7. Thalia
SEVEN
THALIA
T here was nothing else in the world Thalia wanted more than to possess the ability to heal her father. The potential had never been suggested nor considered, even during her sporadic moments of experimentation.
She had secretly helped her neighbors grow crops without their knowledge, rendering the soil rich and fertile. That was the extent of the healing her hands could conjure.
At least, that was what she believed. Until she met King Drake.
The carriage hopped along the rough terrain during the second day of travel. Thankfully, the misty rainfall had dissipated, but in place came a stifling, humid influx of temperature. She’d removed the cape of her tunic, as well as the cloak from her father, as another grueling twelve hours of movement came to a close.
Her father lulled against her shoulder as twilight spilled a coppery splash over their muddy boots.
“We are stopping at another inn,” the king reassured them, taking a longer look at her father’s drowsy state.
The blue in the king’s eyes was the color of a lagoon with various shades dependent upon the angle of light and mood. It was a fluidity she’d noticed the night before when he’d approached her window in his spectacular dragon shape.
For the majority of the journey, Drake had sat opposite them with his arms folded, dozing off, or at least pretending to. The conversations they’d had were light and brief. Thalia felt herself opening up to him, but only a little.
The village witch knew she had to remain cognizant of the king’s potentially hidden intentions. After all, he was still a stranger despite his title, and despite the riveting ride she’d taken on his back the night before.
She wanted to believe he hadn’t been lying about the opportunity to educate herself on the healing properties of witchcraft. She was desperate enough to push the thought of his manipulation aside. But not too far out of grasp.
They stopped earlier than they had the night before, with the sun resting like a sore, swollen eye on the bleeding horizon. As Thalia climbed out of the carriage, she realized the state of the town was far less rugged than the previous one.
Everything had a certain shine to it, a gleam of modern vivacity. They were getting closer to the kingdom.
Her stomach clenched, taking hold of her father to soothe the apprehension.
“Let’s go, Father. Another night of rest awaits.”
Drake then had his hand on her elbow. She craned her neck up to meet his stare, drinking in his neat and handsome features. He didn’t have his hood up as he had at the previous inn. He had an air of familiarity about him that gave him a curious softness.
He spoke to her gently, saturated in patience.
“I am going to ask my men to take your father to his room. I need a moment of your time first.”
Thalia already had her arm enveloped around her father’s waist. She jerked her head back up to the king, ready to defend herself vehemently.
“I want to help my father. Let me take him in first.”
Two men approached them. One was a soldier and the other was of a smaller stature with a studious look to him. She wondered if they were both dragon shifters as well.
“This is my attendant, Nerin,” he said, motioning at the smaller man. “I trust him with my life. Please, give me a minute. I promise you will not regret it.”
There was an earnestness to Drake’s speech that Thalia didn’t want to begrudge. So she told her father she wouldn’t be very long and handed him over to the strong soldier and the personal attendant, with a restrained, shrill scream lodged in her throat.
“Be careful with him, please," she muttered.
Evanth wasn’t entirely docile, blowing out his lips and slurring like a drunk being tossed out of a tavern.
“I’m not deaf, Thalia.”
She stood with her cape over her shoulder as her father was helped inside. Once he’d disappeared from her sight, she realized she’d been holding her breath.
“Come,” the king said, leading her around the back of the inn. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”
She followed Drake over smooth and even pavement. Twilight was reaching its crescendo, the horizon lethargically swallowing the light. She trailed along to a smaller building, which she soon realized was a pub stowed a mere skip away from the guest house.
When Drake opened the door, a rupture of laughter and clanking glasses flooded Thalia’s ears. She folded the cape into her hands and began to wring the fabric, feeling suddenly self-conscious.
“This is Sorcha Tolacas. She works in the castle for me.”
The king stood beside a woman so staggeringly beautiful that Thalia had to blink twice to understand she was real. She was tall with wavy, blazing red hair, and eyes as blue as sapphire stones. She had a curvy and solid body that was nearly impossible not to appreciate.
“I am so glad I finally get to meet you,” Sorcha said, shaking Thalia’s hand with unbridled enthusiasm.
Thalia shook back with as much energy as she could summon after the long ride. She stared up at the woman, then at Drake, feeling disoriented.
“Sorry, are you my servant?” she asked delicately.
Sorcha let out a bubbly laugh. Drake grinned, giving Sorcha a knowing glance.
“She will be your handmaiden, yes, but her primary focus is going to be helping you develop your witchcraft skills. Sorcha was trained at the Sorcerer Academy.”
Thalia nodded, twisting at the thread of her cape lining. She was trying to hide any sign of trepidation, or worse, intimidation.
The king went on, sensing her unease. His voice lowered, hushed as a mouse in the raucous din of the tavern.
“I saw how much of a toll our journey is taking on Evanth. I had the thought that perhaps, you can start practicing sooner rather than later. I asked my attendant, Nerin, as well as Sorcha to meet me here. We are only half a day out from the Mountain Kingdom.”
Thalia was touched. She darted her eyes between Sorcha, whose marvelous smile had yet to shrink away, and the great Mountain King. She didn’t sense deception on his part, so she agreed.
“I would very much like to work with you,” she said, addressing Sorcha.
“Good! It is settled then,” Drake said, raising his voice into a bellow. “We will start tonight at dinner.”
Thalia felt that quirk in her gut. She chose to ignore it for the time being. The thought of him using her father’s myriad of illnesses and Sorcha’s generosity to get her to have dinner with him was absurd. But then again, it may not have been. Men of his stature could never dream of a woman denying their every whim.
She thought of her father though, and let the feeling pass.
Thalia thanked the sorceress and the king, who had started to share a pint, then excused herself to go check on her father. She was thankful the inn they were staying at didn’t have stairs. It was all one level, easier for her father to get around with his uneven gait.
And to aid the witch in maintaining her composure.
She went into the room with the two beds, astounded by the upkeep and advanced decor. She once again met with the attendant who introduced himself with an outstretched hand.
“My name is Nerin Breeze,” he said with a nervously manic smile. “It’s nice to formally meet you.”
Thalia shook his hand. He had a bookishness to him with oily black, floppy hair and glasses that kept sliding down the bridge of his nose. And a heart of gold, which the Creation Sorceress appreciated.
“It’s lovely to meet you too,” she replied.
There was a knock on the door, and Thalia was happy to see Sorcha.
“Oh, I thought we were meeting at dinner?” Thalia said.
“I am here to help you with anything you may need,” Sorcha said, eyes glittering like starlight. “Really, anything at all. You name it, I’m there."
Thalia let her into her room, and Nerin’s expression grew ashen. He pushed his glasses shakily back up the bridge of his nose, fumbling with an empty water jug next to the bed.
“Good evening, Sorcha,” he said, stumbling over his words. “It’s nice to see you again.”
Evanth was lying on his side, having fallen into another concerning snooze. Sorcha sauntered up to him, placing a flat palm against his clammy forehead.
“And you, Nerin. What time did you arrive?”
Thalia watched with amusement how Nerin attempted to avert his eyes away from Sorcha’s overflowing bust. The long tunic covered her skin but fit nicely around the generous hillsides of her frame. She smiled to herself, then moved toward the bathroom.
The witch changed out of her sullied traveling attire, then washed hastily in the basin. She felt refreshed in her short-hemmed tunic and left to find only Sorcha and her father in the guest room.
Except, her father was sitting up, the gray, washed-out skin and barren stare gone. There was even a healthy rosiness pricking his cheeks, and Thalia swore the golden rim of his eyes had made their triumphant return.
She felt a glow in her chest and didn’t recognize it, for a moment. She blinked at Sorcha, mouth hanging open in wonder.
“What happened?” she asked breathlessly.
Sorcha beamed at her silently.