CHAPTER 18 #3
“I’ve often asked myself the same question.
” Her eyes grow glassy and she stares into the fire, her mind lost in visions only she can fathom.
“Maybe they do hate the humans. But it was the feyn that stripped them of their power in the sundering, and it is humans who now help them hunt the fea in their pursuit of recovering that power.”
It is quite the tale, and I find it impossible to discern which parts were carefully crafted by the feyn to hide the true history of our world. I can’t imagine the feyn giving up their power like she claims, or the La’tari working with a group of ancients.
Media’s eyes grow heavy and her head bobs as she fights off the sleep that I’m sure her body desperately needs.
“Thank you for your story and for lunch,” I say as I stand.
“Come back soon, child.” The words hardly make it past her lips as her chin falls against her chest and her eyes shutter closed.
I don’t linger, only taking time to bundle three nights worth of Kishek’s concoction before leaving. Sera offers me a silent wave as I slip out the door, back into the marble halls of the palace.
Awri hasn’t returned to the domed fea room by the time I make it back to check, and the light coming through the windows is quickly growing dim.
My stomach twists when I consider going back to my room for the evening.
There is another task I mean to accomplish today.
One I should have seen to when the general was close at hand this morning.
I find myself in front of his room, glaring at the doors as if they alone are responsible for my presence. I should have asked Media if she knew about the general’s tea before she’d fallen asleep. I don’t want to owe this male anything.
I tell myself that the bundles in my pocket should suffice, but there is no guarantee the tonic will continue to work.
I cannot risk my demon revealing itself.
And if between Kishek’s brew and the general’s, I can prevent my terrors, it will have been well worth my time to gather as much as I am able.
A light set of steps in the corridor behind me brings Riesh to my side.
“Are you going to knock?” he asks with an amused smile.
“I’m not sure,” I admit.
Riesh laughs under his breath. “He isn’t in there anyway. Is it something I can help you with?”
I cross my arms and eye the male, half relieved and half irritated that the general isn’t here when I say, “I was hoping to get a recipe from him. For a sleeping draught he made me once.”
Riesh smiles wryly and I suspect that unlike his sister, he knows the truth of what happened the night the general drugged me at the cottage.
“I know the one,” he says, “but it isn’t easy to come by. I’ll send for the herbs, but it may take a week or two for them to arrive.”
“A week?” I groan.
“Or two,” he adds. “I’ll have some ordered. There is always a chance they will arrive sooner.”
I thank him and begin to debate sneaking out my window and sleeping under the stars, but I remind myself that the general somehow knew I left last time. Something I’m sure to avoid in the future with a little more caution on my part.
“Sera tells me you spent time with Media today,” Riesh says, “Thank you for doing that. She’s had a hard time getting around the last few years. She will never admit it, but I think she gets a little lonely sometimes. I try to visit every day, but it isn’t always possible.”
“She has her family,” I reassure him.
He shakes his head. “She has Sera. Her husband and three of their children died during the war.”
I don’t have to ask which side they fought on.
I never imagined humans, let alone those born on La’tari soil, killing their own at the behest of the feyn.
I pity the woman for her delusion that the feyn saved her, when all they really did was corrupt her mind until she was willing to watch her loved ones die for their cause.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I say.
He dips his head and excuses himself to put in my request for the tea with the palace courier. I hadn’t had a chance to ask Media what happened to his father, but I assume by his absence, Riesh and Awri lost him to the war as well.
By the time I make it back to my chamber and sip down one of Kishek’s teas, I’ve made up my mind to risk spending the night in my bed. There is no sign of the demon that plagues me or the lingering darkness that accompanies it.
Eon continues my lessons in sprite as Tig runs a comb through my hair.
Now that I’ve expressed an interest, the sprite seems determined to have me fluent in the breathy language before long and isn’t shy about correcting my pronunciation, which I gather is unsurprisingly poor.
I’m not sure mortal tongues were meant to craft the words of the fea, at least not those of the sprites.
Tig slips me into one of the short gossamer sleeping gowns, and I slide the letter opener from the pocket of my leathers and under my pillow when I lay down.
It’s a far cry from my obsidian daggers, and I miss every nick and groove etched into my memory as I grasp the cool, smooth metal of the foreign hilt.
Tomorrow will be a day for exploring the options that remain beyond my lost pouch of herbs and the teas. Experience tells me that it is only a matter of time before my demon begins to grow restless.