Chapter 11 #2
Suppressing the chilling terror that shivered through my body at that name, my hands fisted the fabric of my robes. King Artius of Tavari was a man I hoped to never encounter.
Kairen drummed his fingers against the arm of his chair, taking me in thoughtfully. “I have no intention of keeping the cure from anyone."
"Perhaps you don't," I conceded, “but the same can not be said for everyone. I need more than your word. A written agreement that this condition will be upheld or else I cannot—in good conscience—go on this quest."
A grin finally broke out on the Prince's face as he leaned forward and exclaimed, "This is why I know you're the one from the prophecy. The people revere you because you fight for them. I will speak to my father and have the contract drawn up."
My shoulders dropped in relief just as breath left Bran’s lips—thankful Kairen had agreed to the terms.
We filed out of the office after discussing a few more tedious things, with plans to meet in a few days to go over the finer details of the quest and to return and show the agreement that would be written and signed.
Prince Kairen and Rena wandered down the hall after their goodbyes, but the Kinslayer lingered, his eyes moving to Bran and Butler Nott who waited to take us back to the entrance.
"I need your assistance with something," he said, his voice strained, as if the thought of asking for my help physically pained him as he leaned back against the wall. I considered declining, turning my back on him and simply walking away, yet…
There was something in his eyes that stopped me, something that piqued my curiosity. I hesitated, turning to glance back at Bran, who looked as if I had sprouted three heads.
"You go ahead, I'll be okay. He'll walk me back to the entrance once we're done." Or at least I hoped he would. One could get lost for days in this giant palace.
"Sy—"
"Go Bran, I'll come find you later," I insisted as his jaw tightened, his knuckles popping.
Despite Delmar being a higher rank and perhaps even overseeing some of Bran's training, my cousin gave the Captain a dark, warning look.
A look that promised violence if any harm came to me, before he turned and followed Butler Nott down the hall.
“Bit overprotective, isn’t he?” Annoyance laced his tone. “That will be loads of fun to deal with for the next few months.”
Arms crossing, I glared up at him. “What do you need my help with then?”
He sighed, pushing off the wall and turning to lead me down the hall, a fatigue I hadn’t noticed before radiating from him now in waves.
“My mother.”
The walk was silent, a silence so deafening that I could feel myself choking on it, could feel the way it crawled down my throat and constricted around my chest. I had begun to think that perhaps agreeing to this hadn't been the best idea on my part.
I noticed the deeper we traveled into the castle, the halls we entered began to take on a more dreary appearance—gone were the freshly picked flowers and floors so polished and clean you could eat from them.
In this part of the castle, cobwebs hung in hidden corners and grime clung to the once beautiful sunstone walls.
The floors had a layer of dust that had me fighting a sneeze itching to be let loose.
I kept pace with the Kinslayer as I glanced side-long at him. Anxiety slithered its way from my churning gut up my esophagus as I eyed the cracked, crooked paintings that hung upon the walls.
Why in the Goddess's name was this part of the castle so unkempt?
It felt as if we had been walking for ages, but it could have only been fifteen minutes? Twenty? I had lost count.
Finally having had enough, I came to an abrupt stop, my nails digging little crescent moons into my palms.
"Where exactly are we going?"
"Just a little longer," he called from where he continued to walk a few paces ahead, never having stopped his stride. "Best to hurry though, wouldn't want the ghouls to come out and play while you're alone."
The wicked smile he sent over his shoulder had me hurrying to catch up. Chills pebbled the skin of my arms—was it colder in this part of the palace?
Ghouls my ass.
Finally, we came to a stop before an alcove that led to a rickety, winding set of stairs, a guard stationed before it.
"Captain Delmar," the guard greeted, standing at attention before his eyes flicked briefly in my direction. “Has she been permitted, sir?"
"She's a Potion Maker, she doesn't need to be royally cleared," he dismissed, before gesturing for me to begin the ascent. I could see the protest in the guard’s half-opened mouth, but uncertainty held his words captive.
The wooden stairs creaked beneath my weight, the railing tight in my grip. Turning back slightly, I muttered, "Would now be a bad time to tell you I'm utterly terrified of heights?"
A little smirk danced on his lips as I took a few more unsteady steps. I felt his breath upon my neck, a ghost of a touch, before he said, "Don't worry, little menace, I won't let you fall."
Around gritted teeth, I ground out, "So not helping."
The stairs felt as if they could give at any moment, plunging us straight back to the floor below. Grimacing at the thought, my chest hitched with a sharp breath, my feet stalling.
His hand settled on my lower back, urging me forward.
A flush crept up my neck as he spoke, “My mother has memory issues, and the healers can’t figure out what's wrong with her.
But I don't think they really care to put much effort into her well-being.
You've seen the general attitude towards converts. I just want you to assess her and see if you can think of any potions that might ease her discomfort.”
I was grateful for the change of topic, instantly entering work-mode. The information took my mind off the fear that rattled through my bones as yet another step—now halfway up the ridiculously long staircase—creaked and groaned. His hand remained steady, grounding.
I had worked with many elderly patients whose minds began to fade with time.
Their memory fails them, along with the loss of basic, rudimentary skill and cognitive function.
I could perhaps name five potions simply from the top of my mind that may help slow or ease the onset of symptoms, but an assessment would help me narrow down what might work best, if anything at all.
"I can practically feel those thoughts whirling away," his voice broke through my thinking. "Already have something in mind?"
"I'll need to assess her first, but there might be a few just to cover basic care." Glancing over my shoulder I softly added, "thank you.”
We reached the top and his touch disappeared, leaving my skin cold and longing for the comforting warmth.
"Thank you?" The hint of smugness in his voice had a huff escaping my lips.
"Nevermind, I'm going to push you down those stairs."
"You can surely try."
Heat flamed my cheeks. "Goddess, you're infuriating."
"So I've been told."
Before I had a chance to respond, he was pushing open an old wooden door, the hinges groaning as we entered.
The room was bathed in an eerie, silver light.
Quickly taking stock of my surroundings, I noticed the curtains had been pulled tightly shut, not even a sliver of daylight breaking through the thick material.
A large bed sat in the middle of the room, an empty fireplace to the right, not a single log of wood in sight, and to the left were a few bookcases and a small circular table with two chairs.
A woman sat in the chair facing us, her hair white as freshly fallen snow, her face gaunt and hollowed out to harsh lines and angles.
She couldn't have been more than perhaps sixty years of age, but she appeared as if she had already lived three lifetimes.
Her green eyes—the exact color of her son's left eye—were vacant, staring listlessly into space as the silver light casted a sickly glow to her skin.
I could see the woman she once was, could see the resemblance that she may have once bore to her son, that age and grief had chiseled away into this husk of a person.
"She doesn't like the sunlight and refuses a fire for light, not even the ones powered by Soli's magic," Delmar explained quietly.
I glanced once more at the small orbs that were emitting the silver light into the room.
Lua's light—I wondered how he had managed to get the blessed-magic approved in the palace and who could possibly be casting it.
He hung back as I stepped forward cautiously, my voice light as I spoke. "Hello, Mrs. Delmar. My name is Syra, and I'm here to run some assessments for you, is that okay?"
I waited for a moment, yet no response came. Not even the twitch of an eye or the shifting of a muscle. No hint of acknowledgement came from the woman sat before me.
Very well then, perhaps this would be a bit harder than I had originally thought.
Spotting an unopened book upon the table, I asked, “Is that a romance? I love reading those too. There's something rather beautiful about a story of two people falling in love, isn’t there?”
Green eyes settled on me before quickly glancing away, but there still was no hint of clarity in them.
Of understanding. I gave her a conspiratorial smile as I moved to the table’s edge, my hand dusting over the cover as I read the title.
"A Kiss of Midnight, I must say you have exceptional taste. Have you reached the part where—”
"No spoilers."
The words were hoarse, harsh. Venom laced deep within them. Biting back the smile that wanted to tilt the corners of my mouth at the progress, I hummed thoughtfully. Two words, most definitely a threat, but progress nonetheless.
"Of course not Mrs. Delmar, my apologies. I wouldn't dream of spoiling a good book," I soothed, sitting down in the chair beside her. “What part have you gotten to then?"