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“Because you refuse to be truthful,” came the icy response from Galodir. “Until you learn your place, this cell shall remain your home.”
The words triggered an unexpected surge. Fear, once a dominant force, was swept away by a tide of burning anger. It kindled in her chest, a wildfire of indignation consuming her terror. It took every ounce of her control to suppress it, to keep it from erupting into a storm of defiance. As her eyes hardened and her posture subtly shifted, she lifted her chin just a tiny fraction.
Galodir’s lips curled into a semblance of a sneer. “And that, my dear girl,” he said, “is exactly why you are in this cell.”
With that, he left.
27
The fever hit her hard and fast.
The soldier who had been her regular visitor was the first to notice the signs—her body trembling, beads of sweat coating her forehead, her skin burning to the touch. He left quickly, only to return with two other figures.
Voices echoed around her, the words distorted and indistinguishable as if coming from a great distance. Hands lifted her, their touch burning her, making her feel as though she were floating in a dream, or perhaps a nightmare?—
Anthea gasped—the shocking chill of cold water brought her back to reality. She was in a bath, the murmurs around her now a bit clearer—something about herbs, and getting down the fever. A familiar face came into focus—Eldrion. His hands were on her shoulders, keeping her body submerged.
“S-Stop! Let . . . let me go!” she lashed out—thrashing, kicking, doing everything she could to escape the grip that held her, her broken wrist screaming in protest.
The elf caught her hand and secured it against her chest, preventing further harm. “No one is going to hurt you here. You need to stay in the bath a little longer.”
Vivid images of them drowning her popped up. She increased her struggles, her legs splashing in the water.
“Stay still!”
“No! Get off me!”
“You are burning up, stop moving.”
Thalion’s tall figure came up to the bathtub and placed his hand on her forehead. “Just a little more, we need to get your temperature down.” It was as if he had bewitched her with it—she stilled. Feeling too drained, Anthea slumped back.
As the burning fire receded, it was replaced by an all-encompassing chill that seemed to penetrate her very bones. her body shook violently with uncontrollable shivers, her teeth clicking together in a wild dance. Eldrion’s arms enveloped her once again, lifting her from the icy water and into the frigid air. The red silk clung to her wet frame?—
He turned her around, her back facing his chest. Anthea felt his hands grasping the fabric.
“No!” She pivoted around, clawing at Eldrion with a fervor borne out of raw fear. Her nails scratched against the warrior’s arms as he ripped her soaked dress ruthlessly from her body.
“Stop this, Anthea! This is for your good.” In a few swift movements, he had her wrapped in a soft, warm blanket, cocooning her in comforting heat.
Anthea didn’t stop resisting, her body writhing and her mind foggy with fear. Then, her back hit the warrior’s chest once more, his arms wrapped around her, solid and warm.
“Easy now,” Eldrion murmured, his voice softer than before. He held her firmly, keeping her pinned against him. “Just breathe.”
Her fear was momentarily replaced by an overwhelming exhaustion, his warmth seeping through the blanket and slowly calming her trembling body. Her breaths came in short, ragged gasps, but she gradually followed his advice, her struggles subsiding as the warmth pacified her. Her eyes fluttered shut. The last thing she heard before slipping into unconsciousness was Eldrion’s steady breaths against her ear.
Anthea blinked her eyes open, trying to make sense of her surroundings. A figure swam into view—Thalion, his focus intent as he poured a steaming liquid into a brown cup, offering it to her. She eyed it suspiciously. How had she gotten here? Or where here even was?
“Take it!” Eldrion’s voice was close to her ear.
She tensed. She had gotten sick. They had . . . she had fallen asleep. For how long? Anthea twisted in his grip, but the arms around her held her in place, securing her blanket, keeping her warm, and secure. How deceptive. The same hands had broken her wrist.
“Let me go . . . please.”
The warrior’s grip loosened, releasing her slowly.
As soon as she was free, she scooted away from him, putting as much distance between them as the small room would allow.
Thalion offered the cup to her again.
