Chapter 21 Alfrie
Chapter twenty-one
Alfrie
Pain rips through me with every step I take up this damned hill toward the palace.
I wish I had worn a darker colored shirt.
This one is surely ruined with blood stains as it sticks to the open gashes streaking across my back.
I’m not entirely convinced all my pain is physical.
The look of horror on Zara’s face when she tumbled out of the corner of the stable was so much worse than the lashings.
I’ve never felt as small as I did in that moment.
I slip in through the servants’ entrance near the rear of the castle and gingerly walk through the dark stone hallway toward the healer’s room.
I pause every few feet or so to brace myself against the sting as torn flesh catches on the fabric of my shirt.
Thank the gods it’s too dark for anyone to notice me creeping around.
I finally reach the room where I assisted in caring for Zara when I first arrived here and inhale sharply against the throbbing, and struggle to push the heavy wooden door closed behind me.
A fire blazes in the corner of the windowless room, but no one’s here.
I rest my head against the wall, collecting myself, before searching for a bucket.
I’m a physician and can easily heal with knowledge and medicine, but unfortunately, I don’t possess healing magic like many other Fae.
So, I get to do it the old-fashioned way.
I find a metal basin on the overcrowded shelves between dusty books and two granite pestles and fill it with water.
Now for the fun part.
I hold my breath as I peel off my shirt, the fabric sticking to the clotting blood on my back.
With each tug, each movement, it’s as though I’m being whipped all over again.
The shirt is stained to high hell with bright red streaks.
So much for not making a mess, but at least it didn’t get torn this time.
I ball up the shirt and submerge it in the water basin before holding it above my shoulder.
My hand trembles slightly, knowing what’s coming, and I press it onto my upper back, letting the water stream down.
I arch uncomfortably as water pours down my shoulder blades and into the open wounds.
I bring my hand back and the once stark white shirt is now completely red.
I dip it back into the basin and prepare myself for a repeat of agony when the wooden door creaks open.
I freeze and stare at the door hoping the healer hasn’t decided to come back from wherever they were.
No one can know about this. It’s bad enough that Zara witnessed the beating.
Not that I’m concerned she would say anything.
I highly doubt she thought much more about it after she boosted her ego by acting as my savior.
Leer steps into the room, and I quickly duck down behind the wooden bench I was sitting on, hoping he won’t come any farther if he doesn’t see me right away.
“Alfrie? Zara told me what happened. What are you doing on the floor?”
Dammit, Zara. I peer up and he stands over me. I guess the basin with bloody water I left on the table gave me away. He helps me to my feet, and I ease down to the bench again and grab the wet shirt to continue cleaning.
He takes the cloth from my hands and steps around to my back. “Here. Let me help you.”
We don’t speak for several moments and any pain I would experience from him rinsing my gashes is replaced by solid embarrassment.
He tenderly presses the damp cloth into a particularly deep wound along my spine and I tense, gripping the table. “I’m sorry.” He lightens his touch. “I had no idea he was doing this to you.” His voice is so low I wonder if he’s actually talking to himself.
“I know.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Because I don’t want his pity. Because of this moment, right now. Because I hate feeling weak and vulnerable even though I’ve worked so hard to be stronger than my past. Because I’m used to it. Used to cleaning up his messes and taking the punishment for him.
There are so many reasons. But I don’t say any of them aloud.
He wrings the shirt out in the basin and leaves it on the table.
He sits on the bench next to me, his damp hands resting in his lap.
“That should do it. You’ll want to cover them with something…
” his voice trails and I know how uncomfortable he is.
Like Zara, he’s never had to see or take part in dealing with servant punishment.
Hell, he’s probably never witnessed much violence at all.
Like his betrothed, he’s been mostly sheltered.
At least in the ten years since I’ve known him.
“Thank you,” is all I can muster.
He wipes his hands on his trousers. “I know this happened because of me leaving the palace without you. That you have taken this punishment in my stead.”
“Yes, well, I’m used to cleaning up after you.” I cringe. I didn’t mean to say that out loud. I jerk my head around to see his reaction. His face is a mask as it always is when he’s working through some sort of negative emotion. “I didn’t mean that.”
He raises his eyebrows and one side of his mouth curves up, but he doesn’t look up from his lap. “Yes, you did.”
“Leer…apologies. I forget myself.”
He lifts his gaze to me. “You know you are my closest friend, and I care for you as I would a brother. But Alfrie, we are not equals.” Leer stands and unbuttons his blue button-down shirt.
“As you are ‘used to cleaning up after me’, please be more careful to avoid being seen when punishment is delivered.” He removes his shirt and drapes it over my back.
“I had to use glamour on Zara today, and I have no idea what it will cost me. I can’t allow my future bride to remember what she witnessed in that barn.
She might question our betrothal, and that’s something I can’t risk. ”
I’m shocked. He glamoured her.
Glamour magic is not something that Seelie Fae can simply use without losing some part of ourselves. It’s a power that should only wielded in a life-or-death situation. Or never. A marriage contract isn’t usually considered life or death.
He pats me on the shoulder, sending a shockwave of agony through me, and strolls bare-chested to the door. He pauses briefly, looking out into the hallway. “Oh, and Alfrie? Remember who you owe your life debt to.” He glances back at me with a cruel smile.
I bow my head. “Yes. Your Grace.”
He laughs. “I hate when you call me that. I’ll see you at dinner.” Leer steps out of the room, the door slamming with a loud thud behind him.
I stare at the empty space where he stood, left alone with my own growing uneasiness.
In all the years I’ve been in Lanray with Leer, I’ve never seen him unravel in the way I just observed.
He’s always been easy-going, jovial even.
I hope I imagined the flicker of hatred and anger he so easily transformed into laughter. I shudder.
The encounter was strange, to say the least.
I chalk it up to stress and pour out the dirty water in the basin, tossing my ruined shirt into the flames in the fireplace. I slip my arms into the shirt that Leer plastered into my open cuts and head out the door to return to my room.
I’m halfway down the hall, successfully avoiding eye contact with cooks and the random soldiers making their way about the servants’ quarters, when Alix turns a corner ahead of me.
He falls into step beside me. His short black hair is tasseled, and worry wrinkles his forehead. He’s no longer dressed in his royal uniform. Instead, he wears a simple white tunic over black trousers. “Are you busy?”
“I was just on my way to dress for supper.” I continue on my way and avoid looking over at him hoping he takes the hint that I’m in no mood for talking.
“Emlyn is awake.”
I pick up my pace. “Wonderful. You should see if the healer—”
He jogs a couple steps to keep up. “I was hoping you could come and see her. You’re the only one who has seen that poison before.” He skips ahead and stops in front of me, forcing me to come to a halt. “Please?”
My shirt is starting to stick to my wounds. I really need to get back to my rooms before I bleed through the material, but the pleading look on his face has me nodding and asking him to take me to Emlyn instead.
I follow him up toward the west turret of the palace, wincing and using the stone wall for support with each stair we ascend. I stay behind him, so he doesn’t notice me flinch or see the drops of blood that are bound to be seeping through the shirt by now.
The door to Emlyn’s room is already open when we arrive and Alix rushes in, making himself comfortable in a chair that has been pulled up to her bedside. Emlyn’s eyes are open, and she tracks his movements around her bed, her lips lifting slightly as he sits next to her.
I approach the bedside, gazing down at her.
Her deep bronze skin is dull, and it takes some effort for her to turn her head toward me as I lean forward, placing the back of my hand to her head and forearms. Her eyes flutter as though she is struggling to keep them open.
“Rest now,” I whisper, and pull back the heavy blankets to assess the gash.
There’s a green tint to the dressing, and I peel it back, revealing the wound.
Alix appears beside me and takes the blanket from my hand to free it for my assessment.
“Her cuts are healing. But very slowly.”
“Would it help to try healing her again?”
I shake my head. “If this is the poison we suspect, it won’t react to Fae magic. But she’s awake now so that’s a step in the right direction.” I put the dressing back in place and Alix lowers the blankets, smoothing them out over Emlyn as she sleeps. “She just needs time.”
“And you?” Alix glances over his shoulder at me.
I frown. “Me?”
He lifts his chin and lowers his eyes toward my shirt.
Damn. Blood must be seeping through. “I’m fine.” I walk to a basin on the other side of Emlyn’s room and rinse my hands.
Alix’s throat bobs. “You’re not fine.”
“It’s nothing.” I head for the door. “Make sure she gets plenty of rest. If the healer returns, have them change her dressing.” I reach for the doorknob. I need to get out of here.
“Please. Let me help you. You saved her life.” Alix steps toward me and lifts his hand. “It’s the least I can do.” He motions for me to spin around so my back faces him.
I oblige and unbutton the blue shirt Leer gave to me. It pulls against my skin and every muscle in my body tenses as I gently remove it.
“Gods,” He mutters under his breath. “Who did this?”
“I earned it.” I don’t offer any more information, and he doesn’t press me on it. As one who shares my lower status, he understands the realities of court.
“This will sting.”
I ball my hands into fists at my sides and brace myself.
A surge of electricity courses through my veins and heat radiates over my entire back.
It doesn’t just sting. It’s like a thousand tiny knives stabbing me.
Tearing into me. Knives that have just been pulled from a blazing fire.
It lasts for less than an instant, then the pain lessens, soon fading into nothing.
I can no longer feel his healing magic. Or the gashes that were there before he started.
“I can’t remove the scars that were already there, but at least there won’t be new ones.”
My shoulders relax, the tension locked there for the last hour released. I put my shirt back on and turn toward him. He’s already returned to his post next to Emlyn. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He’s not looking at me. He wraps his hand around Emlyn’s.
I watch as he lifts her fingers to his lips and kisses them, holding them to his cheek.
He seems to remember I’m still in the room, and he glances up at me, eyes widening slightly.
I look away quickly and clear my throat.
“I’ll be back to check on her after dinner,” I say to the deep blue carpet under my boots.
“Alfrie—” Alix starts, but I hold up my hand.
“I’ve seen nothing.” I offer him a tight smile and slip out of the room, closing the heavy door behind me.