Two days after the attack, Metheea sat in the private sitting room beside Azrayel's chamber with a cup of tea cooling between her hands.
She had agreed to leave his bed only because the physicians needed room to examine him properly. Michael had promised that the adjoining door would remain open and that she would be called at the smallest change in his condition.
It had not stopped her from looking toward the door every few breaths.
The sitting room had escaped most of the damage from the attack. The windows remained intact, and a small fire burned beneath the carved stone mantel despite the warmth of the afternoon. Reports, sealed letters, and untouched trays had gathered across the long table during the past two days.
Metheea had read some of them.
She had understood very little after the first page.
Azrayel remained unconscious.
Nothing written on the table mattered more than that.
