You only live twice.

The wound did not bleed, but Larkin could feel the blood in his body again and his heart beating gently in his chest. He managed to rid himself of the worried and amazed doctors, and after he sent for his entourage and they came, all expressing their delight to see him well. The fear and awe in them was not well hidden, and despite being accustomed to Larkin’s shifting moods and sensitivity to their blunders, they fumbled about dressing him and made mistakes worth several severe beatings. However, the governor did not so much as give them a disapproving glance. While they bathed him, the scribes were present and took note of his schedule. The day would be very busy, filled mostly with ceremony for the recently dead, which Larkin childishly dreaded, but there would also be the rallying of the court, where he would present them with a special proposal.

His scheme. A plan that was formed with only a single thought: the governors were dead, all except Aurora who would be easy to manipulate, and who might follow him regardless. It would require her to step down as governor of her own city, to step down and move aside for a new king. No longer would he be Larkin The Shrike, but Larkin The King. The governors were dead, and what heirs there were would be easily disposed of. And as king, he could crush the rebels; win the respect and fear from those of whom he didn’t have. The millions would bow to him alone, and the King in the tower would be forgotten and ignored, if at all he was still living. This would pose a problem, but with the armies that would soon be his, the tower could be taken to the ground. All the soldiers would be loyal to him, Larkin The Shrike.

A smile reached his mouth, and he grabbed the wrist of the hand that had been applying red to his lips. The man gasped and turned his head away, eyes closed tight and braced to receive a stroke for whatever it was he’d done wrong. But slowly, gently, Larkin’s tight grasp loosened and he took the brush from the man’s fingers. He motioned for the man to unblock his view of the mirror, and went about painting his mouth himself, smiling. It was becoming obvious to him that nothing had gone wrong. That this was all according to plan, the bigger plan. That Miraye had been a piece of it, had served. The Gods’ plan. Larkin stared into the mirror at the reflected windows behind him and at the moons in the sky. This was why he was alive. He touched the bandages on his chest, and ordered a corset brought to him. It was fitted but not tightly. When they finished his hair and face, a black robe was draped over his shoulders and around his neck. The bandages were easily concealed, and he refused to take anything for the pain. Whatever had been given to him was wearing off and that was fine, his head needed to be clear. The pain could be dealt with. If the pain would be there at all.

Yes, the will of the Gods. Still, was it necessary for Tic to have gotten away from him? He felt cheated. The moons had never been something Larkin trusted in. He strongly disliked the notion of the Gods, and would have waved away a miraculous recovery like his own as a hoax and never give it another thought. But he was not stupid and he was not blind. Miraye meant to kill him, and though she missed his heart by a mere inch, the wound was a killing wound and any other man would be dead now. If not dead, then certainly not functioning. No, not like this. Larkin felt alive. They had told him his blood had covered half the length of the ballroom. And no matter how being alive comforted him, the eagerness to share his plans, the anticipation, his anger remained and his mind’s eye flashed with Miraye’s face, Tic walking away from him. With her.

There was a flurry of excitement as Larkin left his room. Men standing in the foyer parted for Larkin. Doctors protested his plans, and annoyed, Larkin ordered there to be silence. They would give him a headache. Guards took up immediately behind Larkin and trailed him out into the hall. The loud chatter here was silenced too; turned down to gasps, quiet whispers and awed expressions. The hiss of Larkin’s robe across the carpet was loud, and the entire crowd followed him. The crowd grew as he continued through the halls. A scribe found his side and questioned him. Larkin answered and he was gone. Now, he could begin again. Revision of his previous plan would take place. The morning would be for those fallen. The morning would be to prevent the heirs from taking throne. Yes, that would be taken care of first. In great secrecy, of course. Aurora, he would need to speak with her. Aurora and a few more he could trust to assist him.

And then, someone came to him with a note, and Larkin took it into his gloved hands, pausing in the hallway to read. The crowd behind him froze, looked on curiously. It was from Lovely. Larkin, it said, I have someone who might be able to tell us of the rebels. It went on to describe the girl briefly and where she was. Flashing the messenger boy a smile and giving the note back, he said, “Tell Lovely to have her brought to my office at noon.”