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Sirus was consumed by the shadow. Once more, she was alone.
A flash of blue struck like lightning.
Gwen’s body felt like it was made of lead as her sleep-fogged brain tried to make sense of things.
She was in a bed, she realized after a few moments.
Her heavy eyelids fluttered open, and she immediately squinted against the oppressive light. When she’d adjusted, she took in the soft rays of sunshine that spread between the gaps in the curtains, revealing a furnished bedroom with stone walls and old dark wood furniture. She began to recognize the smell of polish, leather, and woodsmoke. A fire cast a soft orange and yellow glow over the far side of the room.
She blinked. The gears in her head slowly started to churn.
Where the hell am I?
There was movement by the fire. Only her eyes moved, as her head wasn’t yet able. Barith sat in a chair by the small hearth, rolling his giant shoulders as he kept his eyes on the book in his lap. Everything snapped into place the moment she saw him. Gwen’s head throbbed as recognition struck her, like every memory flooded into her brain all at once.
She didn’t gasp or jolt up—she just lay there. Letting it wash over her. The shock. The blur of memories. The fear.
If she moved, Barith would know she was awake.
If he looked at her, she would have to ask him.
If she asked, he would have to answer.
Gwen’s chest grew heavy under the weight of it all, causing her to push out a harsh, uncontrolled breath. Barith’s amber eyes darted to her the moment she did.
His expression was full of concern but nearly immediately softened. They just looked at each other for a few seconds before he said, “He’s alive.”
The weight lifted, and Gwen took in a deep breath that made her body ache in protest.
It had worked. Somehow, it had worked. Sirus was alive.
Barith stalked over to the edge of the bed; the jovial twinkle returned to his eyes. “Can’t say his brush with death has warmed him up any,” he teased. “You, on the other hand, look even more radiant than before.”
Gwen replied with a soft snort of disbelief, causing her face and head to pulse with pain.
Why does everything hurt so damn much?
She shifted in bed and winced when she put pressure on her right arm.
“Careful, there,” the dragon huffed. “You’ve still got some healing to do.”
Her right forearm was bandaged tightly in stark white linen. She lifted her hands. Jagged, dark-pink lines ran across each palm beneath a layer of some kind of salve that smelled floral and earthy.
A glass of water appeared at the side of her face. “Drink this,” Barith told her, moving as if he were going to pour it into her mouth.
“I can do it,” she declared shakily. Her throat felt sore and tight. She took the glass gingerly with the tips of her fingers, careful not to push it against her palms. She guzzled down the first glass like someone who’d been dying of thirst. The second, she savored. She’d never thought water could taste so good. After her third, her belly felt like a sloshing sea.
Gwen slid over to try and get out of bed.
“Don’t even think about it,” Barith snapped, taking one step closer to loom over her with disapproval. His giant dragon wings were glamoured away, but his scaled golden-red tail swayed behind him.
“I just need to stand,” Gwen grumbled. Her body felt stiff and heavy and strange. Like she hadn’t moved in months.
Barith grunted in annoyance but slid back and gently grabbed her elbows in his bear-sized hands to steady her. Any other time, she might have brushed him off, but as Gwen shifted her legs to the edge of the bed, she knew without him she would topple over the moment her toes touched the floor.
As her legs dangled, she finally bothered to realize what she was wearing: a dusty-rose-colored, strappy silk nightgown.
“Levian,” Barith explained, clearly reading the confusion on her face. “She insisted on cleaning you up and dressing you. If you don’t like the frippery, take it up with her.”
