*River*

Something is wrong with Maerilee.

I’ve seen grief before. I’ve watched fae crumple under the weight of it, drown in it, try to fight through it. I’ve seen it wear them down until they’re hollow-eyed and brittle-boned, until they become someone else entirely.

I knew when Akin fell that Maerilee would need time, that even someone as strong as her couldn’t be expected to carry on like nothing happened. But this isn’t grief. This is something much worse.

I watch her from the edge of the courtyard, where she stands with her back to the firelight, her arms folded tight against her ribs like she’s trying to keep herself...