Chapter 18 Carys
Carys
I bolt awake, rivulets of sweat dripping down my back, my heart racing.
The sneering face of a former private guard—one before Tiernan and Callum—refuses to leave my mind long after the dream fades away.
I can still feel his vice grip around my wrist as he dragged me to my bedchamber, Iywan in pursuit, shouting for him to release me.
At thirteen years old, I hadn’t understood why someone would want to hurt me because of what he considered to be my parents’ misdeeds.
The guard barricaded us in my bedchamber. He threatened to slaughter me if the queen didn’t give him whatever had been promised to his family. Even now, I don’t understand what had been promised. Thankfully, he never had the chance to do anything beyond bruising my wrists.
Iywan and the Queen’s Guard broke down the door and pulled the corrupt guard away. Ellynne was there in the aftermath, before my mother arrived and deemed me brave.
“Nothing happened,” my mother repeated over and over. She gently pressed her cool hand to my forehead, and for a while, I convinced myself that I really could forget it all. But all I managed to do was blur the lines between what really happened and what I fabricated in my distressed mind.
My mother ordered his public flogging and execution for the highest treason.
I watched. Every moment. And I endured nights riddled by terrible dreams, despite telling myself that he’d deserved all of it.
I press my bare feet into the ground and fight to pull myself out of the past. Standing shakily, I grapple for the long cord beside my bed to pull the house bell.
When I draw back the curtains, the sky is bleeding with the first light of day. My door creaks open. Finally.
“Carys? Early call this morning.” Ellynne’s voice is still heavy with sleep, her red hair disheveled as though she’d rolled right out of bed and ran here.
I stare at her, wanting to say something—to apologize, maybe—but there’s a boulder in my throat. I swallow forcefully.
“Oh, sweet girl,” Ellynne says with a poor-dear expression on her face. She pulls her hair back, wrestling it into a messy bun and hurriedly tying a ribbon around it. “Nightmare?”
Sighing, I rub my hand over my face. “Dermot.”
Ellynne blanches, her lips a thin line.
Dermot taught me that even personnel considered trustworthy could betray me. A sheen of sweat coats my skin. “I could use a bath.”
“I’ve already called for one to be prepared,” Ellynne says gently. “Lowri’s supervising. Give them ten minutes, alright?”
Ellynne is always one step ahead of me; I can’t imagine what I’d do without her. “I’ll be having breakfast with the Grounder girl,” I tell Ellynne. “Could you have the kitchens send it over to her bedchamber?”
“Her bedchamber?”
I nod.
“Alright. I will. Let me just get a dress out for you,” she says. She rummages through my wardrobe, her voice coming faintly from within. “Any dress in particular you’d like to wear today?”
“It doesn’t matter.” I flop onto my bed and sigh deeply. It’s hard to get rid of the uneasy churning in my gut.
“How about this one?” Ellynne holds up a cerulean dress. She lightly presses her fingers to her temple and feigns a dazed expression. “With this dress you will hold all the courage and wisdom required to tackle the day.”
I roll my eyes. “That’s fine, Ellynne.”
Ellynne hangs the dress and begins laying out accessories to match. “Alright, while they work on the bath situation, I’ll get the message to the kitchen. I’ll be right back.”
Anxiety keeps my tongue all tied up. There’s a council meeting today.
I have so many concerns regarding the realm, so many questions.
The reports I get from Alys are vastly different from the renditions that council members present at the table.
Then there are the bits of information I recently learned from Durvla … How do those fit in?
A knock comes from my adjoining bath chamber just as Ellynne returns. “Bath’s ready!” Lowri calls from behind the door. Her small voice barely makes it through the oak.
I stand as Ellynne holds the door open, and step into the gentle steam of the bath chamber.
I unbutton my nightgown and slip the material off my shoulders, stepping out of it so that I’m standing in nothing but my necklace.
The rose-scented steam rising from the large tub in the center is inviting, the warmth kissing my skin.
But it reminds me of my mother and sadness wraps its arms around me.
The heat of the water is welcome as I submerge seconds after sinking into the tub. Resurfacing, I take a deep breath and lean back against the porcelain with my eyes closed. I need to compose myself.
“Any word about the queen?” I ask, my eyes still closed.
Servants talk amongst each other. They’re the ultimate spies—everywhere, but invisible to most. Underestimated.
“No change,” says Ellynne. “But think of it as a good thing. It means she’s not worse.”
“But not any better either.”
I stare up at the ceiling, at the painting of a field of wildflowers that my mother commissioned years ago. I keep my focus on the ceiling as a stinging sensation builds behind my eyes. “Leave me,” I say. “I need to think. I’ll be out momentarily.”
I sense their hesitation before Ellynne says, “Alright, we’ll be in your chamber. Shout if you need anything.”
When the door clicks closed behind them, my tears break free, silently coursing down my cheeks.
I have to face my mother again soon. It’s becoming harder and harder to deny the decline in her health.
Much like the outbreak in Mainland, her sickness is a mystery—same as my father’s was—but unlike the outbreak, its onset was gradual, with no cough or rash.
It started with a prolonged fever and when the heat left her body, so did much of her strength.
Then the bouts of pain began. Often, she’s in excruciating pain for unpredictable amounts of time. Months ago, these moments would come on suddenly and end quickly, with long periods of peace that allowed her to get out of bed and continue with her queenly duties.
Those moments are few and far between lately. The pain lasts longer, and her mind drifts farther and farther away.
No attempted cures have helped.
As her daughter, I can’t bear her being in pain.
As her heir, I dread taking her place. I can hardly take care of myself, let alone an entire kingdom.
When the water in the tub starts to cool, I take it as my sign to get out.
My pale skin is pink from the heat as I wrap a towel around myself and begin the lengthy process of wringing out my hair.
I roll and pile it atop my head before returning to my bedchamber.
Lowri lurches to her feet from where she’d been sitting at the table and my tresses tumble down just as dramatically.
Ellynne lounges prone in front of the fireplace, a novel—romance, no doubt—lying open on the rug. “Lowri, you literally scared the hair off Carys’s head,” she says as she gets to her feet and sets the book on my desk.
Lowri giggles. “Apologies, Princess. Did you enjoy your bath?”
I should refrain from responding, lest I say all the wrong things. “No.” I roll my eyes at my word that slips free anyway. But luckily, neither of them pushes me to elaborate.
Once I’m dressed, I step out of my bedchamber to where Callum is on guard. “Good morning,” he says with a small bow.
I nod to him.
“It’s rather early. Do you think Miss Garrick will be awake?”
“We’ll see.” I’m already walking off, heading toward the dressmaker’s bedchamber.
Once again, Durvla doesn’t answer the first or second time that I knock. Maybe she’s asleep. I push her door open, and she startles from where she’s sitting on the edge of the bed, garbed in a rust-colored dress and already hard at work. Very impressive.
“Your Highness,” she says, moving to set her knitting needles aside to stand.
I lightly flap my hand at her. “No need to get up. I’d like to see what you’re working on.”
Callum closes the door softly from the outside as I approach Durvla. She holds up her work, gnawing on her lip as she does so. “This is going to be the bodice.”
It doesn’t look like much, and certainly not like a bodice … I squint at it, trying to summon my imagination.
Durvla must recognize the incredulity on my face because she smiles and says, “I know it’s rather abstract right now. With this sort of thing, you have to trust the process.”
“Sounds like my whole life,” I mumble.
“Mine too,” she says, her smile faltering. She tucks the ball of yarn she’s working with into the crook of her elbow and stands, keeping the knitting needle point secured. “May I check the fit? I’m making them in panels, so I just want to be sure that the sizing is adding up correctly.”
“Sure.” I awkwardly extend my arms out to my sides while Durvla holds the fabric up to my torso and wraps it around to the sides.
“Perfect.” Her face lights up. Though she’s still been mostly evading eye contact, it’s nice to see something other than terror on her face.
I study her work, but I still can’t picture it beyond the random stitches somewhat reminiscent of lace.
Durvla sets the bodice down and faces me, her posture rigid. The supplies she bought from Barr na Cahar yesterday line one side of her bed.
“Did you sleep with all of this on your bed?” I ask.
“I … didn’t get much sleep,” she responds.
It seems last night was a restless one for us all.
There’s a loud rap on the door and I turn to listen as Callum announces the kitchen servants. “Let them in,” I call out.
Durvla’s brows scrunch together.
“Private breakfast is great when you don’t feel like socializing.”
The scent of food hits me as the servants enter, but my stomach is so knotted, I doubt I’ll be able to eat. “Set it down on the desk,” I tell the women.
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“Alright,” I say to Durvla. “Let’s see what’s for breakfast.”