Chapter 8
I crackmy eyes open and face the dawn bitterly. I’m back in my chambers on the massive bed. Feathers poke out at my cheek and eye through the pillowcase.
When I go to sit up, I find that I can’t. My arms refuse to support my body. I can’t even straighten my elbows.
With enough wriggling, I manage to flip onto my back and let out a monumental whine. I feel as though I’ve swum the wide, choppy strait between Capton and Lanton. I’m a beached whale, heaving, and begging for life.
Begging for life.
The violent echoes of the needy earth come back to me. I groan and bring my hands up to my ears. It’s futile to try and block out the whispering demands; the sound is coming from within me. The hungry cries reverberate in my marrow.
“You’re awake,” a man says from my bedside.
I crack my eyes open and my hands fall limply on my pillow. At first glance, my mind deceives me and I’m back in my bed. My father sits beside me, wringing a washcloth out to put back on my forehead. I blink and the illusion is gone. Nothing more than a memory of comfort I will never know again.
“Who are you?” I rasp.
“Willow.”
“The name suits you.” He’s all arms and legs, waif-like and as spindly as a willow tree. The man’s eyes are a sad shade of blue and he looks at me with a heavy gaze. “I don’t want your pity,” I mutter.
“Like it or not, you have it.” He wrings out a cloth in the basin at my side and returns it to my forehead.
“Am I fevered?” I ask.
“Mildly. It’s breaking. The king won’t tell us your true name, so we’re limited in what we can do for you,” he says in a way that tells me the fact is a point of contention. Anyone who stands up to King Eldas is a friend of mine, I decide. “So we have to use more traditional medicines.”
“That means?”
“Potions, salves, whatever herbal remedies we can concoct.”
“You say it like those things are insufficient.” I glance up at him, perhaps with an expression a little sharper than I realize judging by his reaction.
“I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“Well, you did.” I try and push myself up a second time. Willow helps situate me against the massive, carved headboard, placing one of the several hundred pillows behind my back so the intricate designs don’t dig into my spine. “What are you giving me?”
“A potion.”
“Obviously.” I roll my eyes. “What’s in it?”
“An infusion of basil, ginger, and elderberry.”
“You’re not even using your namesake?” I arch my eyebrows at him as I sink back, trying to find a comfortable position. It hurts to be in my skin. “White willow bark, don’t even bother with cinnamon for the taste. Some bridewort, if you have it.” He continues to stare at me. “Let me assure you, I know what I’m talking about; I went to academy for this. It’s my job.”
Was my job.The mental correction leaves me hollow. I had a life, a purpose, and now it’s…gone.
“Fine.” Willow barely refrains from rolling his eyes and goes back to a long table that’s at the foot of the bed. I don’t remember it being there when I first investigated my rooms.
“How long was I out for?”
“About twelve hours,” he says as though the fact were nothing.
“Twelve hours…” I repeat. My attention drifts to the window. “What happened?” I whisper.
My bones creak and muscles scream as I turn back the heavy comforter trying to pin me down. My bare feet touch the floor, sleeping gown falling around my calves.
“Your Majesty!”