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“The Sun God is displeased with you, bring him The Mistress’s ashes by the new moon or your kingdom will never wake.” She hissed in my ear. My grip on her hair faltered, and she lunged to cut her arm on my blade, smiling wickedly before dissolving to ash.
Nineteen
Ilooked up at the crowd, unable to hide the shock of her last words and willing death. How did she know about my God when not even Mara or the dreadlings could find a trace of him, unless she had seen him? If it was that, why would he commune with a vampire, about our bargain no less, when he claimed they were his enemy, and how? My usual visits from him during my nightly meditation had not occurred once since I’d been here. Did he know I had slept with Mara? Did he question my allegiance? Would he make good on that threat, or…
Ravensford was slowly making his way toward me through the crowd. Had he heard, would he have answers?
“Nettle! Nettle can you hear me?” Ravensford was kneeling above me, shaking my arm with far too much of his strength.
“Stop shaking me, or I’m going to be sick” I mumbled, as my swirling thoughts reacted to his jerky movements. He stepped back, sending the people gathered away with words I couldn’t process.
“Can you walk? Or can I carry you without upsetting your stomach?” He muttered.
I tried to stand only to black out. Had I forgotten to breathe? I woke to him carrying me through the halls. They were clearly marked, and I wasn’t sure if I was more surprised by the fact I wasn’t blindfolded or that he was taking me into a room other than Mara’s.
The place was smaller or made to look that way by the large towers of books that covered every surface except the mussy maroon covers of his much smaller bed. He placed me in a nest of crimson that smelled like his scent of parchment and rain before striding off to examine the books. Taking care to keep the towers in place he grabbed a couple of ancient tomes from the base of one before tossing them next to me. He repeated the process until the bed was covered in what looked to be a mix of history and fiction books.
Before I could ask what he was doing there was a knock at his door.
“Who is it?” He shouted, half bent over with his finger jabbed in the middle of two books, obviously annoyed at being interrupted.
“The Herbalist, sir. The Mistress sent for me.” Her voice rang out, just as exasperated as the day before in the kitchens.
“Come in then!” He said, returning to his muttering while she entered with haste, winding through the stacks with all the grace of repeated practice. My eyes narrowed, wondering how she could have gotten so familiar with his bedroom. Had they been involved as well? Did Mara know? Was she part of their relationship as well?
The edges of my vision began growing darker until a strong slap stopped my spiraling. Taking a deep breath, I looked up to see the Herbalist frowning down at me.
“She should have sent you to me sooner.” She griped, pulling out a pouch that opened up to reveal several rows of vials marked with curling script.
“What are you talking about?” I asked, fumbling for my sword only to find the whip. Looking up, I realized it was sheathed on The Captain’s back, next to his axe.
“Yes yes, we’ll look at restoring the braid next. But first I need you to swallow this.” She offered up a thick purple syrup that smelled strongly of berries.
“Caaapttaaain?” I slurred, unsure whether this was some latent attempt at poisoning, or whether I should do as she said.
“Drink the syrup, Nettle. If we’re right, it’ll help rid you of your headaches. If we’re wrong, it’ll taste like an earthy berry.” He yelled back.
I took a deep breath, before taking the vial and downed the contents like I’d seen some do with strong spirits.
“Good. Now don’t panic. I’m going to work on the braid spell, you might come in and out but that’s totally normal. Just remember, use your mark to see what’s true.”
The bedroom faded around me until I was in my dream space, the smell of parchment and rain offering me a bit of comfort in the bright void.
His golden hair came into view first, and as the rest of him materialized in a shimmering wave, I wondered at the clarity of his presence. Had I slipped into my dream state, or was I actually dying this time? His usually stern gaze was full of concern. He knelt near me, his cinnamon scent enveloping me in a strong embrace.
“Your Holiness?” I ask, uncertain now whether the words spoken at the arena were true.
“Princess Brenlyn, I had thought you lost! Why is it that you look close to death?” My mark burned, and I gasped. His hand reached to tilt my chin up into his sky-blue eyes. “Tell me lady, where are you hurt? Allow me to heal you.” The words were so similar to the day he’d found me in my Tower, offering me release from sleep and answers for the curse, in exchange for my dreams.
Just as then he summoned a chalice of dark liquid and bade me drink. I opened my mouth to say I was well when he placed the chalice to my lips. The thick liquid was cloyingly sweet, and I gagged as he continued to tip the substance down my throat. I struggled against the metal for a moment before he realized I was struggling to breathe and removed the cup. Heaving, I leaned forward, unsure if I was searching for air or about to up heave whatever he’d just given me. Perhaps before my capture I would not have questioned his rough handling, but after having my choices so respected, and my body handled with such care by those meant to be my enemies, I could not help the anger that bubbled to the surface in response. Whatever was in that drink was causing me great pain, something I had not noticed the first time.
“Why do you look so upset? Is my help unwanted now?” He said, his hand rising to clutch his chest as if wounded.
The anger in me faded at the thought of hurting him, certain now the only source of pain in my life was to betray my benevolent God. I trusted him implicitly. He’d rescued me and needed me to bring him the ashes of my current captor. I knew without a doubt that whatever was in that cup would help me. He rubbed circles into my back and my muscles slowly loosened. Pain retreated, and I looked down to injuries I did not recall sustaining slowly knit together.
“What… is happening?” I asked slowly, too slowly, was I in shock?
“A miracle of course, just don’t go dying on me alright?” His smile brought out the dimple in his chin and I felt a wave of his Godly aura. It filled me with certainty that he was my friend, that I was safe with him, and I wished more than anything to be seen as useful to him. To win my freedom once and for all.
