Page 14 of Kingdom Of Veil And Vow

“Listen here, shifter. You are going to let her help you because we need the information you hold,” Xander says with the air of a man who thinks he owns someone. As if the decision is his and his alone to make. The woman purses her lips, and I think she might disagree with him, but no such protest leaves her mouth. “You are not allowed to die.”

Chapter Eight: Siyala

“Stand up.” My brows furrow, as do the woman’s in front of me. When I don’t move, Xander sighs, his dark eyes narrowing in my direction from where they are framed within his golden helmet. “She needs to treat you, and I have questions.” I, again, stay put, more due to confusion than defiance. Where exactly were we going? Was there an area of the dungeon meant to treat prisoners? That seems highly unlikely. The woman looks up at him, and the crinkle of her brow suggests she is asking the same thing. “You can sit in the chair in the room while—”

“No,” I rasp, understanding dawning as I shake my head. “I’m not going back to that room.”

“I know that what happened last time would make you believe—”

“Are you an idiot?” I interrupt, garnering a surprised noise from the woman. “Do you truly think there is any explanation or reason you could give me that would get me back in the room where you tortured me at the king’s command?”

“I can treat her here,” the woman says, eyes bright despite the darkness that surrounds us.

“I can’t ask her the questions—”

“Xander. She needs help.” I almost believe the sincerity in her voice. Tense seconds pass, and I do my best to stay alert as some silent conversation passes between them. Then Xander grumbles something that I can’t make out above the quick beating of my heart before he steps back, his eyes back on me.

“My name is Tienne,” the woman says, tucking a wayward strand of hair loosened from her bun behind her ear. “I work in the castle as a maid, but my mother was trained by her mother to treat injuries as any healer might.” She begins to lay glass jars on the cot by my side, along with gauze, towels, and other ointments. “I would like to take a look at your wound and see if I can clean it out and keep the infection from getting worse. Is Bella your name?”

Again her voice triggers some sort of familiarity within me but I ignore why that might be as I turn her words over in my mind. The king needs me alive in order to get information on Rhea, and while death seems likely regardless of what I do, I’d rather it come from trying to escape and not an infection. “You may treat the injury,” I say to Tienne before looking pointedly at Xander. “But he must wait outside the cell.”

“Absolutely not.” Xander’s deep voice fills the space as he shakes his head, making the dark strands of hair that end at his shoulders rustle.

“Then you can watch me die.” Ignoring the crossfire of our argument—which I can’t believe I have the audacity for, considering I’m one good kick away from meeting whatever gods await us in death—Tienne moves closer and carefully adjusts the torn pieces of my pants, exposing the entry wound from the arrow.

“Gods above,” she mutters under her breath, turning to look at Xander. “I’m fine to be al—”

“I’m staying right here.”

Tienne rolls her eyes defiantly before reaching for a white cloth. “I must get this cleaned out,” she says, and I yield to my fate with a nod, staring up at the ceiling as she begins to dab at the skin around the wound, the silence only interrupted by my harsh breaths. By the time Tienne has wiped away enough dried blood to see just how widespread the infection is, my eyes sting with unshed tears from the pain. “I think it might be wise to try and wash up as much as you can, so we aren’t putting fresh gauze over soiled skin.” She pulls a waterskin from her satchel, setting it on the cot along with another small bundle of clean towels, then a stack of dark folded linens. “I know it isn’t the same as getting a bath, but it’s the best I can offer. The best we can offer right now.” Standing, she brushes her hands over the white apron tied around her waist. Then she wraps her fingers around Xander’s arm, dragging him towards the entrance of the cell. He moves reluctantly, planting his feet just outside the cell door.

“Here is fine,” he says, his tone final. Tienne pinches her lips but waits until he turns, his broad shoulders eating up the open space before she returns to my side.

“Do you need help?”

Contempt rolls through me, barbed and sharp as it always has been. I open my mouth to tell her to leave me alone, but again, that stubborn voice of reason in my head settles me. I don’t want to die like this. “Yes.” Tienne gently guides me up to sit, waiting until my dizziness subsides before helping me remove the filthy tunic. I know the state I’m in can’t be a pleasant one to look at, to be around. My hair is matted from who knows how many days of being unable to comb it. My skin isn’t just coated in spots with dried blood but also with dirt and sweat. But she works efficiently, soaking a washcloth with water and a soap that smells of rose and other herbs. Taking a seat on the cot behind me, she runs the cloth over my dirty skin, starting at my neck and working down my back. I pull the cloth from her when she steps to the front. She seems to understand that I’d like to do this part myself because she doesn’t waste a second turning and giving me the small bit of privacy that she can.

Still, the kindness provided by her feels like a trick, and as I wash the front of my body, I don’t let myself relax for a second. Then it’s time to remove the rest of my clothing, knowing that it must be done and unable to stop the feeling of dread that sits like a rock in my stomach. My fingers tremble as I untie the laces, a pained sound leaving me when I push them down and the waistband presses on the wound at my thigh.

“There is a long tunic and some undergarments,” Tienne says softly without turning around. “I just need to have access to your leg for a short time, and then you can slip the pants on.”

I swallow, standing fully nude, panic searing through me just as heartily as pain does. My throat constricts as I quickly douse another cloth in water, adding some soap before scrubbing it over the rest of my body. My head pounds, and my vision swims, but once I’m washed and rinsed off as best as I can be, I slip the undergarments on, followed by the tunic. Frustratingly, sweat is already gathering at my temples, and when my knees grow weak beneath my weight, my ass goes crashing onto the cot.

“Bella, are you alright?” Tienne’s voice reaches me like a ripple of sound, blending with the ringing in my ears as I try to keep myself upright. My vision narrows like I’m looking down a dark tunnel, Tienne standing far away at the other end. I feel myself sway, hear the panicked way my name is spoken again before my eyes fall shut, and there is nothing but the sound of my racing heart.

Things are hazy as I move from sleep to consciousness to sleep again. I don’t know how much time passes, only that there are moments when I wake up and my throat aches from how dry it is, and just when I am about to bargain with some long lost god for a sip of water, a waterskin appears at my lips. Water drips down my chin, pooling somewhere on the sides of my head. But the relief is instant, and it lulls me back to sleep until the next time I wake, parched and aching. This cycle repeats. At times, I think I hear voices, but then I’m dragged into a dream. A memory. Sometimes, they are good. Like when Titus showed me how to craft my own bow. Or my cousin Kai, before he became king and still lived in Honna, teaching me to spar. Sometimes I’m running free as my fox, chasing frogs and winding along paths as familiar to me as the face of my mother.

But, more often than not, I dream of a sunlit room, a cold comforter at my back. Pink fabric tied to a wooden rafter above me. Little Kit. Those memories leap from one to another, pieces of a broken mirror that my mind keeps desperately trying to push back together. Over and over again until I wake up a final time, covered in sweat and more lucid than before, and find that I am utterly alone.

For a long while, I lay there, staring at the ceiling. Wondering if the fever has broken and the infection is finally abating or if I’m still in its thrall. I find a waterskin on my cot, so I force myself to sit up and drink from it. Nearly draining it, I swipe the back of my hand across my mouth and blow out a steady breath. I’m not sure when Tienne and Xander left or even how long it has been since they were in this cell. Hours or days, I have no way of knowing. Setting the waterskin down, I cradle my head in my hands, gritting my teeth at the way the injury on my leg pulses in pain with each beat of my heart. I think I hear the murmuring of other prisoners in a different part of the dungeon. Or maybe I’ve finally gone mad, like Papa. The thought immediately ushers in memories of him. Papa, sitting at the dining table, laughing. Papa, showing me the jungle pathways and secret trails. Papa, hugging me tightly.

I become so woven into the memories that I don’t realize the King’s Guardsman has re-entered the dungeon until he steps in front of my cell.

Chapter Nine: Xander

She better be alive . Those are the same four words I’ve repeated to myself every time I’ve entered the dungeon, King Dolian’s warning nipping at my heels like a rabid dog. Get the information I need, Xander, or find yourself with the same fate as the deceased Trusted. I had bowed my head and swore that I would. And for over a week, I have paced the distance from the first level of the castle to the dungeon beneath it daily. All while chanting to myself, she better be alive.

Tonight is no different.