Chapter 27
Twenty-Seven
- LYRA -
A hand rests on my hot forehead for a few heartbeats before it brushes my hair back from my temples and is gone.
“Will she wake by tonight, you think?” asks a familiar voice—Devin.
“It’s possible, yes,” someone else responds. The voice is deep and rough with age. “Call one of the assistants for me if she wakes. If she stirs and becomes agitated, give her this immediately.”
Silence falls for a brief moment before Devin answers, “Thank you.”
Clumpy footsteps draw quieter. As I lie in the darkness behind my closed eyelids, I hear the squeaking of a sunken chair.
“Lyra,” Devin whispers. “Lyra, if you can hear me, open your eyes.”
I fight to keep my face relaxed, my body neutral. Focusing on the steady fall and rise of my chest.
“Lyra, if you’re still feeling…ill, and they find out, they cannot in good faith keep you here. They would want to send you back home.”
Still ill…surely he does not believe whatever Lady Bethany told him?
“Devin,” a voice booms, and I nearly flinch.
Heavy footsteps echo around me until they’re near and stop. A chair near me squeaks again, like the weight has been lifted off it.
“My King,” Devin says, his voice somewhere above me. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“I wanted to see her,” he says. And I swear I can feel those eyes scanning me. “What has the doctor said?”
“That she might wake before tonight. She is in stable condition and is only resting. So no need to worry.”
“No fever?” Cyrus asks.
“No. He theorized it could have been a potential nip from one of the earth dragons out in the gardens.”
“They’re not venomous,” Cyrus says slowly.
“Most aren’t. But if it was some sort of hybrid, perhaps? That, or a lingering faintness from her illness the night prior, combined with severe stress, exhaustion, and lack of nutrition.”
Cyrus sighs heavily, and the two of them fall silent. I’m trying so hard not to disrupt my rhythmic breathing, nor give into the temptation to open my eyes.
“Why don’t you go and check on Lady Bethany and the rest of the women? Perhaps we assess all of them, and take a small break from the process if it’s needed,” Cyrus murmurs.
“We can’t afford any delays,” Devin responds.
Cyrus’ voice is stern. “That is an order, Devin. Not a request.”
Devin clears his throat before his footsteps disappear in the distance. The chair nearby squeaks even louder as Cyrus takes a seat next to me.
My heart skips a beat at his proximity. Fragments of dreams flash behind my eyes. Elongated fingers and slitted eyes. A creature cresting the shadowed hill.
“Lyra,” Cyrus breathes. My name on his lips stirs my heart with how lovely it sounds. An honor that he’d know it well enough to say it.
A timid finger brushes my forearm before it disappears. I flutter my eyes open. The ceiling is a blurry shape of carved elegance, with crown molding, chandeliers, and that damned florals and dragon wallpaper adorning the walls. I turn my head to the left, where Cyrus is sitting.
He lets out a relieved sigh and grins. “Hello.”
I can’t help my own dizzy smile as I rasp, “Hello.”
He leans forward, his elbows on his knees as he tilts his head at me. He’s wearing a lavish white long sleeve with frills at the throat. Behind him, shrugged off on the chair, is a red blazer, matching the crimson pants encasing his legs.
“How are you feeling?” he asks, glancing from my hand resting on the mattress to my face.
Slowly, I lean up as the muscles in my body protest. I’m still in that cream-colored dress with flowers skimming the bodice and skirts. Tucking a damp strand of black hair behind my ear, I turn a bit toward him. “A touch faint and a little hot, but…alright, I think?”
Cyrus snaps his attention to one of the assistants, motioning to a door in the distance before they scurry away. He then turns to a bedside table, grabbing a cloth soaking in a bowl of water. Once he wrings it out, he holds out the damp towel. “May I?”
Dipping my head in permission, he cautiously presses it to my forehead for a few moments before moving it around in spots on my face. The water is ice cold, settling the heat pricking in my skin.
Cyrus’ eyes scan every inch of my face, and for a moment, they dart to my lips as he rests the towel on my cheek for a long moment. Longer than the other parts. Then he clears his throat quietly and takes it away, dipping it back into the water. “Are you hungry? Thirsty? I can fetch you—”
The assistant is scurrying back to us, leading an elderly man dressed in white robes with a bald head and long white beard.
Elder Fredrick—if I remember his name correctly.
He was the one who tended to me when I was here in the infirmary after the trial.
He stops at the foot of my bed and scans me. “Do you remember your name?”
I nod, and he asks, “Where you are?” When I nod again, he motions with his chin to Cyrus. “Who this is?”
“Yes,” I murmur.
Cyrus stands from his chair, his height unrivaled by anyone else I’ve ever seen. He makes even Elder Fredrick and the assistant look like children with his stature. “Elder Fredrick, how long do you recommend she stay bedridden?”
The elderly man twists his attention off me to Cyrus. “I’d suggest at least until her color returns.”
Everyone shifts their gazes back to me, and at the amount of attention, I flinch. Cyrus nods to Elder Fredrick and the assistant. “Thank you. I’ll call upon you should I need your assistance.”
Elder Fredrick bows, then sweeps his assistant off down the long, rectangular room until they exit.
All around us are rows of empty beds. The other three women sent here yesterday are gone.
Two of them were to be dismissed, perhaps are already home now.
Though I hadn’t seen Moe rejoin our ranks yet.
Perhaps she’s been transferred to her room.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed toward Cyrus as I say, “I want to leave.”
“Leave?” Cyrus jerks forward, ready to catch me should my knees buckle. He holds out his open, gloved palms should I need it. “Leave to where? You shouldn’t walk on your own yet.”
I rest my palms on his as I rise off the mattress, fighting a blush rushing to my cheeks at the sight of my hands in his. “I don’t like infirmaries.”
“Fair.” He dips his head. “I’d venture to say most do not.”
But he doesn’t know how often I’ve been in them.
I slip my hands off his and run them down my dress to disperse the nerves buzzing under my skin again. When I look up at him, he’s watching me. And for a quick moment, I peer into his eyes, looking for what—I do not know. “Where is Marcella? Have you sent her home?”
He blinks. “No, I haven’t sent her home. She’s with the other women.”
“Was she in trouble?”
He squints. “Why would she be in trouble?”
“Devin sent for her earlier, and she was gone for an hour.”
His eyes relax. “You care for her?” It’s more realization than a question.
I retract my head at such an odd question. “I…”
A small grin lifts his mouth. “It’s alright. There’s no rule that you cannot be friends. And besides, my wife will be allowed to hold whatever company she wants.”
The word wife on his lips has another blush creep to my cheeks, and I have to force my eyes away from his mouth. Lowering down, I fix the strap on my left shoe as an excuse to stop my staring.
“Are you sure you’re alright?” he prompts. “Because I only wish for you to feel better. Lying down for a few days will not affect your position here, I guarantee you.”
“I just need something to eat, that’s all. I’ll feel better afterwards,” I mumble honestly.
“Well, in that case…” with a dazzling smile, he offers me a bent elbow. “I can certainly fix that.”
Slipping my arm through his, I’m silently grateful for his support as he leads me out of the infirmary. We slowly walk the halls, and I can’t help glancing around every direction we pass. Trying to etch every room into my memory. Luckily, Cyrus doesn’t force any conversations.
Once we get to the end of a hallway with double doors, he knocks for a moment before swinging it open. The warm scent of sugar and vanilla wafts over me, and I can’t help but smile.
It’s a kitchen. Three chefs buzzing about freeze, eyes all shooting to us in the entryway.
Cyrus dips his head. “Good afternoon. May we have the room? If it’s not too much trouble?”
“Never, my King!” a woman squeaks, and all three of them bow before abandoning their tasks and leaving through a side door.
Hunger claws in my stomach at the assortment of pastries, fruit, cheeses, and breads all spread about the countertops. They’ve taken so much care and pride in just how they’ve prepared it. The cheeses are perfectly symmetrical slices, while the strawberries are carved to look like roses.
Cyrus leads me to the counter, then gestures. “You may have whatever you wish. I particularly,” he plucks a few grapes, “am fond of these. They’re from a vineyard in Everden. I suppose the closest I’ll ever come to drinking wine.”
As I grin, I let my arm slip loose of his as I take a few steps toward the pastries. My stomach grumbles at the scent of sugar. I grab one and take a quick inhale before taking a bite. My shoulders sag at the delicious taste, a soft hint of butter melting in my mouth.
Cyrus turns to lean back against the counter as he pops the grapes into his mouth one by one. Chewing slowly, thoughtfully. He slides a slow glance to me as I take another bite.
“Feeling any better?” he asks.
I nod, still chewing on my last bite before I swallow. “Much, thank you. I must say, the pastries here are far beyond what I could have possibly imagined. The best I’ve ever had. I don’t think my mother ever perfected such a balance of flaky yet soft.”
“Did you bake?”