“Jamil?” His mother pulled back and frowned at him. “Are you all right? I know it must be quite a shock, but—”
“I’m fine, Mother.” Jamil forced a smile. “Just shocked. Is he there?”
The Queen-Consort nodded, still frowning.
Wanting to escape her probing gaze, Jamil entered Mehmer’s bedroom.
The room was as familiar to him as his own. He’d often spent the night here, falling asleep with Mehmer in his arms. He had been happy in this room.
He tried to feel it again. Happiness.
He felt a flicker of it when he saw Mehmer on the bed, tended by the royal physician. Mehmer’s familiar, dear features were slightly sunken and his skin was uncharacteristically pale, but it was undoubtedly him. Until this moment, part of Jamil had thought it was some kind of twisted, sick joke. Now he knew for certain that it wasn’t.
Mehmer was alive.
Mehmer was back.
Everything was now going back to the way it used to be.
Mehmer lifted his hazel eyes and smiled widely when he saw Jamil. “Hi there,” he said softly, stretching his hand out.
Jamil walked over, took his hand, and then collapsed by the bed, his legs no longer holding him up. He buried his face against Mehmer’s chest, breathing raggedly, as if there was something wrong with his lungs.
Mehmer squeezed his hand and let out an uncertain laugh. “Hey, there’s no need for that. I’m here now, love.”
Jamil flinched at the word. The voice was wrong, everything was wrong—Mehmer’s scent, the shape of his hand, the feel of his chest—it was all wrong. Nausea rose to his throat again. What was wrong with him? Did he actually want Mehmer to be dead? On Calluvia, marriage was for life. Mehmer was his husband. He was Jamil’s trusted, lifelong companion. They’d been best friends since before they could talk. He loved him, for heaven’s sake.
Mehmer was alive. That was the important part.
Jamil lifted his head and looked into Mehmer’s eyes. “What—what happened?” he managed. “Where have you been all this time?”
A wrinkle appeared between Mehmer’s brows. “It’s all a little confusing in my head, to be honest. I didn’t even remember my own name for a long time. The old man who found me in the woods said I got a head trauma and was delirious for months. Apparently I couldn’t even keep my short-term memory—I kept forgetting what happened the previous day.”
“And he didn’t recognize you?” Jamil found it hard to believe. Something felt off about this whole story. Why was Mehmer’s aircraft disintegrated, then? Who disintegrated it? And could a head trauma explain their childhood bond being torn as if Mehmer had died?
Mehmer shook his head. “He’s a two-hundred-year-old man who lives away from civilization. He doesn’t exactly follow the gossip magazines on the members of royalty. He didn’t even have access to the GlobalNet. He had no clue who I was until I remembered it myself.”
Pushing his doubts away, Jamil squeezed Mehmer’s hand and adopted an encouraging smile he usually used around Mehmer. It felt unnatural on his face, after so long. “Okay. You’re here now. That’s the important part.”
Mehmer smiled back and winced, grabbing his head. “Do you mind if we talk later? My head is still killing me.”
“Of course,” Jamil said, hiding his own relief. “You should rest.” He gestured to the royal physician to follow him out of the room and turned to him once they were outside. His mother was nowhere to be seen, probably gone to tell the news to the Queen.
“How is he?” Jamil said.
“The prince-consort is in satisfactory health, Your Highness. His head trauma healed rather badly under unprofessional care, but it shouldn’t have long-term consequences for his health.” He hesitated. “Obviously I also ran security tests. It is a normal procedure when someone who was declared dead is suddenly found alive.”
Jamil nodded, wincing a little. There had been precedents of clones of deceased political figures being sent to assume their position. It happened rarely but often enough to make security tests the normal procedure in such cases.
The physician smiled. “I’m happy to report to you that the prince-consort is indeed back, Your Highness. It is undoubtedly him.”
Jamil thanked the physician and left.
All the way back to Tmynne’s room, he was stopped by the smiling, excited people eager to tell him how happy they were for him. Jamil smiled back, thanked them, and continued walking.
He dismissed Tmynne’s nurse and locked the door behind her.
He pressed his forehead against the door, taking in a deep, shuddering breath.
Tmynne made a demanding sound.
Slowly, Jamil turned around and stared at his five-month-old daughter.
Rohan’s daughter.
His throat aching, he took Tmynne into his arms and cradled her to his chest.
Closing his eyes, Jamil breathed in her sweet scent, and keened like a wounded animal.
Chapter 26
The thing about living on a planet that didn’t have access to the GlobalNet was that they got galactic news very delayed. Of course, there were still ways to get news reasonably fast: Rohan had spaceships patrolling the Shibal-Kuvasi war zone, and they monitored the GlobalNet for anything that could be urgent and relevant to Tai’Lehr’s interests. His people could record the news and deliver them on a shuttle to Tai’Lehr, if needed. But it wasn’t very efficient, and usually Rohan didn’t insist on it unless the news seemed of the utmost importance. That was why old-fashioned paper magazines were still so popular on Tai’Lehr—they arrived faster on smuggler ships and were generally more reliable than news distorted incomprehensibly just because someone had heard something wrong.