1
It was only an illusion, a side effect of the medicine.
Repeating the words to herself, she pressed hard against her closed eyes, then reached blindly toward the shelf for a vial of fragrance. Talia emptied the entire bottle of rose oil across the surface of the bath and submerged herself completely, down to the crown of her head.
How long had she stayed under? An urgent hand caught her arm, tugging her upward. Talia jerked upright, startled.
“What is it?”
Tiuran, frozen in surprise with her hand still gripping Talia’s arm, hastily pulled away.
“F-forgive me. I did not hear any movement for so long, I feared Your Grace had lost consciousness…”
“Now that you know I haven’t, get out.”
The healer bowed her head without another word and retreated behind the screen.
Resting her neck against the wooden rim, Talia touched the spot on her arm where the woman’s fingers had lingered. Then she caught sight of a pair of bright blue eyes watching her in obvious distress, and a bitter smile touched her lips.
Even to a beast, she must look completely unhinged. Caring nothing for his coat getting wet, Khan clung to the edge of the tub, stretching his neck toward her.
Talia smoothed his damp muzzle with dripping fingers, then stood and stepped out of the water. She had no wish to frighten him any further.
Throwing a fresh nightgown loosely over her wet body, she dragged herself to the bed and collapsed onto it. The linen sheets and pillows instantly soaked through, but she lacked the will to care.
Staring up at the dark canopy, a leaden helplessness pressed down on her chest. Talia shut her eyes, and before she realized it, sleep claimed her.
A sudden clatter woke her. Talia opened her eyes, scowling as she saw Tiuran tending a brazier.
“What are you doing?”
“Ah… forgive me. Did I wake you?”
The healer replied in her quiet tone, setting the burning brazier beside the bed.
“It is incense to help clear the remnants of the drug.”
Talia eyed the smoke suspiciously, then shifted her gaze back to the woman’s placid face.
Tiuran offered a wry, understanding smile at the mistrust before turning toward the hearth.
“I have also brewed a tea to cleanse your blood. May I pour you a cup?”
Talia was about to refuse out of habit when she felt a soft weight nudge against her side and looked down.
Khan was gazing up at her with worried eyes, pressing a front paw against her stomach as though pleading with her to eat. After a quiet hesitation, Talia muttered reluctantly,
“…Just a little.”
Tiuran ladled the steaming brew from the iron pot and brought it over in a porcelain cup.
“It is made from willow bark, mint, and ginger. I added a touch of honey, so it should go down easily.”
Talia brought the cup close, sniffed it cautiously, and took a small sip.
Though the pungent bite caught the back of her throat, it was tolerable. She drank half of it and thrust the cup back. Taking it, Tiuran set it aside and offered a warm bowl of porridge in its place.
“I was told you missed the midday meal as well. Even if you have no appetite, you must take a few spoonfuls.”
“No. Just bring me some fruit.”
“I beg your pardon, but fruit on a sour, empty stomach will only bring cramps. Even if it is only a mouthful, you need something solid.”
Talia glared at her with irritation. Yet seeing the plain, earnest concern in the woman’s eyes, she gave in and took the bowl.
Still, the sight of the thick, pale mush churned her stomach, killing whatever little hunger she had.
She poked at it with a silver spoon, peering closely at the contents. It was a sticky mash of finely ground nuts and soft grains.
Confirming there were no suspicious specks in the paste, she lifted a tiny spoonful to smell it—only to feel the healer’s eyes fixed entirely upon her.
“Is there a spectacle to see? What are you staring at!”
“Forgive me. It is only…”
Showing a rare crack in her composure, Tiuran hesitated before speaking softly.
“I was worried Your Grace might have an aversion to swallowing food…”
Talia flinched, then gave a sharp, incredulous scoff.
“Why would I have trouble swallowing? I am merely checking to see if you slipped anything vile into my bowl.”
“…Has someone done that to you before?”
Talia glared fiercely at her. But the healer only looked back with quiet pity, as if she had already guessed the whole humiliating truth.
A suffocating rush of shame burned through Talia’s chest. The utter misery of having her sordid past laid bare before a stranger made her blood boil.
She flung the bowl against the floor.
“I don’t want your slop! Get the hell out!”
Tiuran froze for a moment, then gathered her skirts and quietly left the room. Breathing raggedly, Talia looked down and saw Khan cowering nearby, stiff with fright at her sudden fury.
He must see it clearly by now. That she was not gentle, that she was a broken, vicious monster… Even so, please do not hate me. Not you.
She pulled the wolf against her chest, clinging to him like a plea.
Without the narcotic salve, the brutal, familiar agony returned in full force.
Varkas could feel with gruesome clarity the sensation of flesh being roasted alive from within. It nearly drove him out of his mind that he could do nothing while she writhed.
He licked her sweat-streaked brow again and again, letting out frantic, low whines.
Talia weakly stroked his fur, forcing the ghost of a smile.
“It’s stuffy in here, isn’t it? I’m sorry… I haven’t been able to take you out.”
He stared into her hollow face, his heart tearing apart. Talia tried to keep her composure, but another spasm struck, and she groaned, curling into a knot.
Ever since the diluted ointment had been applied, the itching had grown unbearable. Because she kept clawing and pinching herself, both her legs were inflamed and swollen red.
He wedged his head under her hands to keep her nails away, but he was not strong enough to stop her from tearing at the ruined skin until it bled.
Whirling around, he threw himself against the adjoining door where the healer stayed, barking sharply. A moment later, Tiuran pulled the door open and hurried in.
“Your Grace, no matter how much it itches, you must not scratch.”
Rushing to the bedside, the healer caught Talia’s wrists, firmly holding them while murmuring a healing cantrip over the raw wounds. She reached for a vial on the shelf, spreading cooling mint oil over the fire-bright skin.
The sharp chill seemed to dull the itch, and the tight grimace on Talia’s face eased a fraction. Yet the deep, grinding pain remained, and cold beads of sweat rolled down her temples. Unable to bear another second, Talia gasped out an order.
“I can’t… I can’t bear this. Summon Marisen. I need the medicine I had before.”
“Your Grace, I know it is terrible, but please endure it just a little longer. If you continue to depend on such venomous draughts—”
“How am I supposed to endure this! Stop preaching and bring Marisen!”
A shadow of deep conflict crossed the healer’s face.
Varkas paced restlessly at the foot of the bed. From what he had observed, the previous prescriptions had been saturated with deadly banes like poppy, nightshade, and henbane.
They were brutal remedies used on soldiers mangled beyond saving, packed with foul side effects and requiring absolute caution. Slip by a fraction of a grain, and the cure became a lethal poison.
When he had first pieced together that they had been pumping poison into her veins, he wanted nothing more than to tear that incompetent healing woman apart with his bare fangs. Yet watching Talia twist in blind agony, he found himself tempted to let them feed her that vile draught again—anything, if only it spared her this torment.
END
