Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Everything felt sore. There was a deep pounding behind her temples.
Her mouth was dry and her lips chapped. Orla woke, head feeling like it had been cleaved in two.
She tried to open her eyes, but her eyelids were as heavy as stone, so she used her other senses to figure out where she was.
Cradled in something impossibly soft, she realized she was laying down in her bed.
There was a dip next to her hip on the bed and a soft inhale and exhale.
She wasn’t alone. Hints of cedar and charcoal filled her lungs as she breathed.
Slowly, she forced her eyes open. It took a moment for her blurry vision to become clear.
She wasn’t in her room. This room was far grander, with powder blue paint accented with silver flowers adorning the walls.
Sun shone through the large window, and airy gossamer curtains obscured her view beyond the window.
The bed was plush and much larger than her bed at the palace.
The palace.
The attack.
She bolted upright, immediately regretting the sudden movement as her ribs smarted in protest, forcing her to lay back down.
“Orla,” a deep, groggy voice called. She looked down to see Owain, holding her hand, his head rising from the bed near her hip. He was laying awkwardly with his torso on the bed and his legs on the floor as though he fell asleep that way. Across from her, lounging in an armchair, was Chrys.
“Oh, thank Amara, you’re awake.” Owain let out a sigh of deep relief, reaching to cup her cheek.
He looked exhausted. Deep purple circles stood out under his pale blue eyes that were puffy and rimmed with red.
His hair stuck up at odd angles as if he had been pulling at it all night.
It looked as though he hadn’t shaved in days.
His normal dark stubble had become fuller, threatening to become a beard.
His face and clothes were caked in blood. Her blood, she realized.
“How long have I been out?” she asked, voice weak from lack of use.
“Almost three days. Palace healers have been coming in to check on you, but they didn’t know if you’d sur—” He paused, taking her in.
“Gods, I thought I had lost you.” His voice cracked with emotion as he placed his forehead on hers, hand stroking her cheek while the other held the nape of her neck. “How are you feeling?” he asked.
Before she could answer, Chrys interjected. “Can you tell us what you remember?”
“Do we have to do this now,” Owain asked, gaze not leaving Orla’s.
“If you want to quickly find out who did this, yes.”
A pointed look passed between Chrys and Owain that Orla couldn’t decipher.
Clearing her throat, she began to recount the ordeal.
Parts of her memory were fuzzy, she couldn’t tell them what the attacker looked like, other than they had been tall and had the ability to teleport.
She started to stutter when she got to the point where she grabbed the rock to bludgeon the assassin.
Looking down at her hands, she saw that she still had blood under her fingernails.
It had been a long time since she had killed another person.
She expected to feel sickened by the fact that she had stabbed a person to death, but surprisingly, she felt resolved.
It would have been so easy to succumb to the attack and let it overpower her, but she fought back with all her might.
She hadn’t wanted to die in that garden.
In fact, being attacked made her realize just how much she wanted to live.
She hadn’t been living for a long time, just merely existing.
Though, she would have died if Owain hadn’t seen her. If he hadn’t taken her from the garden and healed her.
“Do you remember what they looked like? Or what kind of creature they were?” Chrys asked.
“I couldn’t tell. Every time I would try to get a good look at their face, it would blur and distort,” she said, voice gaining strength as she continued to speak.
Chrys raised an eyebrow in question as Owain spoke. “The teleportation sounds like Elven magic, but the blurred visage sounds like they used a malleability rune. If they were changeling, then they would have taken on the appearance of someone else, not tried to distort theirs.”
Runes were extremely old magic that few creatures still used.
Few Elves bothered with them, not wanting to admit that any other creature could have magic more effective or superior than their own.
She wondered how someone as young as Owain would know about that kind of magic and made a mental note to ask him about it later.
“You didn’t find them? The person who attacked me that is,” Orla asked. Her memories after being stabbed in the back were hazy, but she knew she had killed the attacker. Their body should have been in the garden.
“There was no sign of them when I looked over the balcony except for a large pool of blood. And Owain didn’t get a look at them before bringing you back to the palace.” Another pointed look ran between the two males as Owain exhaled in irritation. Clearly, she was missing a part of this exchange.
“I’ll see if anyone else around the palace saw anything so we can at least relay the information we do have to King Mikki when you meet with him.” Chrys rose from the armchair, making his way to the door.
“King Mikki has summoned me?” Orla asked. She knew he was expecting her soon and should have been unsurprised that he would want to see her after she was attacked on palace grounds.
“Yes, he sent a missive with the court messenger summoning you. He said you could take a few days to rest, but at the end of this week, he has requested our presence in the throne room.”
Owain rose from his position near the bed. “Let me go get you some food; it’s been days since you’ve eaten.”
“No!” Orla reached out and grabbed his hand.
“Don’t leave. Please.” She hated the vulnerability in her voice, but she didn’t want to be alone after that kind of attack.
She was still weak and didn’t know how well she could defend herself should her attacker return.
He kneeled back down near the bed, cupping her face between his hands.
“Never,” he said.
“Why don’t the two of you get cleaned up, and I’ll fetch you both some food,” Chrys said, his shrewd gaze examining the pair.
“Lavender tea,” Owain called after him as he made for the door once again.
“Pardon?”
“She likes lavender tea; tell the butler it’s for Orla and he will know how to prepare it.” Chrys nodded, eyes narrowed as he looked at his friend, before he turned and walked out of the room.