The days of my recovery blurred into a monotonous haze. Baradaz occasionally entered to attend to me, each interaction between us tense and full of unspoken words. Sometimes she would ask sharp questions about how I got injured or my plans once I had recovered. I knew my vague answers darkened her mood further, but I did not want to lie to her, knowing the truth would only enrage her even more. Bane prowled around my bed during her visits, hissing in annoyance, as if disappointed I hadn’t perished yet. By the tenth day, I was ready to climb the walls in frustration. I needed to do something to preserve my sanity, even if I felt only marginally better.
Having noted her daily patterns, I waited until Baradaz had left the house to tend to the farm. The coast was clear.
Rising from bed and making my way to the door was a daunting task, but I managed it, pausing at the threshold, panting, one hand clutching my throbbing side. I found myself in a narrow corridor.The first door led me to the main room. For the first time, I could fully take in Baradaz’s home.
It was both so much like her that it sent a bittersweet ache through my heart, and so unlike her that it made me wonder.
I sensed her warmth in the wooden furniture and the bright curtains framing the windows, in the heap of blankets and the colorful cushions on the armchairs grouped around a cozy fireplace. The sight of numerous small objects scattered across every surface—glistening crystals, intriguingly patterned stones, vibrant feathers, and vases filled with flowers—brought an amused smile to my lips. Little magpie. Some things never changed.
The space was open and inviting, with the kitchen stretching across the entire side opposite the seating area. A large wooden table stood in the center of the room, its surface worn smooth by years of use. The simple pallet in front of the fire indicated where Baradaz must be sleeping while I occupied her bedroom.
I frowned. Should I really believe that the former Queen of Aron-Lyr did not even have a guest room? Did she really live here alone?
Her home, while rustic compared to the grandeur of the Hall of Light, did not lack the amenities of magic. Smalllyrin-stones glinted in the ceiling, and I noticed the red and blue glow of stones aiding with kitchen tasks requiring fire and water. If I hadn’t known better, I would have thought this place belonged to a prosperous merchant. With the value of thoselyrin-stones, she could have easily hidden herself in one of the big cities. Instead, she played at being a peasant, farming and tending to animals. But why?
A sudden sound made me look around in alarm. The cat. Bane prowled over and leaped onto the table, his amber eyes watching me with bored patience, waiting for me to collapse. Narrowing my eyes on him, I resumed my exploration.
I found the bathroom behind the next door. With its cream tiled floor and wooden walls, it was a mix of simplicity and small luxuries no actual farmer could afford. A large bathtub next to a brass pipe contraption caught my interest. The pipes wound around a metal square with a stack of firewood visible through a glass door, allowing water to be pumped in and heated with fire and water stones embedded at the top. Thankfully, the privy had flowing water too, powered by anotherlyrin-stone.
After taking care of my needs, I stared longingly at the bathtub. I would have loved to use it, but the tremble in my hands warned me not to try my luck. Though Baradaz had washed me with a sponge, a hot bath would have spared me the agony of her detached coldness. I suspected she was more affectionate when brushing down her araks. They probably got an ear scratch.
The absolute low of my existence: envying mindless beasts.
One look in the mirror, and I couldn’t blame Baradaz. Deathly pale skin, stubble covering my jaw, dull eyes, tangled hair—I looked like shit. Like a pitiful mortal. A far cry from the handsome god who was once her lover, or even the imposing figure of the dark warrior I had preferred during the war.
I opened the binding of my tunic, a frown on my face as I tugged down the bandages to get a glimpse of my wound. A little lower and that cursed dagger would have pierced my lung, ending all my woes. A bitter laugh escaped me. Who would have thought? I had always judged Tharion to be one of my weakest servants, his command of Chaos magic mediocre at best. It had still been enough to nearly kill me. He must have followed the same rumors I had heard—rumors about the location of the Crown.
A low, barely audible sound from the corridor made me pause. By the Abyss, I had not expected Baradaz to return so soon. She wouldsurely not be amused that I had left the bed without her permission. I quickly opened the bathroom door to return to the corridor, the swift movement sending a wave of nausea through me.
Unease rose within me as I found the corridor empty. Strange. I knew I had heard footsteps.
My mind immediately raced with countless possibilities, each more dire than the last. Had Baradaz betrayed me after all, telling the Ten of my whereabouts? Or was it another of the Chiasma, the dark acolytes of Chaos who had served me during the war, come to finish what Tharion had started? I had thrown away the Chaosdagger he had used to injure me, knowing it would lead them to me, but the precaution might not have been enough.
The shadows drifting over my vision deepened. The world tilted, my legs suddenly weak. Then darkness swallowed me whole.
I woke to a hand caressing my face, my head cushioned by something soft. Genuine worry filled Baradaz’s bright silver eyes as she cradled my head in her lap. For a precious moment, her mask of cool indifference had dropped.
“What were you thinking? Do you want to kill yourself?” she asked, her annoyance not hiding her concern.
Her fingers gently combed through my hair, and I couldn’t help but lean into the touch. Maybe being Human wasn’t so bad.
“I was milking the araks,” Baradaz said, shaking her head. “You’re lucky Bane fetched me. It might have been hours before I checked on you.”
Ah, that explained the faint scent of milk clinging to her. I sighed and closed my eyes, knowing I should enjoy this while it lasted.
“Is it so hard to understand that I don’t want anyone to see me like this?” I asked when her hand stilled.
Her scoff made me glance up. “Your cursed pride…” She shook her head. “One would think someone who has suffered so many defeats, who has been imprisoned for centuries, would be cured of it by now.”
Reminding me of my defeats brought her a certain amount of pleasure, didn’t it? I sat up, tired of my own weakness.
“No, that’s not it,” I said, my voice sharper. “I don’t wantyouto see me like this.” Our eyes clashed, a sudden heaviness in the air. “Not you.”
Baradaz looked away first. She had her own share of pride. And pride like ours did not come easy. It was honed over millennia.
“Fine,” she replied after a pointed silence, carefully helping me to my feet. “But wait for me next time.”
With her support, I stumbled back to the bed, exhaustion pulling me into a deep slumber. The last thing I felt was Baradaz tugging the blankets around me.
