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Consciousness comes slowly back to me. The first thing I notice is that I am in no pain, though I feel heavy, like lead, my limbs not wanting to respond to my call to move. Have I died? Am I in the Nether? Am I about to be led to judgment by Lacrys, the death goddess Karnia’s lover and steward?
Then my eyes finally open, and I see I am back in the room at Castle Grimble. The one from before my fight with Verrick. Was it all a dream? I feel confused, discombobulated, as if I have no anchor. I try to sit up, but a gentle hand pushes me down.
“No need for that right now, Regent,” says a soft, feminine voice. “Take things slowly. You’ve been gone for quite some time.”
I have? I turn my head slowly and see a round-cheeked woman in white robes at my side. Her skin is a dark tan, with black hair that is pulled back into a severe bun at her nape. Slightly pointed ears peek out from her hair, denoting her as a half-elf. She looks familiar, but I take a moment to place her.
“The healer’s assistant,” I croak out, my throat completely parched.
The woman nods and then pours water into a metal goblet. Her soothing hands come under my head, propping me up slightly so that I can drink. I draw the water in eagerly, but she admonishes, “Slowly, slowly. You don’t want to be sick.”
Chastened, I slow down, but still revel in the feeling of the liquid quenching my thirst and comforting my rasping throat.
When I have finally finished drinking, the healer’s assistant lays me back down and puts the goblet on the bedside table. She then fixes my blankets with the brusk sort of care of one who has done the action many times before.
“I’ll go tell the others you have finally awoken,” says the woman, brushing some wrinkles out of the front of her robe. “They have all been eagerly awaiting you.”
“How long was I asleep?” I ask, my voice sounding more natural, but still huskier than usual. I need more water.
“About a week,” says the healer’s assistant.
A week?The other woman must see the dismay on my face, because she says kindly, “You had much to heal from. You came to us at death’s door. If my master were not as skilled with his magics and tonics as he is, then you would have never made it.”
Death’s door? Suddenly, the rest comes flooding back to me. The ritual. The demon. My desperate bid to kill him that failed and then his cruel hand at my throat, the crushing pressure and no air. What happened after that? How did I survive such an ordeal?
The healer’s assistant answers my stunned silence by leaving the room. But I am not alone for long. The door bursts open and there is Verrick. Alive. Safe. Whole. I immediately blink back tears of relief.
“Verrick . . .” I say, then stop. What can I say? Sorry for breaking your heart and getting you captured early? Sorry I failed to rescue you? Please believe me, I never betrayed you? All those things sit at the tip of my tongue, but I say none of them.
Verrick doesn’t seem to notice my turmoil, however, and merely leans down, taking me up into a crushing embrace.
“You came back,” he is saying, relief and joy dripping off of his every word. “You came back.”
Slowly, I take my hands up and embrace him as well. “Sorry I kept you waiting,” I say, while holding him tight. Tears gather in my eyes again, and this time I can do nothing but let them fall.He is not angry with me. He seems to understand.
Then an awkwardahembreaks into our moment and we pull apart to see the healer and the assistant standing in the doorway, watching us. I can’t bring myself to feel embarrassed, however. I am too happy to see Verrick.
“I'll need to check on my patient,” the healer says, coming forward. “How are you feeling, Regent Santir?”
To my dismay, Verrick pulls back from me as the healer speaks, moving out of the way so that the old man can examine me. Verrick hangs on the edges of the chamber, hovering just out of reach. Why is he so quick to leave me?
But they asked me a question. So I turn to the healer and say, “I’m feeling well. No lingering pain.”
“Your throat?” he asks, putting a deft hand on my wrist to check my pulse. “Your wrist? Any stiffness or discomfort?”
For the first time, I think of Grazrath, bleeding on top of me, shattering my bones. I lift my right wrist and flex it. It’s perfectly fine. The healer must have been working very hard on me indeed for a broken bone to be fixed so quickly.
“It feels as good as new,” I assure the elderly man. “Thank you so much for your efforts.”
The healer chuckles before taking my hand and closing his eyes. “I would not have dared do anything other than my best, my lady.”
That’s a strange thing to say, but before I can comment, I feel a rush of healing magic pour into my body. It is a gentle feeling, probing this way and that, as if searching for any aches and pains. After a moment, the healer releases my hand and says, “Everything seems good. Your soul was rather fraying at the edges for a while. You gave us quite the scare, my lady.”
Mysoulwasfrayingat the edges? How close did I come to dying? Alarmed, I look at Verrick, who merely looks stoically back. After his initial outburst, he has withdrawn into his normal, severe self. Perhaps it is because we are in front of an audience. The thought makes me want to dismiss the healer and his assistant, but I also don’t want to be rude. They haveapparently saved my life, after all.
The healer continues, “I see no reason you cannot have visitors. I’ll inform Her Majesty at once.”
“You’ll inform who?” My eyes bug out. Adalind is here? But the healer doesn’t respond and simply leaves the room, his assistant trailing behind him. Then I am alone with Verrick.
