“But,” she went on, trying to sidestep away, “I’ll make your tonic right now, Your Highness.”
He gave her the space she needed as she hurried about the table with graceful efficiency, measuring powders and crushing dried leaves, so steady and self-assured . . . He realized he’d been staring when she spoke again. “Your . . . friend. The King’s Champion. Is she well?”
Her mission to Wendlyn was fairly secret, but he could get around that. “She’s off on my father’s errand for the next few months. I certainly hope she’s well, though I have no doubt she can care for herself.”
“And her hound—she’s well?”
“Fleetfoot? Oh, she’s fine. Her leg’s healed beautifully.” The hound now slept in his bed, of course, and bullied him for scraps and treats to no end, but . . . it was nice to have some piece of his friend while she was gone. “Thanks to you.”
A nod, and silence fell as she measured and then poured some green-looking liquid. He sincerely hoped he wasn’t going to drink that.
“They said . . .” Sorscha kept her spectacular eyes down. “They said there was some wild animal roaming the halls a few months ago—that’s what killed all those people before Yulemas. I never heard whether they caught it, but then . . . your friend’s dog looked like she’d been attacked.”
Dorian willed himself to keep still. She’d truly put some things together, then. And hadn’t told anyone. “Ask it, Sorscha.”
Her throat bobbed, and her hands shook a little—enough that he wanted to reach out and cover them. But he couldn’t move, not until she spoke. “What was it?” she breathed.
“Do you want the answer that will keep you asleep at night, or the one that might ensure you never sleep again?” She lifted her gaze to him, and he knew she wanted the truth. So he loosed a breath and said, “It was two different . . . creatures. My father’s Champion dealt with the first. She didn’t even tell the captain and me until we faced the second.” He could still hear that creature’s roar in the tunnel, still see it squaring off against Chaol. Still had nightmares about it. “The rest is a bit of a mystery.” It wasn’t a lie. There was still so much he didn’t know. And didn’t want to learn.
“Would His Majesty punish you for it?” A quiet, dangerous question.
“Yes.” His blood chilled at the thought. Because if he knew, if his father learned Celaena had somehow opened a portal . . . Dorian couldn’t stop the ice spreading through him.
Sorscha rubbed her arms and glanced at the fire. It was still burning high, but . . . Shit. He had to go. Now. Sorscha said, “He’d kill her, wouldn’t he? That’s why you said nothing.”
Dorian slowly started backing out, fighting against the panicked, wild thing inside of him. He couldn’t stop the rising ice, didn’t even know where it was coming from, but he kept seeing that creature in the tunnels, kept hearing Fleetfoot’s pained bark, seeing Chaol choose to sacrifice himself so they could get away—
Sorscha stroked the length of her dark braid. “And—and he’d probably kill the captain, too.”
His magic erupted.
•
After Sorscha had been forced to wait in the cramped office for twenty minutes, Amithy finally paraded in, her tight bun making her harsh face even more severe. “Sorscha,” she said, sitting down at her desk and frowning. “What am I to do with you? What example does this set for the apprentices?”
Sorscha kept her head down. She knew she’d been kept waiting in order to make her fret over what she’d done: accidentally knocking over her entire worktable and destroying not only countless hours and days of work, but also a good number of expensive tools and containers. “I slipped—I spilled some oil and forgot to wipe it up.”