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Chapter 14

Roksana

The muffled shouting in my dream grew louder until I noticed I wasn’t, in fact, dead. The shaking of my sore body helped with that realisation, as did the ringing in my ears.

It took several more moments to register that the dull thudding wasn’t the tired thumping of my heart but the sound of stone being pounded to dust.

‘Stay with me, Drah’sa. They’re coming,’ Tova reassured me, and my fingers twitched, searching for his. ‘There we go. Good girl, I’m here. That was quite the light show. Now breathe,’ he coaxed.

I sucked in a lungful of air. Everything hurt. My skin was on fire, my chest strongly objected to breathing, but the pain in my back was the worst, waves of agony driving out coherent thought. Had someone cut me open and ripped my lungs out?

I tried to move but screamed instead, oblivion clawing me back into its embrace.

‘Roksana, don’t you fucking dare…’ More shouts, more mumbled voices, and a light that dazzled even through my closed eyelids. I tried to answer, but nothing happened. Not even when they lifted me, and the pain in my back intensified.

‘Careful with the wings.’ Tova’s snarled command forced my eyes open.

Wings? What the… What the hell did my magic do now?

The dungeon wasn’t a pleasant place. Even abandoned, the stench of rot and death permeated the air, while mould turned every surface into a slippery nightmare. This place was decidedly different.

A picturesque pond was fed by a small spring bubbling from a moss-covered wall, the moss itself emitted a soft yellow light, its spores dancing like golden dust. A human-sized breach marred the opposite wall, its stones reduced to powder.

‘Whaaa…’ I croaked, swallowing the dust clogging my throat.

‘She’s awake. Veles’ sweaty bollocks, Sanika. This time you did it!’ Rey’s forehead pressed to mine, his grip tight around me, and I blinked when a salty droplet fell into my eye.

Was he crying?

‘Who died?’ I whispered, dread forcing me to speak. ‘Your wound!’

‘Apparently, you did—well, tried to. I’m healed, your magic… I’m healed,’ he sighed, relaxing slightly. ‘Let’s get you to bed, Viper. You need a healer, a cleric… someone. Gods, I don’t even know how this happened.’

‘A god’s damned miracle happened, that’s what. She doesn’t need a healer, just a bath.’ Tova grunted, and I sobbed at the sound of his voice.

‘You survived?’ I asked when he came close enough for me to see him.

‘Survived? If there’s anyone with even a stubbed toe in this palace, I’ll shave my beard.’ He grinned like a madman. ‘I thought we were dead meat. Then you started floating and snuffed out those frigid bastards like candles.’

‘Floating?’ I looked at Rey. Getting answers from Tova when he was like this was almost impossible.

‘We’ll talk later. Let me get you to bed first.’ Rey wrapped me in his cloak and turned to Ormond. ‘Make sure nothing else is amiss. Tova will help.’

I didn’t listen to their conversation. Too tired to keep my eyes open, too tired to even think. Still, one thing bothered me. I didn’t remember anyone wearing a cloak.

The air changed as we moved, the fresh floral scent giving way to the expected rot and mildew as Rey carried me from the dungeon. The wind hit me in the face when the last door opened onto the courtyard, carrying the whispers of a milling crowd.

‘Prepare a bath in our chambers, then call for Ciesko. I want the Arch Healer waiting there,’ Rey commanded, and I sensed the crowd move closer. I pressed my face into Reynard’s chest. I didn’t want them seeing me like this—weak, beaten, carried like a damsel who’d fainted at the sight of danger.

‘Magura…’ someone whispered, and the word passed from mouth to mouth, becoming a chant that spread through the crowd.

‘Let’s go. Please,’ I mumbled, suddenly frightened by the crowd’s response. Magura was a winged maiden, the daughter of Perun, whose war cry inspired warriors and gave the gift of eternal life. I recoiled at the sound of it.

Rey’s lips brushed my forehead. ‘They just want to see their hero. It will pass, Sana, I promise, it will pass.’

The journey to our rooms had never felt so long. My body was as tense as a bowstring by the time we arrived, but at least the prying eyes were gone.

The room was clean, the branches sheared, the damaged furniture replaced or fixed, and the bed freshly made. However, the reminders of my power persisted, from the bedposts whose decorative vines were so detailed no artist could recreate them to the window frames that looked like they’d grown from the living rock.