Chapter 69 Better Caution Than Regret
BETTER CAUTION THAN REGRET
LUELLA
"Here. Take this."
The tiny glass elixir bottle was pressed to Luella’s lips. She turned her head away.
"If you succumb to your fever here, he will just bring you back."
Floris knelt before Luella, where she lay on the hard ground of the cell.
The healer’s silver hair was nearly blue from the glimmering lights above them.
Desara was mixing another potion after having pressed her hand to Luella’s forehead.
She’d made a disgruntled sound, checked Luella’s eyes with an enchanted white-flamed torch, then began to unpack her large leather satchel.
The floor of the cell was littered with smoking liquids, empty glass bottles, and objects Luella didn’t want to look at too closely.
She had seen Desara use metal tongs to remove a red, fleshy mass from a large glass bottle filled with a viscous liquid, and then promptly turned her head away.
She’d rather not know what the healers put in the elixirs she was forced to drink.
Floris’s words made Luella’s tired brows scrunch in confusion.
"Bring me back?" Luella questioned. Her words were low in her exhaustion.
Her mind ached as much as her fevered body. She’d slept fitfully after Caliban had left. Her nightmares clung to her. She kept remembering the way Graves’s face had melted and dripped onto her flesh. She shivered.
It wasn’t Graves, Luella reminded herself.
But a trick—a shadow.
It hadn’t been real.
Though, in a way, it had.
A shadow wearing the face of Graves had touched her, forced her into the ground, fit its body atop hers. Touched between her thighs.
Luella felt ill. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to shut out the unrest settling inside her. Would she ever feel okay again?
She wondered if the shadows still lingered just out of reach, watching her.
A cloth soaked in something cool and sweet-smelling was laid atop Luella’s brow. It dampened her hair, droplets trickling from the edges of the rough cloth and sliding down the sides of her face.
"How do you think the… heads in the throne room stay there for so long without rotting away? He puts his shadows inside them to keep them from decomposing. They can still see. Their eyes are always watching—not allowed to rest, even in such a horrible death. If I ever met such a fate, I would want to be burned. I’d rather die in anguish than have my body used after my soul had departed. "
Disgust filled Luella at Floris’s words. She hadn’t seen the eyes move, but she remembered how relatively untouched the head had appeared. Grey with death, but the flesh was still there.
"He would do that to me?" she whispered, eyes still closed.
"I do not know." Floris hesitated. "Better caution than regret.
He wants you alive, but if you die before he can stop it, he will move mountains to ensure your flesh does not turn to dust." She traced her finger over the edge of Luella’s wing.
Luella flinched away violently at the touch.
"Apologies. I have never seen an angel before.
Your wings… they are"—her voice dropped—"extraordinary. "
Luella opened her eyes. The edges of the cloth pressed over her lids, slightly obscuring her vision. "They would be if I could use them." She coughed weakly, unable to lift her hand and cover her mouth.
Floris’s blue eyes grew soft with empathy. She leaned in and fussed over the cloth, brushing Luella’s hair away from her face. As she did so, she whispered, "I heard you did. When you escaped Ambrose. It was all the Umbra could speak about—how you slighted him and escaped him."
Desara glanced over, and Floris pulled away slightly, busying herself with brushing a substance over Luella’s pulse point beneath her ear.
Floris lifted the small glass bottle, once more pressing it against Luella’s mouth and murmuring, "It is only to temper your fever. Nothing more, I swear it."
Luella drank. It tasted of nothing.
When Desara returned to mixing the potion, Floris continued:
"He killed someone for it, did you know that? He was so angry that you bested him, he returned to the palace in a rage. The Tenebrae punished him, and Ambrose was unable to appear in court for a few days while he healed, but when he returned, he was so angry. I’ve never seen him so angry.
" A faint, fleeting smile graced her lips.
"One of the Umbra mentioned it, and Ambrose killed them. Snapped his neck in the middle of a dinner. I wasn’t there—but the cooks, they talk.
Word always travels to those of us who live below the castle. "
Something bloomed inside Luella. Floris was not an Umbra, and she seemed obviously angry at her situation. The kind words were the most she’d heard of another’s voice in weeks.
Luella mustered strength, then used her good hand to grab Floris’s wrist. Her strength was paltry, but the touch made the healer still. "I’m glad I could make him angry, then. If only I could have shoved him off the cliffside. Caliban, too," Luella murmured carefully.
Floris grew rigid. "Be careful when you speak of things like that.
" Her eyes darted to Desara. "The ones who are not Umbra, we either had to prove our loyalty, or we have family or loved ones, used against us if we rebel. It does not mean we agree; most do not. But we’d rather have our autonomy and pretend to be loyal than be forced to obey him.
Tread carefully, Princess." Floris said the last words as the barest of whispers.
Her eyes sparked with a fire Luella wished she had.
Luella nodded faintly. "I understand."
They grew quiet, and eventually Desara walked over and knelt, a dark red, nearly black, liquid in a glass cup. Her white and black hair was pulled in a tight bun at the nape of her neck, her pointed ears on display.
"You will drink this." The scratchy note to her voice drew out the words.
"It will allow the sickness inside you to be burned out.
You will have to drink it every day. Master will not tell us how you grew to be sick.
I have not seen a fever like this before, but I have read about it centuries ago.
" Her expression turned knowing. "Your body will burn through it quickly.
I will have stock made up to ensure you have an ample supply.
" She crouched down, shoving the lip of the glass to Luella’s mouth.
It smelled like rotting cherries and spoiled meat. Luella tried to hold back a sneeze as the bubbles on the surface tickled her nose.
"Where have you—" Luella broke off in a coughing fit, each rattling one making her chest tighten. "Where have you read about a sickness like this before?"
"Drink and I might tell you."
Luella sighed and opened her mouth, allowing Desara to tilt the glass and pour the liquid into her mouth. It fizzled all the way until it hit her stomach, settling inside her like a rock.
The effect was not quite instantaneous. Floris touched her forehead once more, mumbling something to Desara. They spoke quietly.
"So…" Luella prodded. "I did what you asked. Where have you read about an illness like this one?"
Desara began to gather her supplies. "In a book," she replied.
Floris watched the other healer with tired eyes. When her attention shifted to Luella, a torn expression befell her delicate face. She tapped her finger on her knee, then shook her head.
"We will be back," said Desara, when the two healers stood by the cell doorway. "The elixir will make you drowsy as it wears off, but for now, your body is pushed to its limits trying to burn away the fever. Let it run its course."
When they left, Luella did not move—too tired to sleep, too sick to even curl up and attempt it.
What would it take to get them to help her escape?
Floris was clearly sympathetic. Desara must be, as well. How could she not? Forced to comply with the whims of a sadist god wearing a male’s skin. It would make anyone resentful and angry. But Desara seemed more inclined to direct that ire onto Luella.
She lay there, deep in thought, until sweat dripped down her back as the elixir worked through her bloodstream. When she felt as if all the liquid in her body had been drained, throat dry and aching, she began to shiver.
The next day, Luella was forced to drink another elixir. This time, she knew the taste, so her throat closed up in anticipation of the vile flavor right before it was poured into her awaiting mouth.
The healers hadn’t lied. Luella had felt better—but it hadn’t lasted long.
Soon after Desara and Floris had left the day before, Luella had shivered until she’d fallen into a fitful, nightmarish sleep, awakening constantly to sore muscles and an ache in the pit of her stomach. At least her head no longer throbbed.
She’d been slowly growing sicker as the day had passed.
Caliban had come earlier and watched silently from beyond the bars as she’d filled her stomach with a few bites of soup-soaked bread and lukewarm water.
She couldn’t stomach anything more—just as she couldn’t stomach looking him in the eye.
Triumph flashed over his face every time she did. She hated it.
Just before he had left, his shadows had crawled to her, tickling her legs and the tips of her wings.
She shuddered from the memory of the iciness against her feathers and flesh.
"There. All done." Floris pulled the glass cup away from Luella’s lips, taking a tiny cloth and wiping a bit that had escaped the corner of her mouth.
"Thank you," Luella mumbled. She coughed. She’d been doing so more and more. Her throat and lungs felt like they were on fire.
"Do not thank me, Princess Luella," Floris replied.
Supplies sufficiently packed, Desara stood and moved to the cell door.
"This elixir may hold longer. I was able to strengthen it based on yesterday’s performance.
I tailored it to your size. It may be a bit too strong, but we’d rather you be dazed than sickly.
" An odd expression crossed her face. The blue glimmers above made her dual-toned hair shine. "Sleep might be welcome for you. I’m sure you’d prefer it over this.
" She didn’t need to gesture to the cell that Luella was trapped in.
Luella nodded, pulling her legs up to her chest weakly. She lay on the ground, unable to muster the strength to sit up. "The emptiness of sleep is all the mercy I can wish for." She closed her eyes briefly.
Desara left without a word, as if the truth in Luella’s words was too much to stand.
She expected Floris to follow, but the healer took her time packing away her meager items. She used a cloth to methodically clean the inside of the elixir glass, then slowly tucked it into a satchel.
"Desara should not be so harsh with you.
It is not your fault that you were taken as a babe.
Her mother was a cook for the—" Floris’s words tripped, then she lowered her voice.
"For the true King and Queen of Luna." Her hands tightened on the cloth, knuckles white in fear.
"When they were killed and the Tenebrae claimed the crown, he swept through the entire castle, killing most. He’d rather start fresh than turn the staff.
He kept some of the younger ones—as examples.
And the younger ones are easier to trick.
Desara and I grew up not truly understanding that we were enslaved.
Only when we did, it was far too late. Our families were killed, our freedom stolen, and we can do nothing about it. "
"You have no other family?" Luella’s eyes filled with tears. She understood.
"I have a—younger sister." Floris’s hands stilled. Something haunted flickered across her face. "And Desara only has me."
The elixir began working through Luella’s body, and she trembled violently.
"So, forgive her, please, Princess? She does not mean it. She merely wants to be free from here, but that is not our destiny."
"W-what if it could be?" Luella said softly, chest hitching with the threat of a coughing fit.
Floris shook her head, tiny strands of her silver hair escaping and brushing against her high cheekbones. "There is no escape from here. Many have tried. They all die."
Hope slipped through Luella’s fingers. She wouldn’t ask Floris to risk her life—not for her. Not when Luella could barely stand upright. Luella dipped her chin in understanding.
"The book Desara mentioned yesterday… She didn’t lie. It was a medical journal on Vincire."
Luella blinked at her. "What?"
Floris hummed. "Before the Tenebrae, we were too young to study healing and medicine, but both of our families had roots in the craft. The journal belonged to Desara’s father."
Luella knew the concept of Vincire had been around for a long time; though, she knew little of it.
Vale had once shared with her the roots of the Solstice traditions—worshipping the gods.
Vincire had begun to grow scarce until she assumed they had eventually disappeared altogether.
That was one of the reasons why the others made her promise to never share that she had been gifted Vincire.
That, and because it was tied so closely to the prophecy.
It took Luella a moment to realize Floris’s implications.
She feigned ignorance—it was not hard, with her growing drowsiness. "Oh, how interesting."
"Indeed," said Floris. "The journal spoke of the Vincire and how physical distance could cause sickness much like this. One without a cause, unable to be cured. No potions, no poultices, no magic. None of it works. There is only one true cure." She held Luella’s eyes. "The Rite of Vincire."
"What is—what is that? A b-bonding ritual?
Marriage?" Luella asked because she was trying not to let Floris know how correct her accusation was—and because Luella truly didn’t understand the Rite of Vincire.
The others had told her only a little of it.
Enough to make her curious, yet never enough to assuage her knowledgeable appetite.
"It is more eternal than marriage, more binding." Floris paused. "You have Vincire, you should know."
"I don’t know if I-I can—I do not think…" Luella stammered. But then, she wondered—could this soften Floris to her? Caliban already knew that Luella and the others were Vincire. What harm would telling Floris do? Luella forced her voice into a whisper. "I do."
Floris’s eyes went wide. "Oh my. This must be the first time in millennia. But you’ve not performed the Rite?"
Luella shook her head, refusing to say more. "You cannot tell anyone."
"I will not, Princess." Floris’s voice softened. "I swear it."