Chapter Forty-Six
Dietan
“Please just kill me,” I say.
But the healer tending to me only shakes her head and continues her work. Not one inch of my body has been left untouched by Namreth’s brutality. Every injury screams in protest.
Still, I feel better than I did a day ago.
“Who are you? Where am I?” I ask, my voice scarcely more than a whisper.
“I am Sister Dosha,” the healer says. “You are at the temple of Sirona.”
The name rings a bell. Dosha was the name of a famed Loegrian healer who came to court at my father’s invitation when I was a boy.
Against all warnings, she decided to make the pilgrimage to Sirona’s temple in the Waste, and we had little word of her since.
We’d all thought she perished in the desert.
“I’m relieved to see you are alive,” I say with some effort. “I remember you. You healed my leg when I was thrown from my first horse.”
Dosha smiles. “It has been a long time since I set foot in Loegria. I have learned much here, in Sirona’s light.
More than King Donnel’s medicine men were able to teach me after three years at your father’s court.
But your father is a good king. May he bring the Rings of Fate to bear in the coming war and free us from the mad king’s rule.
” My heart sinks as I watch her wipe her hands on a clean white cloth.
My mission into the Waste has been an utter disaster. As I drift in and out of consciousness, I wonder if this famed acolyte of Sirona might be able to remove the Rings from my body.
She produces a roll of clean white bandages and a golden pot of blessed ointment. “I’m sorry we no longer have the healing waters of Sirona to speed along your recovery,” she says. “I understand you must return to Loegria urgently.”
“Ah, those lovely healing waters. It will shock you hear that I’m not fond of them,” I retort.
“Just one more thing Osian has claimed for himself,” Sister Dosha says, irritation biting at her words.
She wraps a bandage around my hand as she continues.
“The waters were claimed by King Osian years ago. Many of those who are sick or injured must now go to the king for aid. The royal healers are always happy to oblige, but their price is steep. Even the simplest healing must be repaid with a year’s service to the king, sometimes two,” Sister Dosha says, gently tying off another bandage.
She shakes her head. “Without the blessed waters, our temple has returned to the old ways of healing. Our methods are slower than the waters, but as you can see, they still work. Now, rest, and let your body heal.”
I close my eyes, and for once, no dreams come.
…
Several days later, I can walk.
Several more days after that, thanks to the healing salts, oils, and clay, I’ve come back to life and some semblance of normalcy. I no longer look like a corpse. I’m almost myself again.
I’ve been given a room on the top floor of the temple in which to recuperate.
I have been denied any news that might disturb my recovery, and I haven’t seen Aren since we arrived.
The isolation is driving me mad. Unable to sleep, I step out onto the balcony to take in the cool night air.
I can see Castle Engel in the distance, its spires reaching into the night sky like a clawed hand cupping the rising crescent moon.
Even though I’m safe and healed, there are many others who aren’t.
That castle is still filled with unwilling servants and prisoners in the dungeons.
I wonder how many of them escaped when Aren and I did and how many remain.
I promise myself that I won’t abandon them, that I will find a way to free them all.
All of a sudden, a voice comes from behind me.
“You’re supposed to be lying down, tough guy.”
Aren. My heart leaps, and relief fills me from head to toe. I feel like I’m floating. She’s finally come to see me.
Still gripping the balcony railing, I turn around slowly. Her face is in shadow, but her eyes are bright. I want to run to her, to take her in my arms, but instead, I fall into the familiar pattern between us and wave a hand nonchalantly.
“I’m tired of lying down. I needed some air—too much incense.” My tone is teasing, but gratitude grips my heart like a vice.
Aren.
On painful nights at the temple, I imagined she abandoned me, that the healers were soothing me with lies when they told me she was still here.
“Maybe they want you gone. Ever think they’re trying to smoke you out?” she asks with that sass I remember all too well.
“Maybe that’s the temple’s secret. They annoy the patients until they heal themselves and leave.”
“Is it working?” she asks as she steps out onto the balcony and joins me at the railing.
I shrug. We stand in silence, the two of us looking toward Castle Engel looming in the distance.
I’m keenly aware of how close she is.
She’s dressed in a sleeveless flowing gown of yellow silk. Her hair is twisted up into elegant braids, exposing the freckles along her shoulders. The airy fabric graces every curve of her body, every inhale. She looks like a princess. I fight the urge to touch her.
Aren appraises me, looking up and down my body. I’m relieved when she speaks first. “They must be doing something right. I was scared you’d never walk again.”
“Scared? You were worried about me?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
“It’s a figure of speech,” she says, smiling, her eyes drifting down to the bandages beneath my loose tunic. “Maybe we should see how well they did.”
Then, with no warning, she smacks me in the arm.
“Gods, woman!” I recoil, rubbing at the sting. “What was that for?”
“You really have to ask?” She leans in close, fire in her eyes.
I don’t dare answer the trick question. I just stay very, very still.
“Why did you send me to the kitchens? Why did you have to say anything at all?” she continues, pain blossoming across her beautiful face.
I hear the question she doesn’t ask: Why did you say you didn’t love me?
“Didn’t you see me shake my head? I tried to tell you it was all a—”
“A lie?” she finishes for me.
“Well, yeah,” I say.
“You’re kidding, right?” she snaps. “I was supposed to know what a shake of the head meant? You really are daft.”
It’s like she stabbed me in the heart. “I thought you knew me.”
“I do know you. I know you’re a moron,” she retorts, crossing her arms.
I bristle at that, my frustration rising. “Are you so thick-headed that you actually believed those things I said about you? I was obviously lying!”
“Uh huh, what else is new?” she says, turning to leave. I catch her wrist, holding it firm.
Our eyes meet, her breath hitches, and I feel the heat radiating off her skin. Her face flushes, her lips parting slightly, and something sharp and unspoken crackles in the air between us.
“I lied. About everything. All of it. If my uncle knew what you meant to me—” My throat tightens, the weight of my own words pressing down on me.
“But you didn’t lie! You couldn’t!” Aren hisses. “And you’re lying to me now!” She tries to yank her wrist free, but I don’t let go.
“I swear I’m not,” I say, willing her to trust me again. Her eyes shine like glass, swimming with unshed tears.
I see the battle raging inside of her—the hurt, the anger, the disbelief.
She’s so damn stubborn.
That much I’ve always understood. “I promise you, I didn’t mean a word I said to Namreth… Well, except that your biscuits are a godsend. I mean that quite literally now. They killed me to save my life.”
Aren’s gaze hardens, and it feels as if her eyes are burrowing into my soul, trying to see all the way to the very essence of my being. She sticks and angry finger right in my face. “Don’t talk to me about biscuits.”
I will never speak of biscuits again.
My usual wit is failing me, but then again, Aren is the one woman who was never impressed with my charm. I hurry to explain before I put my foot in my mouth again. “The henbane—”
“I saw you drink it, same as me,” she says accusingly. In the moonlight, tears streak her reddened cheeks. “And then you said all those awful things—”
“Katharine gave me an antidote,” I blurt out, gripping her hand more tightly.
Aren’s eyes widen in surprise, but she says nothing. She inhales deeply, rubbing her eyes with her free hand. She lets out a wounded huff. The tears spill over, and she swipes angrily at her cheek.
“Why didn’t you tell me before? Because you don’t trust me?”
“No, of course not. It was just—it was too great a risk. Under the influence of the truth serum, without the antidote yourself, you might have unintentionally given it away. And Aren—your reaction had to be real.”
Her demeanor softens. I loosen my grip but don’t release her. Instead, I lower our joined hands between us. “You really thought I was dead?” I whisper.
Her lips tremble, and she yanks her hand away, turning her back on me. “Not just dead,” she murmurs, gripping the balcony railing. “You… You… Harvest Mother, Dietan. I don’t understand you.”
I run a hand down my face, scratching at the stubble on my jaw. “I don’t understand you, either, but I’m trying.” A silent moment passes between us, but she doesn’t turn around. “You thought everything I said to my uncle was true, yet you still saved me.”
With her back still turned, she wraps her arms around her torso, shaking her head like she’s scolding herself.
I step toward her, slow and deliberate. I can feel the heat of her body, the tension rippling through her shoulders as I near, and all I want is to pull her into my arms. Although even I know that would be a monumental mistake right now.
“I’m sorry,” I say again. “I’m sorry, but you’ve got to understand, I had my reasons for lying to you, and it has nothing to do with trust. I had to protect you.”
She scoffs.