16 #2
Once I let myself relax, the desperate energy that has sustained me drains away.
I exist in a strange liminal space that is neither waking nor sleeping, or perhaps both at indiscernible times.
I know that we land a few times so the carpet can rest or so we can hide from possible enemies.
I’m vaguely aware of Vawn fighting someone—or something?
But I can’t pull myself out of the lethargy into which I’ve sunk.
I’m freezing, and yet I’m soaked in sweat, and the thrumming agony in my body grows progressively worse.
I shit myself once, but I barely realize that it happened, and then somehow I’m clean again, dressed in different clothing.
We’re flying, currents of cold air washing over the carpet. The air feels good on my face, but the rest of me is boiling underneath a blanket.
Locks of soft pink hair brush my cheek, and a voice murmurs brokenly to me. “Hold on, darling. Almost there. Don’t give up. I need you. I couldn’t have done any of this without you. I wouldn’t have had the courage, the wisdom, the force of will. Stay, beautiful. Stay.”
I try to open my eyes, but they’ve been pinned down, crushed beneath the infinite weight of sleep.
When I open them, there’s a ceiling above me.
An ornate ceiling covered in raised flowers and leaves, all of it painted pristine white.
White curtains flutter at the windows, like veils dancing in the clear light of day.
The paneled walls are embellished with vivid paintings of pink and blue flowers.
Shielding my eyes from the light, I notice that my broken finger is splinted to the one next to it, and my cracked nails are shiny with repair glue.
The faint scent of lavender wafts to my nose as I push back the white sheets. My breasts, ribs, and stomach are wrapped in layers of bandages, and there’s a tightness along my side that makes me think of the time I had to get stitches after a particularly brutal training exercise.
Throwing off the sheets entirely, I survey the rest of the injuries on my body. The bruises have changed color—they’re receding, healing. Other than the bandages, the only thing I’m wearing is a pair of tiny black undershorts, snug and silky-soft, rather like Vawn’s.
Carefully, using my arms as much as possible to spare my stomach muscles, I sit up. My short hair feels oily, forming clumps on my head. I hate the sensation, and if I weren’t so worried about Vawn, I’d be solely focused on washing it.
I lower my feet to the floor.
“You’re awake,” says a voice under my toes, and I give a little shriek of panic, drawing my feet back into the bed. The movement makes my stomach hurt.
Severin ripples and rises from the floor. “Hello to you, too.”
“What were you doing down there like a normal rug?” I exclaim.
“The prince asked me to watch you. He has been here in this room since we arrived at Anyssir Castle two days ago, but he was smelling quite ripe and could barely keep his eyes open. Lady Kaenan convinced him to take a bath and sleep for a couple hours.”
“A bath,” I say eagerly. “I want a bath.”
“You shouldn’t get your wounds wet. Especially not the place where they cut you open to let the poisonous blood out.
Yes, you were bleeding inside. Something ruptured when you were beaten.
The only reason you survived the journey here is—” Severin stops talking abruptly and dips his top edge toward something behind me—his version of a bow. “Your Highness.”
I turn my head, and there is Vawn.
He’s a walking heartbreak, his beauty so striking it’s like visual violence.
And he’s even more appealing to me with the partly healed cuts on his face and the scabs on his knuckles.
I remember what the carpet said: that he fought like a beast and cursed the bounty hunters for harming me.
When he beat that man into a pulp in the forest, it wasn’t vengeance for himself.
The prince gives me a brief, glorious smile, and then he’s glaring at the carpet. “What were you telling her, Severin? I thought we had an understanding.”
“I never agreed to keep it a secret,” the carpet retorts. “She should know.”
“I should know what?” I interject.
“Nothing.” Vawn shoots the carpet a warning look.
Severin tosses his tassels. “He doesn’t want you to know that he saved your life by—”
Vawn tackles the carpet, trying to roll it up.
He and Severin tangle and thrash on the floor for a few minutes while I slide out of bed and move slowly along the edge of the room, holding onto the furniture.
Each piece is heavy, luxurious, bearing decorative panels inset with flat chips of semi-precious stones.
While Vawn and Severin continue to tussle, I poke my head through an archway and discover the bathroom. It’s all pink porcelain tiles and blue crystal fixtures—quite possibly the prettiest room I’ve ever seen.
“Hot water,” I breathe, shuffling toward the tub.
From the next room, I hear the carpet wheeze, “She’s going to bathe. With the stitches. You should stop her.”
“Fuck,” Vawn mutters, and then he’s in the bathroom doorway. “Syth, no. You can’t, not yet. We’ve been washing you twice a day, but you can’t be immersed yet. Your incision—”
“We?” I ask. “You and who else?”
“A couple of the servants, appointed by Lady Kaenan for your care. I took care of you on the way here. I did everything for you during those two days of travel.”
Heat creeps into my face as blurred memories surface, including the incident where I soiled myself.
“Don’t look so chagrined, love,” he says in a teasing tone. “I only did it so Severin and I wouldn’t have to endure the mess. There was no one else to deal with it.”
“You should have dumped me in the forest and continued without me.”
The look that flashes through his eyes has teeth of its own, scarlet and furious. “You really think I would do that? After all this? Come back to the bed, you stubborn little creature, or I’ll drag you there myself.”
“I want to wash my hair.”
“That can wait.”
“No.” I scrunch up my nose, trying to figure out how to explain it. “Once my hair gets to a certain point, I can’t rest until it’s clean. I won’t be able to think of anything except how oily and grimy and itchy and horrible it feels—”
“Fine,” he interrupts. “I’ll wash it for you. Sit on that stool and lean over the side of the tub.”
“A servant could do it.”
“Nonsense,” he says sternly. “Obey your king, or go back to bed.”
I sit astride the stool and bend forward over the tub.
Vawn turns on the water, then takes a small pitcher from one of the shelves.
He plucks out the fresh flowers inside it and rinses it well before using it to pour warm water over my hair.
A little of the water drips into my nose, so I adjust the angle of my body.
The stitches twinge at the movement, and I place one hand on my side.
“Are you all right?” the prince asks.
“Yes.”
“I should tell you what I’ve learned since we arrived here.” He speaks slowly, like he’s reluctant to share the information. Like it weighs heavily on him, and he doesn’t want to pass along the burden.
“Tell me.”
He sighs, sliding his fingers through my wet hair and pouring more water.
“There’s a ruler in Belavrin now. His government is the Redemptive Authority, and he calls himself ‘the Exemplar.’ He is rarely seen in public, and only from a distance.
He wears a black mask covered with diamond snakes.
And he has a second, a general of sorts called the Paladin, who always remains at his side.
The Paladin wears a helmet without eyeholes, like the others we’ve seen, except his helmet has a mouth aperture rimmed with silver teeth.
Most of the orders come from the Paladin, apparently. They call their soldiers Redeemers.”
“What’s with the fucking disguises?” I mutter.
“I have no idea.” He sets down the pitcher and pours thick liquid soap from a bottle into his palm.
“That’s not all. In addition to the reward and the wanted posters, the Exemplar announced three days ago that he would be taking twenty-five prisoners off the streets every day that I do not turn myself in to the Redemptive Authority. ”
“What?” I fling my head up, splattering him with drops. “Is he killing them?”
“Not yet, thankfully. So far the Redeemers are seizing them from towns and villages near the capital and putting them in the local prisons. But as you can imagine, their families, friends, and neighbors are concerned for their safety. If the arrests continue, the economy will begin to suffer as more members of the workforce disappear.”
“Let me guess—they’re taking mostly common folk. People without wealth or resources.”
“Oddly enough, no. Lord Kaenan says the captives have included a number of high-born citizens.”
“So he’s trying to scare the nobles, too.” I close my eyes as Vawn massages the shampoo into my scalp. It’s a strange juxtaposition—my concern for the citizens of Belavrin clashing with the delicious sensation of his fingertips working through my wet hair.
“More water incoming,” he warns me, then pours a deluge over my head.
I ponder the information he shared until he finishes rinsing my hair and hands me a towel. I blot the wet strands, trying and failing to read Vawn’s expression. “What are you thinking? Are you considering turning yourself in?”
He shakes his head. “No. But I must make an alliance with the Twin Lieges of Tularesk and secure their help to reclaim the kingdom. It must be done quickly, before this Exemplar fellow graduates from arrests to executions.”
“Our hosts, Lord and Lady Kaenan-—they’ll help us get across the border into Tularesk?”
“Yes, and from there the Tularens will escort us to the Celestial Seat where their rulers reside.”
“Then we should leave immediately.”