The heavy, stagnant air of the palace corridors seemed to cling to them even as they moved away. The silence between the Crown Prince and the healer was no longer the silence of strangers; it was a heavy quiet of two people who had seen the same ghost.
Herschel was the one to break it. He didn't look at her as they walked, his gaze fixed on the stone floor, but his voice was a low, resonant hum that cut through the gloom. "The air in these corridors is thick with Elric's grief, Liera. It's suffocating. Walk with me. I find the North is easier to understand when you are actually standing in it."
Liera didn't argue. She set the brass basin down on a side table with a dull thud, smoothed the front of her dress, and followed the sweep of his cloak. She felt the eyes of the guards on her back, sharp, questioning gazes that wondered why she was trailing the future King, but she kept her chin tilted up.
