Page 6 of Leila’s Legacy

Four days later, however, she was not. She awoke to a slight stiffness to her joints and a mild discomfort under her right arm. By the time she dressed for the day, the stiffness had become an ache. Exhaustion pulled at her, drawing her back to her unmade bed, which she lay upon fully clothed. She had meant to be there only a moment when a knock came at the door and startled her awake.

Leila sat up to answer and a wave of nausea overtook her in a grip so firm, it was impossible to fight. She was sick upon the floor beside her bed, gasping for air from the violence of her retching.

“Do not come in,” she cried out to the person on the other side of the door. “I…” Chills rippled over her skin with the words she knew she needed to say to protect those around her. “I have the pestilence.”

The door flew open despite Leila’s warning and Isla rushed in. “Nay, my lady.” She ran to Leila’s side and immediately pressed a hand to Leila’s brow. The older woman hissed and drew her hand back as though she had been burned.

“My arm…” Leila shifted to allow Isla to pull back the shoulder of her kirtle and examine the pain in her armpit.

Isla gingerly pressed her cold fingers around the lump. Even such small proximity brought enough pain to steal Leila’s breath.

“It is the pestilence, is it not?” she asked weakly.

But in truth, she did not need to ask. The answer was already in Isla’s glossy eyes, in the way she pressed her fists to her chest as though the ache within was too great to bear.

Fatigue pulled at Leila, making her mind hazy and her limbs heavy. “You needn’t worry.” She spoke even as her eyes drifted closed. “I’ll survive. You know why. Because of him.”

“The Lion,” Isla murmured from somewhere that sounded distant to Leila’s ears.

The Lion.

His name repeated in Leila’s mind, echoing in a chasm of pain and suffering that came in flashes of altered awareness. Isla had been there with her dry hands and the sweet scent of herbs. There had been another woman as well, one with hair as red as the flames licking at Leila’s body. The woman was not fire, though. She was soothing; her hands cool like water, her voice a beautiful caress through the ugliness of pain.

They were not the only ones to attend Leila.

Death hovered near her, salivating like a dog gone too long without a meal, his breath snarling and ragged, huffing against her skin like ice. Leila stared into Death’s vacant eyes and saw herself reflected in those milky depths. Death came closer and the frigid fog around his body left her skin prickling. Still, she was not afraid.

She had seen her true death far too many times to fear this one. An end by the pestilence was preferable to the one she had seen; the death she knew she would endure. At least her demise through illness would come without her suffering the raw hurt of love betrayed.

The Lion.

Water welled around her, so cold it froze the breath in her lungs. Panic splashed through her veins. She knew this vision and did not want it. Death could have her soul now. Not later. Not with the Lion.

Strong arms held her down, his face distorted by the churning water above her, roiling with the force of her struggle. She didn’t need to see him when she knew so well what he looked like: the straight nose, those almond shaped hazel eyes, wavy blond hair falling to his broad shoulders, a strong jaw that bristled with golden whiskers.

Leila’s heart caught in her chest in a tangle of horror and hate. And love.

The Lion.

The water cleared from her throat and Death breathed in her fear, feasting on her fragile mortality. He reached for her with a skeletal hand, moon-white in the darkness. His fingers caught at her shoulder, lingering before all at once, he slithered away like a serpentine night terror.

Pain replaced Death’s presence, brilliant in its agony.

“Is it your shoulder?” a soft voice asked.

The question rattled through Leila’s awareness. Was it her shoulder? Even as she wondered at it, she found herself nodding through gritted teeth.

A gentle hand brushed her shoulder. The discomfort began to ebb.

Leila blinked her eyes open in an attempt to see what had caused such horrible agony. A woman with red hair tilted her head and pulled aside Leila’s nightrail to examine the blazing area. Rose. The name lifted in Leila’s memory. She was the woman they had helped in the village.

The woman lifted her attention to Leila and a smile lit her face. “Isla will be pleased to know you have awoken. She has been so worried.” Sadness touched Rose’s pale blue eyes. “We all have been.”

“What is on my shoulder?” Leila twisted her arm to better see what Rose was looking at.

The woman sat back. “Strange marks. It isn’t from the swelling.”

It was then Leila noted the lump under her arm, demonstrating the signs of recovery. The darkened knot had begun to lighten. She glanced to her shoulder and found five white dots, each about the size of a fingertip where Death had touched her.