"Better than that other one—the swaggering assassin."
Yrene knew. All of it. She knew every scrap of history, knew whose note she carried in her locket. But it didn't ease the blow, not as his father added, "Who, it turned out, is Queen of Terrasen." A mirthless laugh. "What a prize you might have had then, my son, if you'd managed to keep her."
"Yrene is the finest healer of her generation," Chaol said with deadly quiet. "Her worth is greater than any crown." And in this war, it might very well be.
"You don't need to bother proving my value to him," Yrene said, her icy eyes pinned on his father. "I know precisely how talented I am. I don't require his blessing."
She meant every damn word.
"Don't you talk to him like that," Yrene said with dangerous calm.
His father ignored her.
But Yrene stepped up to Chaol's side once more. "I am the heir apparent to the Healer on High of the Torre Cesme. I came at your son's behest, back to the lands of my birth, to help in this war, along with two hundred healers from the Torre itself. Your son spent the last several months forging an alliance with the khaganate, and now all of the khagan's armies sail to this continent to save your people. So while you sit here in your miserable keep, tossing insults at him, know that he has done what no other could do, and if your city survives, it will be because of him, not you."
His father let out one of those joyless laughs. "I like you better than the assassin-queen, I think. Perhaps marrying the rabble will breed some backbone into our bloodline once more."
Chaol's blood roared in his ears, but Yrene's lips curved into a smile. "You're exactly as I'd pictured you to be," she said. His father only inclined his head.
Yrene snarled. "He's worse than you portrayed."
Chaol gave her a tired, small smile. "And you were brilliant." Utterly brilliant.
And his wife, however bold and fearless, needed to rest as well, whether she admitted it or not.
So Chaol pushed off the door, prowling to where Yrene paced in front of the bed. "I'm sorry for what he said to you."
She waved him off. "I'm sorry you ever had to deal with him for longer than that conversation."
Her temper, despite all that loomed, despite the bastard ruling over this city, warmed something in him. Enough so that Chaol closed the distance between them, halting her pacing by taking her hand. He brushed his thumb over her wedding band.
"I wish you were meeting her instead —my mother," he said softly.
The fierceness in her eyes banked. "I do, too." Her mouth quirked to the side.