FORTY-TWO
brYNDIS ASHGLO
Poppy, particularly red poppies, have strong narcotic properties.
While the seeds are generally opium free, the plant itself should be handled with care.
It does not only serve to lessen physical pain, but also grief after the loss of a loved one.
That is why they are commonly found at burial grounds.
The Herbal Healer’s handbook, by Agnes O’Connel
“Cuisle mo chroidhe,” Odhran’s voice is a sensual rumble against my skin, planting kisses along my neck.
The morning sun glows on his skin, his features relaxed, happy.
“This is how I wanted you to wake up that morning after… This is how I want you to wake every morning, forever.” His lips curve into a smile as he leans back onto his elbow, raking his fingers through messy silver hair.
I smile back at him, feeling content. If I could freeze time, I’d stop it right here, in a moment so perfect it’s like a…
I swallow. “How did we get here?” I ask him, looking around the room. His room. The one I haven’t seen again after leaving for the coronation. My heart lurches, unable to trust this moment.
“Does it really matter?” His eyes, a shade of light grey, soften as they mimic the gentle caress of his fingers trailing down my arm, leaving a path of warmth in their wake.
“It doesn’t make sense.” The words escape my lips in a whisper. I search for any wounds, any visible marks that would indicate the battle we’d fought. Any reason to believe that this is true. But there’s none to be found.
“Odhran…” My chest tightens until I can barely breathe.
“I saw into your dream when you were sleeping,” he whispers.
His warm breath tickles my ear. Leaning closer, he plants a gentle kiss on my forehead, his lips soft against my skin.
I breathe in the smell of cinnamon and peppermint, a subtle and intoxicating scent.
I want to hold on to this moment. Perhaps I’m finally losing my mind like I believed I would a few weeks ago.
Perhaps this is real, and I’m sabotaging my own happiness.
My fingers tangle in his hair. Drawing him nearer, I murmur, “You are my dream. Every perfectly imperfect part of you.” You’re the only one who truly sees me.
The only one who doesn’t expect me to fit into some sort of mould.
We are two sides of the same coin. Our lips meet in a passionate embrace, our emotions and desires intertwining.
“Bryn,” Aed’s voice calls to me, as gentle as a breeze through tall trees. I ignore him.
“She’s waking up!” someone exclaims from somewhere I can’t see. “I need you in here!” she calls out. Laoise.
I pull away from Odhran, who hears nothing.
The room is just as we left it before the coronation, with no one in it but the two of us.
His eyes bore into mine. “Did you hear that?” I ask him, but he doesn’t respond.
I want to close my eyes and calm my breathing, but I bite the skin off my lip instead.
“Finally!” I hear àine’s voice and push myself to sit upright as panic claws its way out of my chest. The room remains empty, save for me and Odhran.
“She’s going to have questions,” Laoise says. “It’s been a week.”
Odhran’s once unspoiled skin now bears the marks of an unknown affliction.
Wounds etch themselves across his flesh like sloppy brushstrokes of red and black paint.
Each gash, each laceration, oozes with blood and shadow, as if his very essence is seeping out along with it.
This isn’t a dream. This is a nightmare.
“Odhran?” I call, reaching out to touch him but stop before I make contact. My hand trembles. I’m afraid. This isn’t a fear of being injured or caught sneaking around. This is so much worse.
“It’s time, young one. Open your eyes.” Aed’s voice holds a seriousness that I can’t place. That I don’t want to place.
“No.” My chin quivers. I don’t want to. I don’t want to face whatever awaits me. I don’t want reality, especially not the one I suspect, the one where he’s hurt.
“You are stronger than you think,” Aed tells me, but it doesn’t bring me an ounce of comfort.
My eyes struggle to open as if glued shut. Everything hurts. Every movement brings with it a searing pain, but nothing as intense as the ache building deep within my soul. Odhran isn’t correcting my assumptions.
The room is bright—too bright—burning my eyes as I open them. “Where…” I clear my throat. “Where is he?” I demand, even though it hurts to talk. Even though my voice is an unrecognisable rasp up my throat. “Where is Odhran?”
“He isn’t here.” àine’s voice carries a deep sadness.
My eyes struggle to focus. All I see is her silhouette against a bright backdrop.
“He’s with Sheridan and Sloan. At their camp.
I’m afraid he hasn’t woken, and his wounds aren’t healing.
” She places her hand against my brow, checking my temperature.
Her touch is soft and caring. “He’s strong.
The strongest man I know. He will survive.
” But her tone doesn’t echo the hopefulness of her words.
I can’t tell whether I’m screaming or crying.
Maybe both. My voice is a raw blend of anguish.
As the trembling in my hands intensifies, it ripples through my body.
“He promised.” He promised he wouldn’t hurt me.
Tears stream down my cheeks as the faces of those around me slowly come into focus.
An image of Odhran’s festering wounds flashes in my mind.
“He almost died saving you.” Aine’s lips press into a thin line. “Because of you.”
“I didn’t mean to.” I didn’t mean to betray him.
It’s the truth. A truth that makes my voice sound far too small.
Scenes and phrases rush through my mind like pages caught in the wind.
Eadan’s death. Declan’s blood seeping through his white shirt.
The battlefield and bodies with black armour strewn across it.
And Odhran’s eyes when he struck me with his power.
àine brings a damp cloth to my shoulder, burning like fire across my skin. When she removes it, the cloth is deep red streaked with yellow. Infection.
“A daglomon bite is poisonous.” Aed’s tail swishes from side to side, exposing razor-sharp teeth. “You are strong. You can fight this. We will fight this.”
I’m wearing a plain linen shirt and matching charcoal trousers. Though comfortable, they aren’t mine. “When is he coming back?” I look at Aine. It’s the same look that I saw in Eadan’s eyes before her head was severed. I’m sorry, she said, as if it were the end of the road.
I go back to my mother’s Great Room looking for Odhran, but he isn’t there. It’s dark and empty, with the windows wide open. A howling wind blows through the room, as cold as ice, and the sense of belonging and safety it once brought me disappears.
“Where are you?” I call out across the bond forged between us. It’s still intact… It’s still intact! Like a hand with a loosened grip, it’s still there, even though weak. Tears well behind my lashes as I press my trembling hand to my chest. It’s still intact!