15. Healing Elixers and Blueberries
15
HEALING ELIXERS AND BLUEBERRIES
L uella was gently placed on a leathery surface, a weary sigh falling from her chapped lips as she sunk into the softness.
After being removed from the chilled, dank dungeons, she felt slightly more lucid, but her throat was so dry, it felt like shards of glass were lodged in her throat, an insistent itching and scratching feeling that made her continuously swallow. A cough rattled her lungs.
The drone of voices made her crack an eyelid, and she saw Bastian retreating, but not before giving her a heavy, red-tinged glance.
"Where… am I?" she forced out the words, swallowing harshly around the dryness in her throat.
"You sound more awake now," Tharen remarked. His voice was low and throaty.
She shifted back against the chair, pressing herself deeper into it, like she may fall into the cushion and hide away from the mage.
Through half-lidded eyes, Luella took in her surroundings. She was in a dark workshop of some kind.
A large bookcase lined one of the walls. It was a bit messy and not organized well, with books stacked on top of each other; some tilted precariously, threatening to fall from the packed and weighted shelves. The rows of shelves dipped in the middle, a testament to how long they had stood there, holding such heavy contents. Papers and scrolls littered the many tables in the room, some with messy scrawl and others bare, waiting to be filled with notes. No windows, save for one at the far corner, a thin and tall pane of tinted glass that let in a sliver of moonlight, slanting over the ground and illuminating the dark, wood flooring.
It was night.
Luella hadn’t seen the sky in what felt like an eternity.
Tharen was working at a long, wooden table full of an assortment of glasses and vials and a small, bubbling cauldron, fire licking at the bottom. The mage absently stirred the contents of the cauldron. Peering at her over his shoulder, he raked his eyes over where she was curled in the chair.
"I’m tasked with making you a tonic. Orders from the King." It was like he had to reassure her he wasn’t doing it of his own volition, lest she think him capable of even a modicum of kindness… He turned back around, pouring a strangely colored vial into the cauldron. The shifting liquid inside caught the light. Not quite any color. More like an amalgamation of them all.
She nodded, allowing her back and head to rest more comfortably against the chair. The back reclined, her feet stretched out in front of her, and it felt strange to be in such a vulnerable position.
Tharen snapped his fingers, and the fire under the cauldron extinguished. He lifted a metal tong, grasping a small vial with it, before carefully dipping it into the bowl of the cauldron. Steam curled from the sides and wafted up.
An appealing scent wafted from within the cauldron, and it made her limbs feel heavy.
He pulled the now full vial out. The little glass was full of swirling liquid, and bubbles clung to the side of it.
She kicked her legs against the chair, bare feet not even brushing the ground, and Tharen stepped closer, icy eyes charged with heat as he placed a large hand against her clothed knee. He parted her legs, stepping into the space between them.
With her sitting, the mage towered over her, and she had to crane her neck up, up to meet his gaze. The crystalline blue of his pupils pulled her in as she watched from half-lidded eyes. His jaw had a slight tick, even though the rest of his face was rather relaxed. The usually pinched features between his brow and around his mouth were smoothed out. The lines were gone, leaving smooth skin and a curious lilt. He was… striking. When not overcome by his usual sadistic air, that is.
He lifted the small vial in his hands. It was barely the size of his finger, filled with swirling blue liquid. It fizzed and popped over the lip of the vial, smelling faintly of the salty air of the coast and blueberries.
“Bottoms up.” Tharen lifted it to her lips, not giving her any time to think as he pinched her jaw, forcing her mouth to open, and tilted the vial upside down. The liquid filled her mouth, almost choking her, and she coughed around it as she swallowed roughly. It even tasted of blueberries and the ocean. The salty taste reminded her of when she would swim in the bay and accidentally swallow too much water, overpowering and bitter. He swiped a finger along the corner of her mouth and pressed it against her tongue. “Every last drop,” he mumbled.
Shaking from his touch, she closed her mouth around his finger instinctively. Her tongue pressed against it, and Tharen shuttered his eyes for a brief moment before pulling away from her. He turned briskly, and she watched his broad back as he placed the empty vial down on the work table.
It was quiet for some time, and the ticking of the clock in the corner grated against her nerves. The corded muscles in his arms flexed, his sleeves rolled up to the elbows, revealing beautiful, tanned skin enterlaced with a few pale scars. He lifted another empty flask, this one slightly bigger with a thin neck and wide bottom, and fixed it under a funnel. Carefully, he poured a large bowl of thick, red sludge into the mouth of the funnel. The viscous liquid hissed as it decanted into the flask.
Luella watched him work, lulled into a precarious peace from the clink of the glass bottles and tinkling of the metal tools as he worked. The warmth of the room and whatever the mage gave her worked to ameliorate the lighter parts of her illness, settling the stuffiness of her nose and the ache in her bones. Her lids grew heavy, and she slumped further into the chair, the leather creaking under her.
A white braid fell over Tharen’s cheek as he turned, his pale brows raising. Caught off guard like he was, he seemed less threatening; the shadows under his cheekbones were less pronounced, and the harsh line of his jaw wasn’t as sharp—coupled with the effects of the potion running through her veins, she felt completely at ease.
“You’re still here.” It wasn’t a question, more of a soft revelation. As though, in his state of intense concentration, he had forgotten all about her.
Somnolent, Luella gave a soft, barely there nod. Tharen cursed under his breath, placing a hand on each of her cheeks, righting her head from where it was tucked against her shoulder.
He tugged on one of her lids, lifting it to inspect her pupil. She hadn’t even realized she had closed her eyes.
“Fuck!" he swore, and she batted his hand away.
“Curse too much…” Luella mumbled.
She cracked her eyes open. Was it just her, or was the room spinning?
She suddenly couldn’t remember why she had reservations about this male. He was so… pretty. His face was angular, and the pointed tips of his ears poked through his white braids; he smelled like winter, yet his skin was tanned like summer. All harsh lines and sharp angles.
Wide-eyed, Luella moved her face closer to his, her nose bumping his cheek.
“You smell nice,” she whispered against his skin, inhaling his scent of crisp snow. It burned slightly as she breathed in, like standing amid a snowstorm and feeling flurries whip around, a chill stinging against her cheeks.
He forced her back, a hand pressed firmly against her chest and keeping her far out of reach from him.
“Ah, godsdammit,” Tharen spat, lodging an arm around her thighs and another one behind her back as he cradled her to his chest. “At least you won’t remember this later… I hope. Maybe I should just drop you. It might knock some sanity back into that little head of yours.”
She hummed against his chest, nosing against the warm skin of his neck. She didn’t care what he did to her at this point, so long as he kept speaking in that quiet grumble of his. It vibrated against her cheek and carried throughout her whole body.
Time passed quickly and slowly, all at once, as she felt the ground move around her, Tharen’s arms shifting as he walked.
All too soon, he dropped her unceremoniously onto a plush bed. She bounced, letting an indignant, “Oof!”
Her head tilted against soft pillows. The ceiling was spinning, little flicks of starlight intermingling with the beveled edges that lined the walls.
My head hurts . Luella groaned at the thought.
“It should subside soon,” Tharen assured from beside her.
Had she said that aloud?
And when had the mage sat down next to her? Everything was messed up.
“W-what did… you do to me?” she slurred, closing her eyes again to stop the spinning room from making her sick.
It felt like only a second had passed, but when Tharen didn’t answer, Luella lifted her head to look at him and found the room completely empty.
Lodging a hand under her against a plush pillow, she sat up in a daze. Her head felt slightly better. But where there had been a cloud of fog around her senses, everything seemed to have snapped back to startling detail, exacerbated by the pounding in her skull. She dropped her head into her hands, letting out a low groan.
She cracked an eye, looking at her surroundings. It was a grand room. A fluttering, white canopy encased the bed she was laid upon—a white, wooden headboard and a footboard with a lacy eyelet comforter draped over it, tucked carefully into the corner. What must have been a dozen pillows covered the bed, scattered around in varying shapes, sizes, and colors. Little burgundy circles. Squares, hues of purple and gold, and cotton and silks. And even a dark grey, fluffy pillow that was long enough she could wrap her whole body around it.
Two double doors made entirely of glass were at the far side of the room, opening to a balcony. Fluttering, white drapes concealed the view, and she stood, padding over unsteadily to pull them back. Her breath was stolen from her at the sight. The balcony was rather small for such a grand castle, but the view was truly magnificent. The sun was low in the sky, oranges and purples mingling underneath the dim of the oncoming night. A few puffy, white clouds were on the horizon, fading into the backdrop of the many mountains in the distance. A sharp dip of the rocky cliffside led toward the shore, a bustling hub of the village and the many docks that lined the furthest side in the distance, while the drop right below the balcony would lead to the roaring ocean waves.
From the vantage point on top of the cliff, the castle offered a grand and far-reaching view of Serpentis. Luella could only see beauty as far as her eyes would allow. She wondered why Serpentis had such a terrible reputation. For such a beautiful place to be home to such cruelty, she couldn’t fathom it. She was loathe to admit, but Serpentis was far more appealing than Solis.
A ripple of sea breeze rattled against the glass door. She had the sudden desire to feel the air against her skin. Feel the dwindling daylight on her face… and the cool brush of the moon. She tried the handles, only to find them stuck.
Luella scoffed.
Don’t tell me they locked me in here, she thought.
One more firm rattle. It was well and truly locked.
She swallowed the curse that threatened to spill over. A rarity for her kind. Cursing was sacrilege. She refused to give in to her anger for the likes of them . Her captors—and the King.
She wondered where they were…
The last thing Luella recalled was the chill of the dungeon, Az’s hands gripping hers, then… Nothing?—
Her mind blanked out.
Luella inspected the rest of the room, taking note of the small vanity tucked in the corner. There was a collection of hair ornaments, little vials of perfumes and oils, and a beautiful jewel-encrusted silver hairbrush. Her fingers skimmed over the items. The vanity boasted a gilded mirror, but Luella pointedly ignored it. She didn’t want to look at herself, scared to see the face staring back at her. She had changed too much. Everything had.
Would her appearance reflect those changes? Or would she still be the same, simple heirus?
Both thoughts were unsettling to her.
She opened the dark oak wardrobe, and inside were various gowns of color and style. Stacked on the bottom shelf were lacy garments and all sorts of silken things. With hesitancy, she picked one up, holding it by a tiny sleeve—a thin nightgown, the bodice made of entirely see-through silk mesh, which rippled out and grew more opaque toward the bottom.
Did the King expect her to wear… this ?
The fae did not wear such openly sensual clothing, even in the privacy of the bed chamber.
She flushed, dropping the garment back into the wardrobe.
As Luella flipped through more gowns and pieces of lingerie—each making the pink on her cheeks darker and darker—she realized this could not have been quarters for a mere guest. Too many personal items were in here. Clothes fit for a queen, and a vanity littered with priceless baubles and jewels… A bed big enough for more than two.
So that begged the question: whose room was she in?
In the room, there were two doors, one smaller than the other. She tried the handle on one, finding it locked, just as the balcony doors were. It must have been the door leading out of the room, then. The other door handle gave way easily under her touch, opening to an expansive bathing chamber. The floors were white marble, stretching up the walls and crawling over the ceilings. Golden sconces lined the walls, flickering with a dark purple flame—enchanted to burn in such a color—it set the mood as sensual and inviting. An incense stick burned on a little metal cart resting near the large tub. Dark, heady smoke wafted up in tendrils and permeated the air with notes of vanilla and jasmine.
The tub was the centerpiece of the room—large, circular, and carved down into the floor. Like a pool, almost. Water already filled it, and she could make out a few steps leading down into it through the blue ripples on the surface.
A large mirror stretched along the far wall, nearly taking up the whole side of the room, and before she could register what she was doing, she met her reflection’s gaze in it, seeing herself, frazzled, with eyes too large and golden hair tousled from her uneasy rest. Her cheeks were bright, flushed with fleeting sickness and the vestiges of embarrassment from the silky lingerie she had seen in the wardrobe. Yet the rest of her was far too pale. Cheekbones slightly sunken in from the weight she had lost, and there was a faint smudge of dried blood high on her neck and a few droplets on her collarbones—Bastian must have missed that spot when he had cleaned her in the dungeons. Her borrowed shirt hung precariously off of one shoulder and fell to her lower thighs. The pants she wore were too tight along her hips but bunched up around her ankles, ill-fitting.
She didn’t recognize herself. Didn’t recognize the being who stared back at her. She was so used to seeing herself pampered and perfectly sculpted. To see herself so harrowed was like looking at a wholly different person.
Swallowing roughly, she turned away. She couldn’t stand to look at herself anymore.
Luella was used to looking in the mirror and feeling like the image that stared back at her wasn’t herself, but now, more than ever, she felt detached from her body. It was all disjointed, and everything was out of place, most of all her.
A sudden wave of exhaustion made her exit the bathing chamber and head toward the bed, steps stumbling with weakness. She parted the edges of the canopy and knee-walked to the very middle. She hadn’t focussed on it before, but it was truly a big bed. Bigger, even, than the one she had at home. Fit for someone far more important than she.
With a sigh, she sank into the plushness as she laid down, pulling one of the blankets free from where it was tucked into the corner and rolled herself up like a cocoon.
Hands tucked under her chin and knees pulled to her chest, Luella vowed to only rest her eyes for a moment. Only enough to dispel the lingering drowsiness that clouded her mind and made her head a bit fuzzy.
She licked her lips, tasting faintly of blueberries and salt.
Strange…