride exuding from her. “Now, I’m sure you can handle getting her out of that bloody shirt while I find something for her to wear?”

Even with how Mikael and his mother rushed to get Cyril changed and out the door—his mother going as far as braiding Cyril’s damn hair while they hurried through the palace—Bron’s pyre started without them.

By the time their feet met the cragged back shore of the lake, the cloying smell of incense hung heavy in the air. Dion had already lit the first two corners of the flower and greenery-filled structure and was walking around to the third.

“Are you alright?” Mikael asked Cyril quietly.

A loaded and stupid question, he knew, but her face was unreadable and the silence she existed in was making him anxious. Cyril just stood there, between Mikael and his mother, with her arms slack at her sides and her eyes fixed on the pyre.

Her eyes slid over.

Her mouth opened and closed twice before her brows knit together.

“I don’t know…” she said so softly Mikael almost couldn’t hear her.