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“It’s a double-edged sword. It suppresses...” I coughed awkwardly. “Undesirable traits, which I may have inherited from my mother. But it also has the unfortunate side effect of causing me a little pain.”
Draven frowned. “It seems like more than a little. You hardly eat. You don’t sleep.”
“How do you know if I sleep?” I exclaimed. “Are you watching me?”
He snorted. “I sleep a few feet away from you. I can tell when you’re tossing and turning.”
I realized I might have woken him up with my constant movement at night. To my embarrassment, I remembered groaning in pain the night before.
“I’m sorry if I’m keeping you awake.”
“That’s not the issue. The issue is that you seem to be getting worse. If you don’t eat and you don’t sleep, soon you won’t be able to stay on your horse. You’re losing strength.”
“Oh, I see. That’s all you’re really concerned with. Ensuring I make it to the end of the mission.” I was cranky. With every sip I took, my head was beginning to pound again, the throbbing growing greater and greater.
Not to mention that I knew he was right. It was getting worse. I was getting worse.
“What sort of undesirable traits could you possibly have to suppress, anyhow?” Draven asked wonderingly. “So your mother may have been fae. There are many folks who would be happy to have such a lineage.”
I looked up at him skeptically. “There are? In Pendrath?”
Oh, right, Draven. You’re not from Pendrath, are you? I wanted to add that, but bit my tongue. Where was he from? Some place where having even a little fae blood was not increasingly considered an intolerable quality? It must be a nice place. Perhaps I’d like to visit.
“Or at least if not happy, not unhappy,” he corrected. “The temple prefers acolytes with magic, don’t they?”
I nodded.
“So why suppress yours?”
“I’m not suppressing magic,” I snapped. “Merlin tested me when I was small and I have none.”
I didn’t mention that the last time she had tested me I was twelve and I had been taking the medicine for a long time. Nor had I thought it worth mentioning to Merlin. What good would the ability have done me, anyhow? I already stood out like a sore thumb. “Nothing good is being suppressed, Draven. I simply don’t wish to discover I suddenly have a tail or claws or... or horns or fur or some such.”
Draven looked blank for a moment, then he laughed loudly. “Fur? A tail? Where did you hear that? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“And how would you know what the fae of old looked like?” I said rebelliously.
He shrugged. “What did your mother look like?”
I stared at him. “She was beautiful. Golden hair.”
“Well, then. That doesn’t seem so bad.”
“You do realize I was not permitted to take the throne because of my tainted bloodline,” I reminded him, my voice very quiet.
Of course, it had also been the decision of a man with questionable discernment. But I was not about to mention that.
“Would you stop that?” It was Whitehorn. He had stood up and was now looking at Draven angrily. “Stop trying to get in her head. She’s doing what she’s told. Just as she ought to.”
“Like a good, obedient little princess,” Draven said softly, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “Isn’t that convenient for you?”
“You have no idea what kind of a monstrosity she’d be save for that concoction she takes each night. Why, she has the hair of a crone.”
“And that bothers you, does it, Whitehorn? You are offended by a woman’s hair color?” Draven said coldly.
Whitehorn scowled. “Hair is one thing. Teeth and claws are another.”
“This is pointless,” I said softly. “I’m doing as I’m told.”
