10. Sardines! Isn’t a Curse Word #3
Taking a deep breath so she doesn’t lose her cool, Isabel stiffly turns back to the ailing girl. If a two-hundred-year-old being can really be called a girl.
She will have to try to use her magic. It’ll significantly exhaust her to use it to this extent on an old creature with deep magic and a healing factor of its own. But, because of how different the elven physiology is, she has no other options.
“I will make a medicine that should reduce her fever and fight any cells being attacked by this flu,” Isabel says to Misehe.
The healer nods.
“Get me a fever reducer, pain killer, and nausea medicine, por favor.”
Misehe translates all of that except the last part, and the young aide runs off to the corner to collect it from a tiered glass tower filled with vials and jars.
Isabel calculates the dosage and tells them how much she’ll need.
“Grind that into a powder. I’ll need the thistle water to make it into a paste.
Mix it really well.” She flips through the herbarium, reading through the plant properties and their uses, running her fingers lightly over the preserved plants pressed into the pages.
It really is wonderful, and she wishes she had the time to appreciate it fully.
Sapphira stands quietly below the bed as Isabel works, her eyes darting between Isabel on the bed and the guards beside the door, like she’s Isabel’s own guard.
Isabel works fast, demanding and sharp as she gives instructions to the elves. Finally, when the paste is a pale pink, she says, “Set it on the bed here.”
She dips her hand into the large bowl and covers it with the paste. “Can you remove her headdress?” Isabel asks, motioning to the commander with her clean hand. It would be a bit awkward trying to remove the horned crown and veil with one hand.
The elves stiffen before Domhen nods curtly.
The commander orders out of the room everyone but the healer, the aide, and the guard who accosted Sapphira.
Sapphira bares her teeth at the elf, and Isabel stifles her giggle, nearly spreading the medicinal paste across her mouth when she goes with the wrong hand.
But she redirects her lips to her wrist and presses her smile into the soft skin.
Striding to the girl’s side, the commander removes the q?n’s veil and crown. She’s beautiful. Her long, white hair contrasts against her black skin and cascades around her soft, round face. Her lips are dark and glossy.
As the guard said, she seems young, and her blue eyes appear weary as she blinks at Isabel. There’s the look of an old-world soul to them though, and there’s no mistaking her two hundred years of knowledge.
Isabel slathers the paste across the q?nsol’s forehead, then behind her ears. She wipes her hand on a cloth and takes the vial of elixir she had the healer’s aide make. She tips the girl’s head back so she can drink it more easily.
“What now?” Sapphira asks from beside her, craning her neck to look up at Isabel from the floor.
“It should start bringing her fever down, but it could take some time.”
“Great. Now we can go.”
Domhen places a hand on the weapon at its side. “Not so fast. You’re not leaving until we see proof of her improvement. For all we know, you’ve made it worse. Or poisoned her.”
“That could take hours,” Isabel argues.
“Then you can monitor her health through the night.”
“This isn’t fair,” Sapphira growls as she helps Isabel down from the bed. The chimera finds her hands a comfort as she leans into the touch and Sapphira’s heat. She’s exhausted from making the journey through the sands and using so much of her magic, first on the draek?n and now on the elf.
The commander ignores Sapphira’s outburst, getting accustomed to her attitude. “Someone will bring a meal for you soon,” Domhen says, then leaves the room. Misehe and the aide leave as well.
The guard with the attitude goes to the door and stands against it like a statue, but Isabel saw others positioned in the hall when the door opened. Escaping from here would be near impossible.
She lets out a breath as Sapphira helps her up into a chair to rest. “You brought that with you, bookworm? ” Sapphira teases, motioning to the large text in Isabel’s hand.
Isabel holds it up. “It’s a herbarium!” she says in awe.
“Do you know how valuable this is? I mean, not valuable like the price of it, but the knowledge that is in here. There are herbaria in the Athenaeum, but I could never get into that library. And the Highbren wouldn’t let a commoner touch them.
” She runs her hands over the cover, the surface shimmering as she tilts the volume.
For something so old, it has very little weathering.
It’s in amazing condition. “Also!” she adds, her voice rising, “this is an elven Herbarium, with plants that are completely foreign to me. This herbarium is an octahedron, like a diamond egg. You open it by flattening the four sides of the hard-shell cover. Inside, it has four sections of pages.” I have only heard of them.
I’ve never seen one before, with my own eyes.
Sapphira chuckles, lying back against the cushions. She crosses her arms over her stomach.
“What?” Isabel says, lying back as well and turning her head to watch her. “What’s so funny?”
Sapphira shrugs, her eyes falling closed as she gives a long sigh. “Nothing.”
Isabel wants to push for an answer, but she doesn’t. Mirroring Sapphira’s sigh, she lets her eyes close too, the exhaustion of the day catching up to her. “I’m sorry for getting us into this,” she mumbles, nudging her shoulder into Sapphira’s side. “I shouldn’t have dragged you with me.”
Sapphira looks down at her, her eyes softening for the first time since they ran out into the deadland. “I don’t blame you. This, at least, isn’t your fault. We’ve just got to get out of this place alive.”
Isabel worries her lip, guilt tearing her up inside, despite Sapphira’s reassurance.
“You shouldn’t do that,” Sapphira says, pulling Isabel’s lip out from her teeth with her thumb. Isabel’s breath comes out in a rush, her cheeks burning.
Sometime later, an elf in a red cloak wakes Isabel when it opens the door and hands food to the guard standing inside. The guard brings the trays to Isabel and Sapphira, ignoring Sapphira’s needling as it goes back to its station. It’s clear she hasn’t let go of her grudge over the body slam.
After she eats, Isabel leans back in the chair and pulls the herbarium into her lap. Her eyes are drooping, the short nap having done nothing for her. She cracks it open carefully and spreads it across her thighs, flipping through the pages.
She doesn’t know how long she reads, completely engrossed in the knowledge, until Sapphira nudges her.
“Isabel,” she calls.
“Wha—” the chimera mumbles, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. She didn’t even realize she was fully leaning into Sapphira’s space.
“You were falling asleep.”
“Oh, sorry.” A loud yawn cracks her jaw, and she tries shaking herself awake.
“You should sleep,” Sapphira says. “Just . . . The way you were leaning, you were going to hurt your neck.”
Isabel’s cheeks tighten, blood rushing to heat them. “Oh. Thank you.”
“Here, lean against me.” Sapphira leans back and opens her arms. Isabel stares wide-eyed at the woman.
“You want me— Oh, okay,” She quickly moves to lie back into Sapphira’s arms. The woman stiffens for a moment before curling an arm around Isabel’s waist and running a hand over her curls in a hypnotic pattern.
Isabel is about to fall asleep when Sapphira says, “You were right.” It’s so soft that she nearly doesn’t hear it. Isabel’s eyes shoot open as she turns to look back at Sapphira.
“Don’t look so surprised.” Sapphira laughs, the sound quickly petering out into the dark, quiet room. “I couldn’t have taken them. I would have challenged the elves and gotten myself and you killed. I’m so stupid.”
She drops her head down into her free hand and then rubs her temple.
Isabel lays a hesitant hand on her thigh, her palm burning.
“I don’t know why I always feel this need to prove myself,” Sapphira continues.
“Like I’m not worth anything if I don’t have a sword in my hand.
But that’s the only way I’ve ever been able to do anything on my own or make someone proud of me. ”
Isabel sits stiffly, holding her breath as she waits for more.
“Thank you for protecting me back there. I was a ruler. In my . . . In Dansui.” Sapphira hasn’t said much about her world, other than that there was no magic and she was alone. She has shared nothing about herself or her life. Isabel doesn’t want to miss a single thing.
“I was the princess of the largest kingdom in all of the Isles,” Sapphira says. “Soon to be the queen.” Isabel listens quietly as she speaks, not wanting to spook her. “My family didn’t really like me. They hated me, actually. They never would have done what you did. Not for me.
After my parents died, most of my mother’s family disappeared, and they never came to visit me in Jagun Castle.
I was a prisoner there, and my aunt and cousins visited from time to time, mostly to make my life miserable.
The only friend I had was Dorian. He was a knight, and he was charged to protect me.
” She laughs bitterly. “I hated that. He doesn’t know it, but I did.
Sometimes, I wondered whether he protected me because he wanted to or because it was his job. ”
A tear rolls down her cheek. Isabel leans forward, quickly wiping it away, her fingertips lingering on Sapphira’s cheek for only a moment.
“I’m sure he loved you,” she says, unable to keep quiet any longer.
“I mean, who wouldn’t?” Sapphira gives her a watery smile.
“So . . . a princess? Like, an actual princess?” she says, too curious to stop the question.
Sapphira rolls her eyes. “You’re predictable, bookworm.”