“With your permission, I will examine the ingredients. It should put Your Highness’s mind at ease.”
Talia neither agreed nor refused, merely waving her hand in dismissal. The woman bowed at once and withdrew from the room.
Sitting before the hearth and watching the dying embers, Talia stood, weighed down by crushing fatigue.
She lay down upon the plush bed, and the ache throbbing in her knees slowly began to ebb. The ointment had finally taken effect.
Gazing blearily at the stained patches across the ceiling, Talia turned toward the window, where the glass glowed a dull crimson.
Unnoticed, the sky had turned from fiery amber to the shade of bruised wine.
The burning sunset would soon drown in night. Once it did, the darkness would favor an ambush against the marauders.
A sudden tremor of worry brushed her thoughts—what if Varkas was wounded in the fight?—but she shook it away instantly.
This was a man who had surpassed hundreds of Roem Knights to become Commander before his twentieth year. Cutting down a band of brigands would cost him nothing.
Banishing the intrusive thoughts, Talia shut her eyes tight. As awareness slipped away, the bell tolling the close of day drifted through her haze.
To the distant resonance chiming from the tower, Talia sank into a sleep so heavy it bordered on a faint.
When she came to, the room was steeped in the dead of night, pitch-black and silent.
Waking with a parched throat, Talia clutched at the collar of her linen dress as a sudden wave of suffocation clamped around her chest.
When the tightness refusing to yield, as though a hand were crushing her throat, she dragged herself to the bedside and reached for the lamp.
A faint streak of orange flickered along the far wall. Talia turned toward that meager trace, caught sight of the dying embers in the hearth, and drew a ragged breath. The weak glow felt like a sudden rush of clean air.
She climbed from the bed and crossed to the fireplace. A few red embers still hissed in the heap of black ash. Stacking several logs to revive the fire, she pumped the bellows resting on the floor. Smoke puffed from the wood before it caught, flaring into bright yellow flames.
Her shoulders sagged with relief. Then she turned her head, arrested by a strange sound drifting from outside. It took several seconds to recognize it as the wailing of a beast.
Had a wild dog wandered near?
Going to the window, Talia eased the sash open. A dry, biting wind hit her face.
Shivering at the chill, she peered into the dark, tracing the sound as it grew clearer.
A mournful howl echoed over hills washed in pale moonlight. Yet across the white slopes, there was no sign of the beast crying its heart out.
Just as she began scanning the wood's edge, wondering if the call came from the trees, a knock sounded at the door.
Talia’s nerves pulled taut.
“Who is it?”
“Pardon the intrusion, Your Highness. I heard movement and feared your pain might be keeping you awake.”
It was the healer from Shearkan.
Her guard slipping, Talia answered in a tired drawl.
“I merely had trouble sleeping. You may go.”
Silence hung in the hall. The woman lingered outside as though hesitating, then offered softly:
“If it pleases you, shall I brew some herbal tea to help you rest?”
Talia frowned. A prick of irritation flared when the woman failed to obey her dismissal at once.
“I don’t need—”
The sharp refusal rose to her tongue, then stalled. She recalled her promise to save whatever the Shearkan healer brewed for the Taren healer to inspect.
She did not truly believe the woman was slipping her poison, but vigilance cost nothing.
After a brief pause, Talia spoke coldly.
“Very well. Enter.”
At the permission, the healer stepped inside, carrying a small bundle in one hand.
Talia tracked her with a sharp, probing gaze.
As though she had just risen from bed, the woman wore only a gray robe draped over a loose linen gown that looked like a nightshirt.
Tucking her unkempt hair behind her ear in mild embarrassment, the woman walked toward the hearth.
“Please give me a moment. It will not take long.”
She hung a brass pot over the flames and withdrew a bundle of dried plants from her pouch.
Selecting several kinds and lightly parching them in the pot, she lifted a kettle and poured water over the leaves.
Before long, the soft fragrance of chamomile and lavender drifted through the air.
“There, it is ready.”
She poured a modest cup of the dark, steeped brew and offered it with both hands.
Talia took the cup and stared down at the surface. A thread of honey had been stirred in; its sweet aroma tickled her nose.
As she sat savoring the scent, that long, plaintive howl rose once more in the distance.
Talia let out a quiet sigh. The beast seemed intent on crying until dawn.
“Shut the window. And draw the curtains.”
The woman obeyed immediately. Yet the animal’s call cut through the heavy glass and fabric all the same.
The healer gave a faint, troubled laugh.
“It seems a wolf longs terribly for someone in this village.”
Talia scoffed, unconvinced.
“Are you trying to make a joke of this?”
“No, it is not that…”
Startled by the cold retort, the woman gathered herself and went on softly.
“In the East, there is an old belief that those who perish before receiving baptism are reborn as wild beasts. The cries of animals in the dark are said to be songs calling to the ones they loved in life.”
Talia sneered.
“Unbaptized souls merely plunge into the abyss and vanish. Do you not even know basic doctrine?”
“…I am well aware of the Church’s teachings.”
A bitter shadow touched the healer's mouth.
“Yet is it not far gentler to believe a lost loved one has returned to one’s side, even as a beast? Even the priests look away from such small consolations.”
Talia looked at her, uncertain.
“Do so many truly die without baptism?”
“Like all who belong to the Empire, Easterners are baptized within a hundred days of birth. But such grace never reaches a stillborn child, does it?”
Hearing the ache carved into the woman’s voice, Talia’s gaze drifted away in awkward silence.
Had this healer lost a child?
At a loss for words and increasingly ill at ease, Talia watched as the woman forced a quiet smile to brush the shadow away.
“The tea will go cold. Please drink.”
Mindful of the sudden gravity between them, Talia swallowed the lukewarm tea without another word.
Watching her drain the cup, the healer arranged a few small glass bottles on the shelf and quietly withdrew.
Talia lay back down, listening to the howls fade into the night.
Perhaps that woman had been listening to a song meant for her ears alone. Perhaps that was why she had been unable to sleep until now.
Talia pondered it for a fleeting second, then shook the pointless thoughts from her head.
It was trial enough bearing her own grief. She had no room to carry anyone else’s.
Whether from the herbs or utter exhaustion, she sank into a dreamless, deep slumber.
Waking with a rare clarity she had not felt in months, Talia looked toward the window where morning light had begun to bleed in, her eyes still heavy with sleep.
A presence stirred beside her. Assuming Nanny had brought water to wash, Talia turned—only to start violently as cool fingers cradled her cheek.
Her eyes widened. Varkas was sitting on the edge of the bed.
Blinking in disbelief, Talia scrambled to sit upright.
Before she could even glance over his frame to see if he was whole, his fingers tilted her chin, and his lips came down over hers without warning.
END