“Trust me, I’m just as surprised as you,” he says with a chuckle. Nemeth bends down and kisses my upturned face. “I’ll come wake you the moment they arrive.”

He disappears in another swirl of shadows, and I absently go and tap the light in the corner, dimming it. I’m too uneasy to sleep, but sitting by the door is just making me anxious. It must be making Nemeth anxious as well, and that’s why he’s sent me up here. I kick my shoes off and lie atop the blankets, fretting. I tell myself I’m not going to sleep. I’m just going to lie here to satisfy Nemeth if he checks on me.

It seems an eye-blink of time passes. I jerk awake, wiping the corners of my mouth in surprise. Turns out I was able to sleep after all. I scramble out of bed, excited and terrified all at once.

Nemeth didn’t come and wake me. Maybe I didn’t sleep for long? Maybe even now his people are depositing food at our doorstep and he’s been so busy he hasn’t come to alert me? I put on my shoes as I race for the stairs.

When I get to the first floor, my heart sinks.

There, in front of the wide-open doors, sits Nemeth. He’s a few paces away from the entrance, still carefully inside. His back is to me, his face turned towards the dawn of a new day.

No one came all night.

Dragon shite.

“Nothing?” I ask as I approach. I know the answer already, though. It’s evident in the slump of Nemeth’s broad, strong shoulders. It’s evident in the empty first floor. It’s evident in the stack of letters at Nemeth’s feet.

No one has come.

“It is a delay, nothing more,” Nemeth says. When I get to his side, he pulls me into his arms, seating me on his lap. “They’ll come today. It doesn’t have to be on the solstice, after all. Perhaps the weather delayed the shipment.”

“That must be it,” I reply brightly, sliding an arm around his neck. “They’ll be here today.”

They have to.

I didn’t think there was a day that could be worse than the first day I arrived here in the tower.

I was wrong.

Waiting endlessly for supplies that never arrive is the worst kind of torture. Watching the beach—full of sunshine this day—remain empty and seeing no one on the horizon? It feels awful. Worse than awful. I don’t know what this means for the future.

Surely we haven’t been forgotten…have we?

Nemeth remains near the front entrance even after the sun sets on the second day.

“Please go sleep,” I beg him. “You can’t stay awake for days on end.”

“The moment I close my eyes, they will arrive,” he jokes, weariness etched on his hard face. “Is that not how these things work?”

“Then go and close your eyes!” I grab his hand and haul him to his feet. He must be tired, because he doesn’t resist. He lets me drag him toward the stairs. “I’ll keep watch. The moment there’s even a sniff of a boat, I’ll come get you. There’s just been a delay, nothing more. They’re still coming for us.”

It turns out that I’m a liar. No one comes that night, or the next day. It’s hard to eat, or to take my medicine, because each time we’re faced with our dwindling supplies. When Nemeth goes to sit by the door again and it’s my turn to sleep, I head upstairs and pull out my knife instead. I cradle it in my grasp, terrified of the answer it’s going to give me, but knowing I have to ask anyhow.

“Is anyone coming?” I ask. “Anyone at all?”

The knife’s silence feels like betrayal.

Chapter

Fifty-Two

After several days pass, we remain by the door to guard it and watch for shipments. I don’t tell Nemeth about my knife, though the secret of it weighs on me more with every passing day. It’s just…at what point do I speak up and tell him of my knife? What if he’s upset that I’ve kept it a secret for so long? What if he’s unhappy that Erynne has been plotting his murder since I arrived? It would look bad for the Fellians to know that the queen of Lios has been plotting murder, so I keep the secret, and feel guilty that I do.

In some ways, I’m still protecting my sister, and I hate myself for that.

We leave the doors wide open. If no one’s coming, there’s no point in closing them. I’d actually welcome an intruder because it would mean someone remembered us. I don’t understand how we could be so easily forgotten.

Everyone knows about the tower. Everyone. Hasn’t it been drilled into my head since I was born? What about the clergy at the Alabaster Citadel? They devote their lives to the gods, and surely they’d make sure that those of us that gave our lives to the tower would be fed.

At least, you’d think that. Turns out, not so much.

Worse than the knowledge that we’ve been forgotten? What this has done to Nemeth. My strong, scholarly Fellian has not been himself. His eyes are ringed with fatigue, and his very stance is one of defeat. It hurts me to see him like this.

So we need a new plan.

I wake up one morning with determination in my belly. We’re going to get through this. I’m not going to give up. I roll over in bed to wake up Nemeth, only to see that he’s already awake, staring up at the ceiling with a listless, apathetic expression. “We’re not going to give up,” I tell him. “It’s out of the question.”

Nemeth sighs. “I haven’t given up, Candra. I just don’t know what to do. If I could leave…”

“Yes, well, you can’t. That’s the entire crux of this situation—neither of us can leave.” I keep my voice cheerful and light, my expression full of renewed energy instead of despair. If he’s going to be sad, I’ll be the happy, positive one until his mood changes. We’re a team. Since he’s feeling low, I’m going to pick him up. “Let’s think of ideas. Here’s the first idea. We learn how to eat books.”

He snorts.

“It’s the only thing we have a lot of,” I tease. “Books and my dresses. And I can tell you quite honestly that my dresses taste awful.”

He shoots me a sidelong glance. “This is a serious situation, Candra.”

“Oh, I know it is.” I sit on my knees, clasping my hands in my lap. “And since we’ve nothing to do with our time but think, let us think our way out of our current situation, shall we? Let’s start with the obvious. You have magic. Can you send your people a message of some kind through your magic?”

“I’ve tried.”

His admission startles me. I haven’t seen him casting spells or even approaching his books in the last several days. When was this? Is he keeping secrets from me?

Then I feel guilty all over again as I think of my knife. He’s not the only one keeping secrets. “You tried? In what way?”

“I attempted to contact my brother, Ivornath. He’s the king of Darkfell.”

“And he didn’t answer you?”

Nemeth turns his head toward me. “I’m not supposed to speak of Fellian magic to outsiders.”

“I’m not supposed to marry a Fellian,” I reply tartly. “Lucky for you and your knot, I’m a rule-breaker.”

That brings a smile to his face. “You always bring up my knot.”

“It’s my favorite part.”

He sits up halfway, propping himself up on one elbow, his wings folded behind him like a rumpled cloak. “Your favorite, eh?”

“I told you I was a lusty princess when we met.” I reach out and pat his knee. “Now quit distracting me with thoughts of your knot and tell me more about Fellian magic and the message you sent.”

“It’s a spell,” he says slowly, as if the words feel forbidden to even speak. His gaze lingers on mine. “I write out the missive and burn it in a candle upon the Gray God’s altar. One of the god’s sacred spirits takes it and delivers it to my brother, who must receive the message via a trained evoker. Every court in Darkfell has one. Several, actually. But when I send my messages, they go nowhere.”