52
Swept along by a strange, indescribable emotion, Talia watched the castle gates draw near.
Soon, she would be rid of this agonizing pain.
Not by some quack healer walking on eggshells around Gareth, but by the finest mages of the Empress’s Palace. They would restore her to her former, flawless self.
Licking her parched lips, she lowered her gaze cautiously to take in her body.
Draped in a thin, cream-colored dress, she looked hideous by any measure.
The thick bandages wound from her thigh to her ankle bulged crudely beneath the fine fabric of her skirt. Though the burns on her palms had been neatly closed by magic, her fingernails were still stained a dark, purplish black with dried blood and bruising.
She had barely eaten throughout the journey, and her gaunt, hollow face only deepened her wretchedness.
All at once, cold dread seized her.
‘Will they all laugh at me when they see me like this?’
A vision of maids cackling, whispering that she had finally gotten what she deserved, flashed behind her eyes, sending a chill down her spine.
Talia yanked the carriage curtains shut. If she heard even a single person whisper that she had been struck down by divine judgment, her mind would snap.
Pulling the tangled linen blanket off the floor, she dragged it over her head.
Moments later, the carriage rattled as it passed through the gatehouse arch.
Talia poked her head out through a fold in the cloth and listened to the clamor outside. The clatter of hooves and the thunderous bellows of the infantry resounded across the courtyard, while the heavy notes of the funeral dirge sank lower.
Beneath it drifted the low murmur of the gathered crowd, like the ceaseless drone of thousands of swarming insects. Her raw nerves frayed to the limit, and Talia pulled the blanket back over her head.
Before long, the carriage, which had been grinding slowly over the gravel drive, came to a halt. Outside, the commotion grew frantic. Every servant in the Imperial Palace seemed to have spilled out into the courtyard.
She curled up in the corner of the carriage, waiting for the noise to subside. Her plan was to stay hidden until Gareth and Ayla finished their formal audience with the Emperor. She refused to let their sycophants look upon her broken state.
Kneading her throbbing knee, Talia held her breath.
Without warning, the carriage door swung wide, and a tall silhouette blocked the light.
Talia looked up, her eyes widening at the familiar figure framed against the sun. Her nanny waddled in and wrapped her plump arms around her in a crushing embrace.
“Oh, my poor lady. Look what they’ve done to you.”
She took Talia’s face in her broad hands, examining every inch as fat tears rolled down her cheeks.
“How did you waste away like this? To think you were hurt so badly, and now there’s barely anything left of you…”
Talia stared blankly for a second before her face crumpled, and she threw her arms around the woman’s neck.
She buried herself against the nanny’s ample chest like a frightened cub fleeing to its mother, and the woman rubbed her back with broad, soothing strokes.
At that gentle touch—as though she were still a baby in a cradle—Talia broke. Burying her face in the curls smelling of cinnamon, she gave in to ragged sobs.
“Nanny, I… it hurts so much. I feel like I’m going to die.”
“Don’t worry, child. Lady Senevier will have you put right in no time.”
The nanny wiped the wetness from Talia’s cheeks and pointed back toward the doorway. Talia flinched, spotting a stranger standing at the carriage steps.
A white cloth masked the lower half of his face, while dark grey eyes rimmed with gold looked her up and down with cold appraisal.
Under that gaze, which felt like an merchant inspecting raw goods, Talia shrank closer to her nanny. Patting her back, the woman spoke in a hurried, comforting tone.
“The moment Lady Senevier heard of your injury, she sent for mages of the Taren family. They will make you whole again.”
With that, she firmly pried Talia’s hands away and made room for the mages to step inside.
Watching the dark figures draw near, Talia scrambled back against the seat, instinct taking hold.
“I… I can walk on my own. Back off.”
“With those legs?”
The lean man leaning toward her tilted his head. Talia flushed red with humiliation.
“I can make it to the Empress’s Palace just fine!”
The man’s eyes narrowed behind the veil, sending an icy wave of unease prickling across her skin.
Rubbing his chin as if considering her, he suddenly lunged forward and seized her injured leg.
Talia screamed as white-hot agony tore through her flesh. He clamped down so brutally over the wound that fresh crimson bled through the bandages.
“If we let you hobble on limbs like these and tear them open, we are the ones who bear the blame. Cease this useless pride.”
Talia stared up at him in stunned horror.
Letting go of her leg, the man signaled his companion waiting across from him.
“Carry her.”
The second man reached down, his hands sliding beneath her back. Cold goosebumps rippled down her skin, as if a reptile had brushed against her bare flesh.
Talia twisted frantically away from his grasp, flailing her arms.
“Don’t touch me!”
Her hand struck the man across the jaw. He hissed something in a low, metallic rasp. Recognizing the cadence of the Elven tongue, Talia went rigid.
Beneath the hood, she caught a glimpse of unnaturally long, pointed ears, plaster-white skin, and ash-grey hair threaded with blue. He was no half-breed or quarter-blood; he was pure-blooded, an Origin Elf.
Knowing all too well how utterly devoid of human empathy they were, terror seized her limbs.
Trading sharp murmurs in their foreign tongue, the two elves pinned her arms flat against the bench. Talia parted her lips to scream.
Before a sound could escape, a clammy hand dropped over her eyes, and every ounce of strength drained from her frame. It felt as though her bones and sinew had dissolved into ash.
“Wasting mana on this nonsense.”
The man clicked his tongue and drew his hand away from her face. Talia could only gaze up at him, her pupils wide and trembling.
She wanted to scream, to demand what he dared to do to her, but only a dry wheeze scraped out of her throat.
Straightening up, the mage commanded his subordinate.
“She will not stir now. Take her to the healing chambers.”
The elf she had struck obeyed without hesitation.
Hoisted over his shoulder like a dead weight, Talia cast a desperate, pleading look toward her nanny. But as always, the woman was blind to her terror.
“Just bear it a little longer, my lady. Everything will be fine.”
Dabbing her eyes with the hem of her sleeve, the nanny stepped down from the carriage. The elf carrying Talia followed close behind.
The blinding glare of the noon sun stabbed into her eyes, forcing Talia to wince.
She blinked against the haze, only to see the carriage surrounded by guards bearing the crest of the Empress’s Palace.
As she searched the courtyard with frantic eyes, she spotted her personal knight pacing anxiously just outside the wall of soldiers.
When he tried to push through the imperial lines toward her, a Taren mage blocked his path.
“Your duty is complete. The Princess is in our hands now. Fall back.”
“I am Her Highness’s personal knight. It is my duty to remain at her side—”
“Seeing the state Her Highness has returned in, your standing has effectively been stripped, has it not?”
The knight choked on his words, silenced. The mage clicked his tongue, pushed him aside with one hand, and started across the courtyard, threading through the cluttered baggage wagons.
Talia looked about in helpless despair. Soon, amidst the guard detachment standing before the Main Palace steps, she caught sight of pale flaxen hair. Talia almost called his name on instinct before her wits returned and she bit her tongue.
Varkas would never move a finger for her.
In truth, she had no idea why she had sought him in the first place.
These were mages sent by Senevier. They had no reason to harm her.
She repeated the thought like a prayer to quiet the rising dread, but the elf carrying her was heading directly toward him.
Talia went rigid as Varkas’s face drew near.
END