The healer stops at a grand wooden door. It’s carved with swirling images of the Ave, Feline, and Serpent, but they bleed into each other so well that it looks like one creature. That is the Guardians’ sigil, and it guards the throne room with the intensity of the Guardians themselves.
“I need to say this before this starts,” the healer says. His voice is sharper than before. He won’t tolerate me not listening. “You are not physically ready to enter here.”
Somehow, I feel even colder. Distant. His words evoke the pain that is waiting patiently to manifest.
“My mimicry is slowly leaking out of your body, and if this takes more than half an hour, which I know it will, you will feelthe pain of the rushed healing of your bones. The Inka does not tolerate signs of pain. I know this for a fact.”
“Is this advice or a threat?” I slur. He knows I’m part of the Inka’s army. He knows I’ve been treated with Serpent mimicry before.
“You stayed fighting long enough to sustain five broken ribs, two stab wounds, internal bleeding from your liver, and the most impressive set of bruises I’ve ever laid my eyes on, and trust me, as the Inka’s healer, I’ve seen more than enough bruising for my lifetime.”
He looks away from me at the end of his sentence, shifting his head to stare above my shoulder. All those injuries seem like a list out of a training class, but I don’t care about them anyway. I care about why the Inka’s healer is healing bruises when the Inka has an army to make sure no one lays a hand on them.
The thought leaves as soon as I open my mouth to ask.
He sighs. “This will let some pain leak in, but you’ll be clearer-minded.”
Then my body is not numb, it’s alight.
There’s a flash of fear in his eyes so hot I flinch back to avoid the burn. He speaks before I can gather my thoughts again.
“All of that, that pain, that means you can make it. Which means she might too.”
Then there’s just dread.
It’s beyond my conscious understanding, but something in me knows what those words mean. Something tells me that he’s right. He must be right. Because she needs to make it. My senses sharpen past what the freedom from the sedation allowed. Wind rushes in my ears, and I swear I can hear people breathing inside the throne room. It’s like the princess is behind me once again, and my singular job is to be the barrier between her and the world. It’s like taking a mimicry hit to the ribs and getting back up before they’ve even finished cracking.
My body is ready for a fight that is not here.
By the time I come back to earth, the healer is staring above my shoulder again. I blink the blurriness out of my eyes and shake my head. I feel like I’m moving through a gelatinous pond. I’m not numb like before, but I’m not as alert as I was.
He sees me come back to myself and smiles, the saddest one I’ve seen him give me all day.
“Ah, you’re back,” he says. I don’t know how to respond. I don’t know if I’m allowed to say I don’t know where I was.
“What is going on?” I plead.
He shakes his head.
“I had to test the diviner’s theory, for my own peace of mind, I suppose. I care much more than I’m allowed to, understand?” He says, but it does nothing to help.
“I don’t understand anything you’re saying,” I respond.
“Sinchinrei, take care. The sun has almost set. You shouldn’t keep the Inka waiting.”
He opens the door before I can face the room.
Chapter 7
Idon’t recognize the Inka and her husband up close, despite having seen them a few hours earlier, but that’s not surprising. I spent all my focus during the ceremony memorizing their daughter’s face. The Inka’s signature headdress, the black textile headband structured with rims of gold and topped with six golden rays interspersed by three feathers, distinguishes her. Without it, I wouldn’t believe she’s the Inka at all.
The Inka’s face is tan, tanner than the heavens can portray during projections, and littered with brown moles. Her pitch black eyes are almond shaped, made all the more prominent by the thick coal liner around them.
The image drilled into the heads of all children of the empire comes to mind. It is legend that when the Inka fought the False King to take the throne, something beyond the heavens happened. Her hair turned so white it surpassed anything documented up to then, and, suddenly, a miracle. Her infinite void eyes blanched. She made a sacrifice; her Guardian protected purity, her divinity, and an incalculable amount of her years on earth. It’s a decision she lives with now, after waitingfor her color and connection with our Guardians to return, knowing she won’t be on the throne for long.
I can’t guess the power her daughter must wield to go from a head full of white hair back to the black I saw during the ceremony. Yet, she’s still alive and breathing, thriving even.
The unnatural age is obvious in the Inka’s face, her long hair, and her drying skin.
