Varkas, who had been handing a bundle of parchment detailing the deceased to a priest, turned his head to look at her. Talia quickly lowered her gaze.
Exposed so plainly beneath the harsh summer sun, she felt a fresh surge of humiliation, unable to hold her head high.
“The Second Princess requires immediate treatment. Please waive the entry formalities.”
The Taren mage, having stopped in front of Varkas, spoke with polite deference.
When no reply came at once, Talia raised her eyes again. Varkas was staring intently at her face, a faint crease between his brows.
Did he find it strange that someone who once threw a fit at the slightest touch was now being carried so meekly?
Varkas’s narrowed eyes raked over her pale, haggard face before drifting slowly downward.
His cool gaze lingered for a moment on her back and the hands supporting her knees, then dropped to her limp calves dangling beneath her skirt. When he spotted the dark red stains seeping through her bandages, the furrow between his brows deepened.
A questioning glare cut immediately toward the Taren mages.
Ignoring it, the mage added smoothly, “Her Majesty will surely understand the Second Princess heading straight to her quarters.”
“Yes. Take the child at once.”
Instead of the silent commander, a clear, ringing voice broke in.
Talia turned her head and stiffened at the sight of Ayla leading a cluster of maids across the crowded courtyard.
Stopping beside Varkas, Ayla looked down at her with pity in her eyes.
“She has endured a grueling journey with such severe injuries; it is only right she receives treatment and rest without delay.”
Talia gritted her teeth. Humiliation burned through her under that gentle, sympathetic gaze. If she had been able to lift so much as a finger, she would have clawed those eyes out on the spot.
Whether blind to Talia’s fury or indifferent to it, Ayla rested a hand on Varkas’s forearm with a soft smile.
“I shall explain everything to His Majesty.”
Then, turning gracefully, she coaxed Varkas along.
“Now, let us go inside. His Majesty is waiting.”
Only then did the man, standing rigid as stone, begin to move. Talia watched his receding back with lingering eyes before finally closing her eyelids.
The mages bypassed the main palace, stepping into a sprawling garden thick with blooms. Soon, a grand, ornate hall swallowed her whole.
Talia felt as though she were being pulled down the gullet of a great beast.
Crossing the marble floor in swift strides, the mages climbed the stairs and entered Senevier’s study. Beyond towering shelves packed with hundreds of volumes, a hidden passage opened between the pillars. The mages stepped inside with practiced ease.
Soon, Senevier’s laboratory opened before them.
Talia grimaced at the heavy reek of aromatic oils and dried herbs that made her head swim.
“Lay her here.”
A mage strode across the chamber and pulled open a door beside a display cabinet.
Though she had visited this place many times, she had never set foot inside this room. The man carrying her laid her down on a bed in the center.
Talia looked around, her eyes tight with dread.
The immaculate, orderly chamber was lined with bizarre tools she had never seen before.
As she took them in, she turned her gaze back to the two mages. They were laying out implements on a table, their purpose entirely unknown to her.
Was this how a calf felt when dragged into a slaughterhouse? Cold sweat soaked the back of her neck. Had she not been bound by the spell, she would have screamed.
“I will examine the wound first,” one of the mages said, moving to her legs.
Talia felt her skirt being lifted and went rigid all over.
Unwrapping the bandages with cold efficiency, the man clicked his tongue softly.
“The condition is worse than expected.”
He added, pressing his ice-cold fingers thoroughly around her knee,
“The clumsy way the bone was set will cause trouble. If it knits like this, the nerves will deaden, and she will never walk on this leg again.”
“The crude work of human mages, truly…”
The mage muttered under his breath and picked up a small blade from the table.
“Nothing for it. We must break and reset it.”
A ragged sob tore from her constricted throat.
Only then did the mage notice her deathly pale face; he lowered the cloth over his mouth and curled his lips into a smile.
“There is no need to be so frightened.”
He seemed to mean it as reassurance, but Talia’s blood ran cold. It looked less like a human smile and more like a fish mimicking one.
The man droned on.
“It will be difficult to restore it entirely to its original state, but I will ensure you can walk without trouble.”
She fought to part her lips.
Stop it.
If it could never be the same again, there was no reason to suffer through this.
She wanted to scream it, but only choked gasps slipped from her lips.
The man pulled the cloth back over his face and gave an order.
“Light the slumberweed.”
The mage by the table brought a small brazier to her bedside and set fire to a dried bundle of herbs.
Talia instantly held her breath. But she could not hold out long. Choking on the lack of air, she drew in a breath, and the pungent smoke blurred her vision in an instant.
Talia tried to force her heavy eyelids open against the haze, but darkness dragged her under like a fainting spell.
Rain was falling on the lake.
She realized she was dreaming. A fragment of an old memory unrolled before her eyes.
Fourteen-year-old Talia sat huddled beneath a sprawling tree, glaring at the grey surface of the water under the pouring rain as though it were her mortal enemy.
Varkas, drenched to the skin, walked up beside her.
“Is our game of hide-and-seek finished now?”
She glared up at him, her eyes burning with venom.
He must have searched every corner of the palace grounds; his clothes, usually without a single fold out of place, were soaked, and his hair was in complete disarray. Yet none of it soothed Talia’s temper in the least.
She reached down, scooped up a handful of wet mud, and hurled it straight at him.
“Go away! I don’t even want to look at you!”
Ugly dark splotches bloomed across his embroidered velvet uniform, but Varkas did not even flinch.
His impassive face only infuriated her further. Talia flung another fistful of mud at him.
“Get lost! Just go to Ayla!”
“Nothing would please me more.”
Varkas let out a short breath, sinking down on one knee beside her as he spoke.
“Yet I am bound here until Your Highness turns sixteen.”
Talia glared at him, her face flushed red with indignation.
She felt wretched enough to cry. To hide it, she widened her stinging eyes and twisted her mouth into a deliberate, spiteful sneer.
“To have to look at your face for two more years… it’s disgusting. Just thinking about it makes me want to vomit.”
· · ·
“I hate you more than anything in this world. You’re repulsive. You make me sick. You’re vile.”
“Are you finished?”
“I’m not finished! You smell like a horse!”
His brow twitched up by a hair.
Talia flinched, quickly lowering her gaze. Having spent his boyhood in a monastery, Varkas had an obsessive need for cleanliness.
He always carried the clean scent of soap. Knowing that well enough himself, he would see her childish insult for the petty tantrum it was.
Yet instead of calling her out, Varkas took the cloak gathered in his hand, draped it over her shoulders with a soft thud, and rose to his feet.
“You may finish your insults once we return to the palace. Get up now. Your lips are turning blue.”
END