Songs of Healing by R. L. S. Hoff

Songs of Healing by R. L. S. Hoff

Author:R. L. S. Hoff [Hoff, R. L. S.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: The Pencil Princess Workshop
Published: 2020-09-20T06:00:00+00:00


Chapter 22

I didn’t see Phil for almost a week. By that time, I had stopped pretending to have any control over my life. I showed up wherever Steph said we were supposed to be and got by with whatever notes were thrust into my hands.

I didn’t even remember it was Saturday until we pulled up to the Joint Council building. When I saw Phil step out of the limo ahead of us, I was taken aback. I hadn’t known he’d be here—I hadn’t even known I’d be here, and the media hadn’t mentioned when Phil’s first appearance in public would be. I’d given up trying to pry information out of the War Palace days ago. No one over there would return my calls, not even Phil. After our almost dance and then meeting Darvian together, I’d been sure he’d want to talk. When he hadn’t called, I’d worried. But here he was, walking into a meeting.

He looked awful, though. He shuffled, and his skin was ashy.

“Are they nuts?” I said. “He shouldn’t be seen like that!”

“Well, it’s a Joint Council meeting. He has to show up, doesn’t he?” Steph said. “He’ll be on public cameras whether he’s here in person or teleconferencing, and with everyone speculating that he’s dead, they probably wanted people to see that he can move.”

“Pull over,” I said to the driver. “We’re getting out now.”

“What? The press is having a feeding frenzy!”

“Exactly.” When the limos stopped, I stepped into the thickest bunch of reporters.

Half swung to capture my entrance, and Phil’s guards wrestled him into the building.

“Your Highness, how do you feel about Prince Philip’s return to public duty this morning? Do you think his illness will affect the war?”

“Is he ill?” I asked.

“Please, Your Highness. Surely you saw him as you were pulling up.”

“Not clearly. Nobody’s changed him into a giant mouse or anything, have they?”

Several reporters laughed, and our party inched our way forward.

“Doesn’t his lack of energy concern you?”

“The news I’ve heard about the western railways concerns me,” I said, pushing forward, “but I understand King Randolph has a plan for dealing with it.”

Cameras jostled to keep pace with me.

“All in all, we have much better reason for hope this morning than we did a week ago.” I turned, smiled brightly, and pressed backward through the last knot of reporters into the entry hall.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Phil said as I entered the Joint Council room.

I shrugged. “Are you OK?”

“Just tired. Our fairy friends asked me to do too much last week. And they can’t cure exhaustion without mind games. No one wanted to try one of those on me.”

I checked to see who was watching. Everyone else in the room seemed busy. “I know a rest song, if there’s time.”

“We’ve got thirty minutes. We got here early to avoid the press.”

I snorted. “Do you want me to try the song?”

“Couldn’t hurt.”

Humming, I touched Phil’s hand. Waves of exhaustion swept over me, but I sang them back to less than a ripple.



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