For the first time the following morning, Sera was missing from her usual seat in the dining hall at breakfast.

  “Strange, normally Sera lets me know ahead of time if she won’t be making it to the morning meal. Sometimes she has terribly early work on the farms furthest from the pace,” Silvia said, taking a seat across from her brother and beside Damia as she typically did in the evenings.

  “I’m sure there’s no need to worry, Silvia,” Casimir murmured, eyes locked on the ptter of eggs in front of him. His hand gripped his fork stiffly, not even poised to use it.

  Rezin gently pced a hand on Casimir’s. They shared a momentary look that Damia couldn’t decipher, but it was clear that neither of them were willing to give it voice, so she didn’t press.

  Damia wasn’t convinced by Casimir’s knee-jerk reassurance to his sister, and clearly neither was Silvia, who narrowed her eyes at him.

  “Okay, we both know you’re a bad liar, but that was really not your best work. What happened to Sera?” Silvia interrogated.

  “Cssified,” he grunted, meeting her gre. Damia suspected that one word alone was often a full sentence between Casimir and Silvia from the way she scoffed, leaning back from the table.

  “What he’s trying to say, Silvia, is that we have to be patient. Worrying won’t help anyone. I know you have more questions, but please, don’t put us in that position right now,” Rezin interjected, turning a soft gaze toward her. Ever the mediator.

  “Typical,” Sylvia responded as she crossed her arms in front of her chest. “You know what, I’m really not hungry. Mage Damia, I’ll see you at our lesson ter,” she said bitterly. Damia wasn’t sure she had ever heard her use such a tone in the time she’d known her.

  As she exited the hall, Rezin turned back to his breakfast and said, “I really hope she’s not on her way to try and find Sera.”

  “Want me to catch up with her?” Damia asked, already moving to rise. She wasn’t sure what she could say, but the least she could do was be there for the girl.

  “No. She’ll be fine,” Casimir responded, scrubbing his face with both hands. “Listen, if you’re going to ask too, you might as well just go ahead to see Samwell,” he continued.

  How did he already know that’s where she was going, instead of to see Theonin? Arm bells grew louder in the back of Damia’s mind.

  “Fair,” Damia said, “but someone needs to talk to Silvia. Even if you can’t tell her what she wants to know.”

  Casimir remained silent as he pushed himself away from the table and stalked toward the exit.

  Rezin sighed. “I’d love for you to stay and chat, but I think it’s your turn to make an exit. Samwell needs you more than Casimir or Silvia does right now,” he said. His words were warm, gentle. Almost pleading.

  “Of course. I’ll see you ter, Rezin,” Damia conceded, withdrawing from the table.

  Damia’s palms grew cmmy at whatever brought about such urgency and concern in Rezin and Casimir. If they knew she was now meeting with Samwell instead of Theonin, they had to be in on whatever so-called “special tasks” he needed from her, right? She only hoped they didn’t know the circumstances under which she was informed of the change st night.

  “Enter,” came a gruff voice behind the door to the king’s study following Damia’s knock.

  “Good morning, your majesty,” Damia greeted upon her entrance, bowing her head as was proper. And to avoid looking directly at his wide chest, which she had now seen completely bare as of st night. The thought was completely unwelcome in her concern for Sera, so she shoved it down without mercy.

  “Sit,” Samwell commanded, gesturing toward a plum velvet cushioned chair in front of the roaring open firepce.

  The walls were lined with texts ranging from combat strategies, to family histories, to folklore. A stack of tomes were piled high on Samwell’s sizable desk, which featured a rge carving of a four-peaked mountain range into its main panel. The Altrielian Range, and the icon of the kingdom. Protector to the North.

  And behind it sat Altriel’s protector from all other directions. How funny that four mountains were responsible for just one side, while one man was on the line for the other three, Damia thought. How lonely it must be, to sit behind those mountains.

  “Anything you learn in this room is cssified, you understand,” Samwell started once he was sitting across from Damia. She simply nodded, noting the way dark circles were beginning to sink in beneath his eyes.

  He continued, “You have to know you’re my st resort, I really—”

  “Why is that, exactly?” Damia interrupted a little more heatedly than she had intended.

  “Why do you think everything is about you?” Samwell grumbled, but followed with a genuine tone, “This is a family matter.”

  As Damia pursed her lips, he continued, “Sera. Sera has… taken ill,” he stated, having to look for the right words. “And before you ask, no, it does not appear to be treatable by typical means in the healing ward,” he said, and for the first time, Damia thought he sounded almost small. As much as he tried to hide it, a sliver of terror found its way into his tone.

  “When did this start?” Damia asked.

  It appeared to take Samwell a moment to work his jaw again. “The day after Veda’s death.”

  The previous mage had passed almost two months ago by now. Why hadn’t Sera mentioned anything to her?

  “That’s certainly uncanny timing. What are the symptoms?” Damia inquired further, already beginning to cycle through her knowledge of ailments, both magical and mundane. She tapped her thumb and middle finger together absentmindedly, and the silver sparks brought on by the motion brought her a strange sense of comfort.

  “So far, it comes on as an extreme loss of strength and energy. She can’t stand, she can hardly think. At first it was only in small bouts, every so many days. I thought she was working too hard. She always works too hard,” he said the st bit more softly than the rest, and Damia almost wanted to reach out and comfort him somehow. The way Rezin had comforted Casimir in the banquet hall earlier.

  But that would be unprofessional.

  “I’ll need to examine her,” Damia decred, which drew a dry, humorless ugh from Samwell.

  “You make it sound like she’s already dead,” he bit out, and her throat closed.

  “I’m sorry. It’s just the first step for me to be able to help,” she said, trying not to sound meek.

  “No, you’re right,” Sam breathed, “I just, didn’t know what to expect from you. You seem friends. With Sera, that is. And Rezin, and Casimir. But you hardly know us.”

  “I thought you asked me here to help you with a ‘special task,’” Damia said matter-of-factly, quoting Samwell from st night. “And I intend to do just that.”

  Samwell lifted his hooded eyes to meet Damia’s. He looked as if he wanted to leap out of his chair, but couldn’t quite muster the energy. They pleaded with her. Like text in a tome, their message was clear — he needed her. Just as Rezin had said.

  Before Damia had even fully registered what her legs were doing, they were carrying her to the floor in front of Samwell’s chair. He watched her with wide eyes, but remained silent. Damia didn’t need him to voice his fear for his sister. She witnessed it clearly, and she felt it herself.

  That was something they shared. And at that moment, she could feel his ache, his utter need to share that burden with someone. She felt it as sure as she sensed the buzz in her fingers that grew as she drew closer to the king.

  They did not touch. Damia was not so bold. But a current of unseen energy connected them, as strong as it had at Damia’s binding. She knelt in front of him, her hand resting on her heart.

  “I am at your disposal. Not as your mage, but as Sera’s friend. Please. Help me help her,” Damia articuted, watching Samwell’s expression soften, then harden again, then return to almost neutral.

  “It appears I have no other option. So be it,” he practically whispered, but that was all Damia needed to hear.

  “One more thing. I need Silvia. Her healing abilities are prodigious. Give the girl clearance to help, and Sera will be better for it. I swear,” Damia stopped herself short of pleading.

  “Fine,” Samwell uttered, shaking his head.

  “I… didn’t expect you to agree to that so quickly,” Damia muttered, disturbed by Samwell’s altered demeanor this morning. Not that she could bme him, nor expect anything else from a frightened, unreachable man. All she could do was attempt to reach him.

  “You’ll see her now,” Samwell said suddenly, taking Damia’s hand in his own.

  A pulse of energy raced through Damia’s body at his touch, and she flushed.

  “Of course, your majesty. Lead the way.”