Delia Prance's Arc

Chapter 52 of 59

Delia rode to the palace three days later, her flower-stitched satchel of herbs slung across her back. The nobles had not thrown a flower behind their ears. They had gone quiet, and quiet was worse. Nick had gathered them in the great hall to answer for their fear. Half the court wanted Delia gone. Half wanted her power for the crown. She walked in beside Nick and felt every eye land on her hair, her hands, the ground under her feet. Rowan sat on his high chair, watching his sons. He had made this happen. He had crowned her and named her elf blood law. But even a king could not order a room to stop being afraid. "Say it plain," Nick told the court. His voice was flat. "You fear my wife. Tell her why." A gray-haired lord stood. "She grows what no one can. She heals wounds that should kill. What stops her from growing poison in our sleep?" Delia opened her satchel. She set a jar of dried root on the floor. "This one saved a boy's leg last month. This one"—she set down another—"is nightshade. I keep it because it kills rats in your grain stores. I wrote every use in my ledger, for the crown to see." She looked at the lord. "I hide nothing. That is more than any noble here can say." The room shifted. But the gray-haired lord did not sit. He turned to Arden. Arden had stood apart the whole time, near the tall window, arms crossed. The king's first son. The one who should have been heir. The court had waited for him to speak, because his word could tip the frightened half either way. He had once loved Delia. She saw it still, buried under the flat set of his jaw. He wanted Nick to fall. He also owed her his life. "Prince Arden," the lord said. "You know her best. Is she safe?" Arden looked at Delia for a long moment. Then at Nick. She could see the choice pull at him. One word and he could break his brother. One word and he could break her. "She cured a chest sickness the palace healers called a death," Arden said. "Mine. She never asked for coin. She never asked for a throne." He let that sit. "A woman who wanted power would have taken it years ago. She took a garden." The gray-haired lord sat down. One by one, the frightened half stopped whispering. Arden had spent his own name to steady them, and it held. Rowan stood. "It is decided. The queen keeps her house. The court keeps its swords in their sheaths." He said it once and turned away. Outside the hall, Delia caught Arden's sleeve. "You could have let him fall." "I could have," Arden said. He did not smile. "The debt's paid now." He walked off before she could answer. The court was hers. But Arden was no longer bound to protect her, and that was a lever waiting to be pulled.