Page 8 of Of Shadows and Blood

Obeying, I plant myself down, my body thanking me for the rest. The walk here wore my muscles out and I found myself aching for air more times than I’d like to admit. In addition to the physical aches, the crossroad I am at right now makes it hard to think. Sawyer said to trust this woman, and part of me does, but everything in me is urging me to run. Run far away and take Sawyer with me. This isn’t our place. We don’t belong.

Where is he?

The healer begins to busy herself with a cast-iron pot, throwing herbs and other items in whilst whistling to herself. I catch a whiff of some of the liquids she pours into the pot and nearly choke from the pungent smell. Does she mean for me to drink that?

“Is this the truth?” Avonde asks, back still facing me as she continues with her work.

“Is what, sorry?”

She reaches an arm behind her, gesturing to myself.

“This. Is this the truth? You’ve forgotten yourself?”

My hands clench, nails digging into my palms. “I do not know what you mean. I have not forgotten myself.”

Avonde turns to face me, the pot in her arms as she continues to stir, leaning against the worktable. “Did something happen to you? With Cedric? Are you in danger?” She whispers the last part.

“Why would something happen with Cedric? Other than him confusing me for—”

“Elivienne,” Avonde cuts in.

“Yes, her.”

Avonde sighs, staring into the pot and mixture she is producing. She doesn’t respond and we have met an impasse. Regardless of my sense of self, I evaluate every memory in my life. I would remember if I’d been in a place like this. I would remember the odd nature of nearly everyone in the castle.

And I would remember my name. Liv, it’s Liv.

“What’s that?” I gesture to the pot, unsure of her willingness to be forthcoming. A change in conversation seems best.

The cess smiles plainly and leans forward, handing the pot to me. Taking it warily, the smell hits me. Inside is a thick mixture of herbs and flowers, some of the familiar scent from earlier hidden in it. It almost shimmers in the faint light. I could be staring at the night sky by the way it flows and waves.

“Smell it. Entirely,” she coaxes.

“What will it do?” I hesitate. Everything and everyone here is so godsdamned suspicious. My eyes glance up to her, but she nods, arms folded and leaning against the table.

No answers, again.

We have reached yet another impasse.

“What is it? Like medicine?” I ask, my head suddenly heavy from the wafting scent.

Avonde shrugs and turns to busy herself with a book behind her.

Fine. I’ll play along.

I close my eyes and lean further into the pot, taking a big inhale, letting the scent fill my lungs with the spice of whatever was mixed in. My lungs expand, drinking in the effects. Immediately, it feels like liquid relaxation has consumed my body as a wash of warmth runs through my fingertips, past my cheeks, down my thighs and out through my toes.

When I open my eyes, my vision clears up, the clarity almost astonishing. The dust is so easy to see – how did I not notice it before? The weariness in my hips rights itself, feeling stronger. I lick my lips, finding them supple and no longer dry. My skin, still pale, has more color to it as I stretch my arms out in front of me.

“What did it do to me?” I ask, glancing down again at the pot, now empty.

“That was cessence,” she chimes, snatching the pot from my hand and walking to the rear of the room.

I twist and shake my head, feeling the new mobility of my neck. A bandage falls down my side as I settle. I run my fingers through my hair, finding the recently sore wound healed, as if it never existed.

“Did it heal me?” I ask, gaping at my newfound energy. Perhaps I am well enough to go home!

“You’re not,” Avonde answers my thoughts.