Page 34 of Daughter of the Serpent

Her throat thickened.And what had become of Hjalmarr?

Had he already been cast from temple service for his failure to keep them contained?

Guilt clung to her like a veil. They hadn’t been close, but at least he had offered her some sort of compassion. Her thoughts went back to the honey cake he had managed to save her - it was a small thing, a trinket that would have meant little to most - but to her, it had meant more then he would ever know.

Shifting slowly upward, careful not to stretch her already open skin, Sylvie tried to straighten her body and grasp her bearings. A muted throb pulsed through her skull as she built the strength to lift herself up, a brief reminder of the blow that had knocked her unconscious when she had been thrown to the floor. Placing her hands to her face she tried to push back the few strands of hair that had fallen into her eyes. Still foggy, her vision wasn’t clear, the edges of her sight stretching thin and washed out like the blurred edges of a painting. Rubbing her eyes, she blinked roughly, desperate to make more sense of her environment. Slowly her vision cleared, and she let out a sigh of relief.

Familiarity swept through her as she caught sight of her usual surroundings - the stone walls, the thick drapes sealing out the draft and snow, the white washed linens freshly laid out on her simple wooden bed. The lit torches gave off a golden glow to the room, casting an illusion of sunlight in the darkness. The windows had been shut in, and tapestries hung to conserve whatever warmth possible.

Instinctively she moved closer to the small lit fire that she assumed the servants had prepared in preparation for her shut in. It would be a few days til she got to see the sun again. Her wounds would need to heal before she could resume her regular duties, and there would be no magical assistance this time - Rederick would make sure of that. Catching sight of the bed closest to her, she reached out for the fresh setof robes laid out, clutching them to her for extra warmth before attempting to slip them over her shoulders. Moving gently and with caution she wrapped the welcome shelter of the fabric around her, uncaring of the congealing blood that would surely stain the fresh linen.

Another creak echoed through the room, and Sylvie froze, holding her breath.

“Who’s there?” she called, her voice tight as her head whipped toward the sound. The sudden movement sent her vision spinning, but it steadied just long enough for her to make out a slumped figure on the bed.

“Tara!” she gasped, a burst of adrenaline surging through her weary body. She pushed herself toward the bedside as quickly as her weighted limbs would allow.

“I’m here,” Tara murmured, her voice faint and trembling.

Ignoring her own pain, Sylvie dropped to her knees beside her friend, her hands trembling as they reached out. “Look at me, Tara,” she pleaded, her voice thick with desperation.

Tara opened her eyes with protest, her body curled up under her thin blankets. Red had seeped through her night clothes and into the bedding beneath, and a thin sheen of sweat dampened her skin despite the chill.

“I’m so sorry,” Sylvie whimpered, cupping Tara’s cheek, tears instantly flooding her vision.“I’m so sorry…”

Before Tara could answer, the door creaked open, the thick wood groaning as it swung wide. Brunhilda, the temple’s head servant, stepped inside, huffing as she strode forward, her thick girth carrying a weighted step. She trudged forward silently, a bucket of water sloshing in one hand and a basket of herbs and pastes from the healers in the other. Her eyes scanned the room with a withering gaze. “I’ve been assigned to tend to your wounds.” Her eyes fell upon Sylvie. “Despite my wishes.”

With a huff she placed one of the baskets at the head of Tara’s bed, her displeasure evident in the thin line of her pinched lips, and the arch of her brow.

Sylvie blinked, her confusion rising. “Surely the healers - ”

Brunhilda’s eyes snapped toward her, sharp as a blade. “None can be spared.”

Sylvie swallowed hard, her voice trembling as she pressed, “Why? What happened?”

Brunhilda froze for a moment, her knuckles whitening around the second basket. When she turned to Sylvie again, her expression was filled with agitation.

“While the village was debating your fate, there was another attack. Three more are in the infirmary - some may not last the night.”

The air in the room thickened, pressing down on Sylvie like a weight she couldn’t escape. Guilt clawed its way up her throat, hot and relentless, until her chest ached.

Could it have been the Karnikim?

Brunhilda took a deliberate step forward, her lips curling with disgust. “Do you see now, girl? You’ve cost us more lives than you could ever hope to be worth.” She spat, her mouth twisting in disapproval before sparing a look in Tara’s direction. “And now here another lies in suffering because of you.”

Sylvie stiffened but said nothing, her eyes casting down to the floor.

Brunhilda’s scorn deepened, her voice lowering into a venomous hiss. “If only Baldr had done us all a favor and killed you when he had the chance.”

Sylvie’s heart sank. “You don’t need to tend to me,” she murmured, her voice soft and broken. “But please, help her. She’s in pain.”

Brunhilda’s huff was sharp and dismissive, but she turned toward Tara without another word. Her weathered hands settled on Tara’s shoulder, surprisingly gentle. Tara flinched at the touch, her face twisting in pain.

“There, there,” Brunhilda murmured, her tone softening. “You’re not to blame for any of this. We all know where the fault lies.” She cast Sylvie a pointed look.

“Now let’s take a proper look at you.”

A soft whimper escaped Tara’s lips as Brunhilda opened up her robe, revealing the raw expanse of her back. Sylvie’s breath caught. The sight of Tara’s wounds - torn, red, and glistening with blood - stabbed through her like a knife. The skin, once smooth and unblemished, would be a mass of soon to be healed scars.