15. Desperate to Forget
Chapter fifteen
Desperate to Forget
T hrough the open windows of the princess’s bedchamber, the faint orchestra of the city travelled along the wind. From the stall holders shouting their deals at the market, to the ethereal singing of The Oracle’s acolytes. Almost drowned out by the banging and sawing of trades men; desperately trying to fortify the houses of the common folk before the winter months crashed down upon them.
Solveig lay on the chaise at the foot of her bed. A woman dressed in the grey tunic and pants of the healers knelt before her. Face creased with deep concentration lines as she studied the princess’ many injuries.
“You mend these wounds y’self, Highness?”
“I was too busy lying unconscious from the blood loss.”
“Couldn’t channel some of that hydromancy?”
“What need does an executioner have of healing ability?” Solveig snapped, watching with satisfaction as the healer’s mouth fell into a grim line.
“Nothin’ I can do for the scarrin’ I’m afraid. You can thank whoever did the rush job of stitching you back up for that,” she muttered, changing tack. “How’s your pain?”
“Fine. As long as you don’t ask me to stand.” Solveig grimaced, recalling the sickening ache merely standing in the throne room had wrought.
“It’s common to have lingerin’ aches from injuries such as these. Try to stay off your feet for a while.” She rummaged through her bag of supplies on the floor beside her.
“Terin root and Gabos leaf potion for the pain, two sips morn, noon and evenin’ for the next three days should fix ya up.”
When Solveig didn’t move to take the potion, the healer instead placed it on the mahogany table beside her head. Sweeping her eyes down the princess’ body when she spotted the burn on her hand. “How d’ya get that, then?” she asked with a raised brow.
“I got burned trying to build a fire.”
“You build a fire ridin’ horseback from the port all night?”
“No. Why?”
“Too fresh a wound to be any later than a day old.”
Solveig merely shrugged.
“I checked your records before I came up here, difficult bein’ a new healer and all. It’s quite thick for someone of your age and social standin’. Lots of burn injuries over the years.”
“Drop it.” Solveig’s voice dripped ice; her gaze promised swift silence. She had no desire to discuss her brother’s sadistic tendencies.
The healer held her hands up in response. “Healer’s job to ask ya, understand?”
“There’s nothing nefarious going on here.”
The healer rummaged through her bag once more, pulling two more glass bottles out. “Aloe leaf gel, for the burn, as needed, and peppermint oil for when all that tension ya holdin’ onto brings an inevitable headache. My legs aren’t what they used to be, could do without havin’ to make the trip to your tower twice in one day.”
Solveig starred at the healer with a furrowed brow. “You know who I am, right?”
“Yes, ma’am,” the healer said, shouldering her bag.
“Why do you care this much about my pain levels?”
“Healer’s code. We don’t deny care to anyone. Good day, Your Highness.”
Solveig drank the potions as the healer left, waiting for the pain to dampen before standing and heading toward the bathing chamber. She twisted the taps at the sink. The old pipes rattled loudly as they pulled water from the reservoir deep within the castle. Once full, she dipped one hand into the frigid water, closing her eyes. Searching down into her consciousness where the still dangerously low well of power lay, she connected with it and instantly sensed the water becoming an extension of her. She thought of the burn on her other hand, willing her power to use the source of water to cool the ache and inflammation.
Sweat beaded at her hairline, brows furrowed in concentration. Still, nothing happened. Solveig ripped her hand from the sink, sending droplets flying across the room in frustration as she stormed from the chamber to grab the aloe leaf gel from the table. Control water, yes, drain water, easy as breathing. Heal with it? No, that wasn’t something she had ever been capable of.
With her physical aches masked, there was only one thing left to deal with. Solveig stalked over to the windows, closing the heavy velvet drapes to block out the daylight before heading for her bed. At the side of it, she drifted a hand down the cool stone wall, until she came across a small crack in the stone. Pushing lightly to dislodge it, revealing a small glass vial of calming draught she saved from four years ago. A time when she had been incapable of making it through a single night without screaming the castle down with her nightmares. One small drop on her tongue and she would be dead to the world around her within thirty minutes.
She pulled back the heavy blue sheets and crawled beneath them, staring at the ceiling. Her mind resolutely going through sword play moves. Unilaterally focused to ensure that she wouldn’t drift to the darker thoughts that fought to resurface with being back in the castle; in this room that held too many memories.