Chapter 3
A millennia has come and gone, yet the thirst for life has not.
The healer moves swiftly but is keeping pace with me as I attempt to keep upright through the winding hallways, passing by darkened courtyards and staring faces.
“I–I can’t remember exactly what happened. I have so many questions,” I stammer. The woman looks back and smiles gently, silently.
Meaning I will get no answers.
I turn my focus to the walls of the corridor we’re traveling down.
Thick rugs line the inner wall, shades of red and purple interwoven with black.
Silver thread lines the edges of the massive tapestries.
Adjacent to the rug-lined walls is a wall with several windows and openings into various gardens, landings and courtyards.
Some are occupied with other bystanders, all similar in looks.
Compared to my clothing, they are grossly overdressed in fine fabrics and designs.
But some are underdressed, as if unbothered by the chill.
One woman is snugly fitted in a corset, framing her thin waist. Her breasts are barely covered by thin pieces of leather arranged in a swirl pattern placed expertly enough to hide her nipples.
Though, I’m not sure it would matter if they slip because the woman next to her also wears a corset, but no shift underneath.
I avert my eyes as we pass them and choose to focus on Avonde in front of me.
The healer, cess, whatever that means. Her dress is simple and unfitted, flowing elegantly as she walks.
It is still more formal than my nightgown.
Hers is made of a loose sheer fabric on the arms, tightened by cuffs on her wrists.
Save for my own garb, she is the only one dressed in a shade of white.
We descend another set of stairs, though luckily these don’t go round and around. Any steeper and my body surely would add more injuries to count. Already, I’ve lost track of where we are and where we came from.
The room we enter is small and cozy, warmer than the rest of the place.
I cannot place where a building of this magnitude would exist where I come from.
Now in a subterranean portion, I suspect, I look around slowly.
The room is low lit with no windows. Small fires here and there upon the walls seem to burn from nothing.
No wood or coal supports the flames. I move my gaze down to the rest of the wall.
Covering the area are shelves and shelves of books, bottles and ancient-looking orbs.
I want to open them, learn their secrets, read whatever magic lies inside them, but I remember that I am not here to visit. I am being held here.
“Sit.” Avonde gestures to a sleek velvet couch adjacent to a row of tables also covered with various objects and books. I sense I can trust Avonde. Her face is friendly and she has a gentle energy about her. Most healers are this way.
Obeying, I plant myself down, my body thanking me for the rest. The walk here wore my muscles out and I found myself aching for air more times than I’d like to admit.
In addition to the physical aches, the crossroad I am at right now makes it hard to think.
Sawyer said to trust this woman, and part of me does, but everything in me is urging me to run.
Run far away and take Sawyer with me. This isn’t our place. We don’t belong.
Where is he?
The healer begins to busy herself with a cast-iron pot, throwing herbs and other items in whilst whistling to herself. I catch a whiff of some of the liquids she pours into the pot and nearly choke from the pungent smell. Does she mean for me to drink that?
“Is this the truth?” Avonde asks, back still facing me as she continues with her work.
“Is what, sorry?”
She reaches an arm behind her, gesturing to myself.
“This. Is this the truth? You’ve forgotten yourself?”
My hands clench, nails digging into my palms. “I do not know what you mean. I have not forgotten myself.”
Avonde turns to face me, the pot in her arms as she continues to stir, leaning against the worktable. “Did something happen to you? With Cedric? Are you in danger?” She whispers the last part.
“Why would something happen with Cedric? Other than him confusing me for—”
“Elivienne,” Avonde cuts in.
“Yes, her.”
Avonde sighs, staring into the pot and mixture she is producing. She doesn’t respond and we have met an impasse. Regardless of my sense of self, I evaluate every memory in my life. I would remember if I’d been in a place like this. I would remember the odd nature of nearly everyone in the castle.
And I would remember my name. Liv, it’s Liv.
“What’s that?” I gesture to the pot, unsure of her willingness to be forthcoming. A change in conversation seems best.
The cess smiles plainly and leans forward, handing the pot to me.
Taking it warily, the smell hits me. Inside is a thick mixture of herbs and flowers, some of the familiar scent from earlier hidden in it.
It almost shimmers in the faint light. I could be staring at the night sky by the way it flows and waves.
“Smell it. Entirely,” she coaxes.
“What will it do?” I hesitate. Everything and everyone here is so godsdamned suspicious. My eyes glance up to her, but she nods, arms folded and leaning against the table.
No answers, again.
We have reached yet another impasse.
“What is it? Like medicine?” I ask, my head suddenly heavy from the wafting scent.
Avonde shrugs and turns to busy herself with a book behind her.
Fine. I’ll play along.
I close my eyes and lean further into the pot, taking a big inhale, letting the scent fill my lungs with the spice of whatever was mixed in.
My lungs expand, drinking in the effects.
Immediately, it feels like liquid relaxation has consumed my body as a wash of warmth runs through my fingertips, past my cheeks, down my thighs and out through my toes.
When I open my eyes, my vision clears up, the clarity almost astonishing.
The dust is so easy to see – how did I not notice it before?
The weariness in my hips rights itself, feeling stronger.
I lick my lips, finding them supple and no longer dry.
My skin, still pale, has more color to it as I stretch my arms out in front of me.
“What did it do to me?” I ask, glancing down again at the pot, now empty.
“That was cessence,” she chimes, snatching the pot from my hand and walking to the rear of the room.
I twist and shake my head, feeling the new mobility of my neck. A bandage falls down my side as I settle. I run my fingers through my hair, finding the recently sore wound healed, as if it never existed.
“Did it heal me?” I ask, gaping at my newfound energy. Perhaps I am well enough to go home!
“You’re not,” Avonde answers my thoughts.
“How did you…” I trail off, not daring to think another. The healer whirls to face me again, anger across her brow.
“Elivienne, we are alone now. Speak the truth. Are you in danger?”
“Am I?” I question.
“I must examine you; your brain showed no signs of severe distress when you were in the coma but now, I wonder if something was missed.”
“Or perhaps I am not who you think I am. Perhaps Elivienne has a doppelganger,” I chuckle, inching towards the stairwell slowly. I make a mental note that I am now able to hold myself upright with more ease. I dare a glance at the stairwell.
Enough with this.
“Don’t,” she warns, holding her finger up.
I sigh and slouch back against the cushion. How can she read my thoughts. “Again, I know nothing of what you speak of. My name is Liv. I am from…” My words lose me.
What was the name of my village?
“I thought the cessence would heal you and your mind rather than trying to feed you again. But, they’re bringing a chest for you which should hopefully tide you over.
Thank Erees, for that even being an option.
But,” she starts, pondering her next words, “either it did not or you are hiding something.”
“What is cessence?”
“It’s a medicinal formula used to revive a cess. Some find it as an energy boost in the morning or after long hours of wielding. In your case, I hoped it would heal and clear your mind.”
“So, I’m a cess?” I laugh, clapping my hands together. What in the world is happening?
“You’re a few things,” Avonde responds, looking inquisitively at me.
“I need to get home.”
“This is your home.”
“It is not.” I clench my teeth.
Avonde conjures a book on the table in front of her, turning through the weathered pages until she finds what she was searching for.
The book appeared without hesitation, as if her thought willed its existence.
I can’t help but jump a half step towards the stairs, trying to find a way out of this nightmare.
My muscles strain to stay rooted when my fight or flight is begging me to go.
Pressing her lips into a thin line, Avonde examines the page again. The book is large and from what I can see over the cover, ancient words and symbols I know nothing of are scribbled all over the pages. It’s a language I’ve never seen.
“My only other option is to examine your mind. I am a healer, I will not hurt you. You have my word,” she says glancing up from the book, pausing my slow progress towards the exit. She moves closer, examining me curiously.
“You speak of options, but what are you trying to determine? I am well. You are the one who is confused,” I respond, immediately tensing up.
“We are trying to determine if what you speak is true. That you have forgotten everything, everyone. That the injuries you have sustained are far worse than we measured.” Her fingers tighten.
A voice responds from behind me. “Amnesia is not uncommon in vampyr, though we have limited experience with those who have both blessings.”
I whirl around and find a man in robes dressed similarly to Avonde. “Who are you?”
He smiles and lifts his hands up, approaching slowly. “I am Henry, a healer.”