5. Wounds
5
Wounds
Calliste
After what felt like an eternity, she had enough.
The king pressed on without a word. He stopped only once to encourage Rebel to drink from a nearby mountain stream, without dismounting or offering her something to drink. Once Rebel had his fill, the world hissed in her ears.
She didn’t let any complaints slip past her clenched teeth, ignoring the fiery soreness in her thighs, stiffness of her hips, the branching pain in her lower back. Her wrists were hurting already.
The king kept on riding, as if bent to test her to the breaking point. By the position of the sun, she guessed they must have been on the road for about two to three hours by now. Perhaps more.
Surely, he’ll stop soon. He’ll have to think about the animal, at the very least.
Though Rebel possessed exceptional stamina, he was carrying two people across challenging terrain, with patches of crumbling sands and exposed, tangled roots that would make it all too easy to trip even a massive stallion like him. It was the only road to reach Epione’s Temple, but calling it a road was an undeserved compliment. And she could tell the animal was slowing down, wheezing.
A tear slashed down her cheek, then another. She couldn’t wipe them away. Her muscles seemed like hot wires, cutting across her bones at every surge, and the fatigue from the challenging ride was setting in. She didn’t know how much longer she’d endure.
And just then, the king slowed Rebel down, slowly guiding him to a stop. He unwound the rope from her wrists and dismounted without looking at her. He smoothed his hand down Rebel’s neck. “You’ve been so good. We’re almost there.”
Calliste slumped in the saddle, clenching her teeth and massaging her wrists. She bit her lips, wondering how she’d get down from the horse on her own, other than falling flat to the ground.
The king examined the area between the trees to the right, as if looking for a landmark. Then he led Rebel between the scant pines and across the forest floor strewn with leaves, needles, rock outcroppings, and scattered clusters of light-blue bellflowers. He continued to stroke Rebel’s neck, found him a treat in his saddle bag, and gave him a drink from a water skin. He then tied him to a tree.
“There is a forest lake nearby,” he addressed her. “I’ll refresh myself there. We can have a rest here for a while.” He finally looked up at her.
“Fine.” With her teeth clenched, she looked the other way.
He paused for a moment. “Are you in pain from the ride?”
“It’s been a while,” she bit out before she realized what she’d said.
There was a short silence. “So you can ride a horse?” he asked, suspicion creeping into his tone.
She chewed on her lip. “I never said I couldn’t.”
“True,” he agreed in a tone of steel. “You’ve left me to my own guesses. But I don’t need to guess that you’re in pain.”
Only then she skewered him with a glare. “You tied me up and forced me to ride without any breaks or water. I’d have to be made of stone not to be in pain.”
“I didn’t mean…” He scanned her, rubbing his forehead. “Let me help you down.”
She didn’t reply, working her thigh to swing her leg over Rebel’s rump. She managed to bring her feet together and twist, but it cost her a moan of pain.
His face stony, the king reached out and took hold of her waist.
She kept her weight centered as she slid down the horse’s side.
Thankfully, the king knew exactly what to do, the muscles of his arms bulging as he made sure her descent was light and she was steady on her feet before letting go of her and stepping back.
But then she stumbled to her knees, her burning legs failing her. “No,” she snapped as the king moved to her again. “I’ll manage.” Teeth clenched, she pulled herself to a sitting position. “Just take Rebel away from me. I don’t want to unsettle him.”
The king watched her for a moment, then complied, untying Rebel’s reins and coaxing him to make a few steps to the nearest tree, where he roped him again. He turned around and loosened the girth, then took the saddle off him.
Calliste watched him look for something in his saddlebag, which turned out to be a brush. He moved it over Rebel’s coat in slow movements, still ignoring her. She took advantage of that to shift back, resting against the tree and gathering her mental strength.
The king finished tacking Rebel and turned around, watching her from a pace away. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
She lifted her chin, fixing him with a glare. “Would you have stopped?”
He had the decency to cast down his gaze.
“Then that’s settled,” she gritted out. “It would be a waste of breath.”
His jaw tightened again as he scrutinized her.
For a moment, she thought she overstepped. But he must have been an experienced rider and knew the signs. He could see how her legs shook and how she could barely keep herself straight.
“I didn’t mean to cause this,” he finally said in a clipped tone. “I asked for the best traveling saddle and thought it would be enough. It should have occurred to me that it wouldn’t, but… I’m not thinking straight right now.”
“What about tying me up?”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “You refused to hand over your weapon.”
“It’s a medicinal knife.”
“It doesn’t make it less of a weapon.”
She swallowed a groan of frustration as she massaged her wrists again. “I’m a healer, not an assassin.”
“That, I don’t know, as you refused to tell me much about yourself,” he replied in a steely tone.
Wincing, she shifted against the tree. “Well, now I’m unable to ride anytime soon. What will you do?”
The king nudged half a step closer. “Apparently, you’re a High Priestess of a healing order.” A challenge rang in his tone. “Can you not heal yourself?”
She glared at him. “Of course I can. But I don’t want to do it every time I have the dubious pleasure of riding with Your Majesty.” Then she ignored him and whatever outrage her words might have caused and lifted her pendant in her palm.
The emerald hummed against her skin, waiting for her healing intention to be transformed into a tangible power. She was used to healing just by tuning in to her inner gift and channeling it. This was different: the pendant connected her to the divine source of power—Epione’s.
Wait till you see what an emerald blessed by Epione herself can do , Leontia had been saying all along.
Everything fell away as she fixed her eyes on her green, shimmering gemstone.
All that power. Waiting.
Her excitement surged.
Even if it seemed ironic that the first person she’d heal with her newly-enhanced power would be herself, she was, also ironically, the best candidate to find out its extent. She placed her hand over her thigh, closing her eyes and waiting to see a spectral image of her own body.
Then she breathed out in amazement. The image she saw was exactly as she knew it: her own body translucent, with the areas that hurt glowing red.
She sensed a connection to what seemed like a sea of healing energy—and she could take as much as she liked. For her current state, she only needed a fraction, and that was what she drew, focusing on the area that hurt most. First, thighs and her lower back. Then wrists.
In an instant, the ache in her legs had vanished. Where the rope bit into her wrists, leaving sore redness—the skin returned to its original smoothness. That meant the pendant had multiplied and strengthened her innate healing ability almost endlessly.
Her cheeks flushed with excitement. She repeated the procedure on her other thigh and sighed in relief, resting her back against the bark of the tree and slowly disconnecting from the source of healing energy.
When she opened her eyes, the king crouched right in front of her, watching her with a hooded gaze.
“Did it work?”
Trying not to take offense at his suspicious tone, she rose in a fluid movement and twirled around before watching him rise, and it seemed as if she was looking at a different man.
His stern features had softened to a point where his scowl had disappeared, replaced by something of admiration. “It worked,” he exhaled, brightening up a fraction. “You can heal.”
She couldn’t decide whether to laugh or take offense. “Yes, Majesty,” she replied. “Those who studied the art of healing for years tend to be capable of… healing.”
“Is it easier to heal yourself? Or harder?” he asked, dismissing her sarcasm.
“I’m not certain. We normally keep in good shape. It’s not every day that we suffer at the hands of impatient kings.”
His brows shot up. “You truly have no notion of etiquette, do you?” His tone was colored with helpless exasperation, as if he didn’t quite know how to take her attitude.
“I’ve lived in Epione’s Temple for the last nine years, since I turned twenty-two summers. And I’ve never been anywhere near the royal court. So forgive me for my lack of courtesies, but I can try if it’s so important to you.”
“Proper behavior is welcome everywhere, a temple or a court.”
She lifted her brow. “I hate to remind you, Majesty, but storming into our sanctuary and abducting a healer doesn’t exactly count as proper behavior. Even for a king.”
Another stinging silence.
Gods, stop it. Inwardly, she groaned at her all-too-loose tongue. He’s not served admonishments on a daily basis, so stop prodding him. When she braved a glance at him again, he watched her healed wrists in abstraction, bright-eyed. Perhaps her unintentional show of power instilled hope in him. So she circled back to her original question. “It would help me if you told me who exactly warrants all this rush.”
He cast her a quick glance. “A child.”
Calliste stiffened. “You need me to heal a child? Why didn’t you say so earlier?”
His brows knit. “I thought healers don’t discriminate.”
“No, but it makes a whole world of difference to me,” she said. “Who is it?”
“My son.”
She balked at the unexpected answer. “You have a son?”
He stared back at her with utter disbelief. “You truly didn’t know that?”
Calliste swallowed. “No, I did not. I…” She faltered. “I chose the strictest adherence to the Sisterhood’s rules and have not heard about anything outside of the Sisterhood for nine years.”
“What about the invasion? The Siege of Anthemos?” he asked in a suspicious tone. “Surely, you must have heard of it.”
“Yes,” she admitted. “But that was shortly after I joined the Sisterhood and hadn’t undergone the first trial. I know about the invasion and its outcome. But that’s it.” She took a deep breath, suddenly realizing that she’d have a lot to catch up with. “How old is your son?” she asked in a gentler tone.
“Seven summers. A few weeks before his strange condition took hold, my son began to grow quieter and sleep longer. One day, I couldn’t wake him up and called in Panakeios, who couldn’t explain to me what was wrong with him.” His voice was hoarse. “That was six weeks ago. My son is still asleep. Panakeios and my guards have been by his side the whole time, but it was becoming clear to me that my court physician doesn’t know how to help. Rumors have spread throughout the court, which hardly helps the situation.”
“I see.” She swallowed. “Anything else?”
“His forehead feels too warm to touch, but even that doesn’t seem too serious. He’s just sleeping peacefully. Yet Panakeios cannot tell me when he will wake up…” A shadow crossed his face. He massaged his temples. “I cannot just stand idle when I don’t know what’s wrong.”
“Of course not,” she exhaled, her mind working. “I understand. Gods, the queen must be beside herself with worry.”
“Is that a sick jest?” His tone bristled with dangerous, wicked edges.
She blinked at his sudden hostility. “Your pardon?”
For a moment, he glared at her with an outraged disbelief. “Is your Sisterhood truly this isolated? How can you not know?”
“Know what?”
“That my wife… died.” He stumbled over that word. “In childbirth.”
Calliste’s hand flew to her mouth. “It could be just me. No, I didn’t know. Truly.” She bowed her head. “Forgive me.” She didn’t add more. No matter how much she apologized, the unguarded, brief glimpse of agony told her enough.
A fluting song of a robin high in the branches was the only sound between them for what seemed like an eternity, until the king let out a deep sigh.
Her skin prickled. She expected a punishment for inflaming a wound that plainly hadn’t healed.
But he spoke in a formal, tired tone. “I need a moment to myself. There’s a small lake nearby—I’ll go there now and refresh myself. We’ll discuss Kalias’ health when I return. Kalias is my son’s name,” he added, making her feel more awful for not knowing that. “You are safe here. There are no bears or wild boars in this area. No dark monsters like harpies or centaurs, either. As far as I know, they have no right to dwell in the land protected by your goddess. Correct?”
“That’s right.” She nodded, surprised by his knowledge.
“In any case, I won’t be far, and I won’t be long.”
“Of course,” she replied, understanding his need for solitude. She waited until the crunching of the stones under his feet grew fainter and only then she glanced at his silhouette shrinking between the trees, to have an idea of where he’d gone.
Alone, she opened the saddlebag, retrieved her belongings and leafed through the booklet of healing incantations, most of them written by Leontia to ease her into the new rank. But she couldn’t read a single line. Nothing could take her mind off the king’s words and make her forget her thoughtless remarks. Who exactly warrants all this rush? Of course it had to be his family. It is important , Leontia had said.
Asleep for six weeks. She’d never heard of a similar condition, but she’d have to wait to see the prince to find out.
My wife died in childbirth. That bleeding note in his voice. “Gods above.” Calliste rubbed her face, her cheeks stinging, mortified at having forced him into saying it aloud. But I didn’t know. The people she healed were instructed not to inform her of anything, and her sisters followed the same rule.
She stuffed the booklet back into her bag and found her comb. Even though the hottest hour of the day had passed, the forest’s resin-scented air still suffocated. She shrugged off her cloak, knowing she’d have to put it back on when he returned, to keep her scars hidden. Then she busied herself with undoing her hair, ruffled from the wind. She let it loose and worked her way through it when Rebel snorted, drawing her attention.
“What can I do for you, Rebel?” Still combing her hair, Calliste approached him, intimidated by his sheer size. “Thirsty? No, you cannot be, the king just gave you something to drink. Are you hungry? Uh, what do you eat?” She glanced around the forest floor. “Can I interest you in some… leaves?”
The horse kept throwing back his head, tugging at the reins and stomping.
She froze as she heard similar noises coming from the road. Between the trees, she saw other horses approaching, carrying a group of armed warriors. Her heart stopped as they halted a dozen paces from her.
Rebel was warning me. The king assured that there were no wild animals here, but he wouldn’t know about people with unclear intentions.
Rebel neighed, drawing their attention.
A tall man on a massive horse gestured at the others to dismount.
I’m dressed in white. They saw me.
He walked into the forest, followed by the others. “Hey!”
Warn the king.
Her heart in her throat, she dropped the comb and dashed in the direction where the king had disappeared, hoping to make it in time. I don’t need my men to keep me safe. She prayed he was right. He took his weapons with him and she had her knife, but would that be enough—
“Wait!” The shouts chased after her, along with the sound of crunching branches and crushed twigs.
Her lungs burned with her breath. Her hair whipped behind her. Branches snatched her robes. She couldn’t even scream because it would reveal her position, albeit her white robe did a terrible job of concealing her among the greenery.
Gods, where is he? Where is that lake he mentioned?
She scanned the area as she zigzagged through the trees.
The woods thinned out, revealing stony terrain.
Then she caught it: the hum of the waterfall, just behind the pines. She dashed. “Danger!” she managed to yell before smacking into a pine branch, needles stinging as they prickled across her face. She snapped her eyes shut, losing sight of what was in front. She slowed to a halt.
Too late.
With her next step, her foot hit the air. Her heart lurched as her momentum propelled her forward, her other foot slipping down the uneven ground. She couldn’t regain her footing.
No. No!
Her eyes still burning and shut tight, she plummeted into nothingness.