Page 96 of A Queen’s Game (Aithyr Uprising #1)

Chapter Sixty-One

Elyse

F irst came the flashing lights, the crescent-shaped bow of lightning and bright white lines in Elyse’s vision, the room around her shifting in a disorienting manner.

Then came the muscle weakness, her slurred speech, and body so heavy that she couldn’t move.

The handmaid tried to help Elyse to the bed, but they only made it to the couch from her study.

That was two days prior.

Still curled up on the couch, a servant lifted another cup of water to Elyse’s mouth, goading her to drink.

When the water reached her stomach, nausea roiled again, and the liquid came back up.

The throbbing on the side of her head was excruciating, the effort of vomiting making it worse.

The handmaid said something about getting a doctor, but Elyse didn’t want one. She didn’t want to take Choke.

Even with the drapes drawn over the living room windows, the morning light was still too bright for her. The lavender scent of soap was too much, let alone the smell of food. Elyse could keep nothing down as her head pains made a horrid return. It had been years since she had one of that severity.

She told the handmaid that the head pains would pass.

And it was true—they would. But the longer Elyse went without eating or drinking water, the worse they grew.

Perhaps she should take Choke. Perhaps losing control of herself was worth more of the pain; yet, every time the handmaid insisted, Elyse turned her down.

Elyse had been studying magic in her suite’s office when it first hit.

After weeks of steady practice, she could draw aithyr to her body consistently.

With the help of Wyltam’s books, she could perform small magical feats.

Creating wind, moving objects across the room, and heating her tea were all second nature to her at that point, but that was before Elyse lost a couple of days of practice.

With sleep being nothing more than brief moments of unconsciousness and a slight reprieve from the pain, Elyse spent the last two days fretting about falling behind, about not practicing her mental exercises. The head pain needed to subside soon.

During one of her moments of brief unconscious relief, a quiet knock sounded on her suite door, followed by someone entering. Odd, considering the handmaid didn’t bother knocking the past day.

“Oh, Elyse,” whispered a voice, a broad male body approaching in her fuzzy vision. Sylas’ face took form as he knelt next to her. “Keyain said your head pains came back. Do you trust me? I have something to help—something that isn’t Choke.”

Elyse tried to speak, but her mouth felt foreign, like she had never spoken before. The left side of her head throbbed as she tried to nod.

A moment later, a glass vial pressed against her lips, the contents runny and sweet filling her mouth and throat, causing her to gag. Sylas held Elyse’s head, brushing back her hair, hushing her. The pain eased, as did Elyse’s mind as she drifted off to sleep.

Elyse woke in her bed, the curtains drawn around the four posters covering her in darkness. She sat up, and though she was dizzy, the pain in her head disappeared.

Because of Sylas.

Her legs wobbled as she stood, blood rushing to her head with the effort. When she looked down, Elyse noticed that someone had finally changed her clothes. A simple white tunic and soft, tight pants were preferable when she studied alone in her room. The handmaid must have changed her.

The central room of the suite grew dark with the setting sun, the only light coming from the study. Elyse approached to find Sylas sitting at her desk, looking through her notes.

“Sylas,” she choked out, her voice raw from vomiting and thirst.

He turned around, worry knotting his brows. “Are you feeling better?”

She nodded and gestured to her desk. “What are you doing? Why are you here?” Sylas owed her nothing. Elyse was thankful for his help, but playing messenger between her and Brynden was already a burden—taking care of Elyse shouldn’t be another.

Gods, the last time she saw Sylas, she cast him away because of his date with Lydia; yet, there he was. He came to help.

“I looked for you the past couple of days to drop off Brynden’s letter,” he said, standing up from the desk and facing Elyse.

“After the library study remained empty, I had a moment to talk to Keyain. He mentioned that your head pains returned. I convinced him I could help, and he let me into your suite—with guards posted outside, of course.”

“Thank you,” she said, pulling at the hem of her shirt. “But why are you still here?” Elyse bit inside of her cheek, the words coming harsher than she meant.

“I wouldn’t leave you alone,” he said with a smile tugging at his lips.

“I wasn’t sure how you’d react to the drugs, but they seem to have worked.

” Sylas paused, turning to pull the papers on her desk.

“Sorry for looking at your notes—curiosity got the better of me. Your drawings are incredible, Elyse. How far have you gotten?”

In her tired state, she wasn’t sure if she could do magic. With a deep breath, she cleared her mind and attempted. A gentle gust of wind blew past Sylas’ head, earning a surprised look.

“Is someone mentoring you?” he asked with furrowed brows.

Elyse leaned against the doorway, the magic stealing what little energy she had. “Not exactly. Someone provided the readings, but I’ve been doing the mental exercises and reaching out to aithyr on my own.”

Sylas shook his head, looking back down at the notes. “We’re heading back to Chorys Dasi in a couple of weeks. If you have made it this far with your own practice and materials offered here, then you should stay in Satiros.”

“That’s still my plan.”

Sylas studied her face, her clothes, her slumped posture against the door.

“Brynden will try to convince you to join us. He’ll try to make it work.

If he does, you shouldn’t throw this away.

” Sylas held up her notes. “I might be Brynden’s friend, but I know him and what he acts like.

Despite the head pains, you look better—comfortable in your own skin. Don’t let him take it away.”

“Why are you so nice to me?” she asked, pushing off the doorway, turning towards the living room. “Especially after the Lydia comment.”

Sylas laughed and followed her. “You were right about her being the worst.” His hand fell on her shoulder. “Friends warn each other, even if it isn’t what they want to hear.”

Elyse turned to him, staring up into his face.

Broad chested, Sylas was thicker than Brynden but still taller, and with his usual scowl, he looked like he was carved from stone—solid.

But his face softened, a smile hooking his lips.

What blossomed between them was friendship, and with them leaving in a few weeks, it wouldn’t give it enough time to take root.

That evening would be one of their last to see each other, the thought making her chest ache. If given the time, perhaps Sylas could have been her friend like Marietta. “Will you stay and eat with me?”

“A chance to dine alone in your suite? Absolutely,” Sylas said, his smile settling into a smirk. “It’ll drive Brynden crazy.”

At the old table in her suite’s common area, Elyse sat across from Sylas. Though it was just them, Elyse felt at ease as they slipped into conversation.

Servants had delivered a meal of steamed fish with lemon, vegetables with chickpeas, crusty bread, olives, and boiled eggs. Elyse ate heartily after days of nothing. Sylas stared at her with curiosity.

“I thought you didn’t eat meat,” he said, gesturing to the fish.

“I don’t. Steamed fish is all I can stomach.” That was the truth. “I can’t stand the flavor of anything roasted or burnt, so apologies for the steamed everything.”

“A peculiar diet,” he teased. “Are you as picky with all your food?”

“I’m not picky,” she said defensively. “There’s a reason I can’t stomach it.”

“Enlighten me then.”

Elyse hesitated. “Do you promise not to tell Brynden? The reason is quite morbid.”

Sylas laughed as he took a bite. “First dining alone and now sharing secrets? I would love to keep it from him as payment for playing his nursemaid.”

Elyse snorted a laugh. Then the humor died in her throat, her tone growing series. “You seem to know of my mother.”

“I do.”

“How much do you know of her death?”

Sylas’ smile dropped, his gaze studying her. “She deteriorated physically, and then took her own life.”

Elyse nodded, feeling her throat tighten. “And I was the one to find her at the base of the tower.”

Blood drained from Sylas’ face, his sympathy knitting his features.

Elyse couldn’t stand the sight of it, so she focused on pushing around the food on her plate.

“My father made me stand at her funeral pyre until her body was nothing but ash. Do you know how long it takes for a body to burn?” She glanced at him, then back at the table. “Five hours.”

Sylas set down his fork, his full attention placed on her.

“My father told me to watch, to see what became of my mother because of magic. He told me if I were ever to practice, then that would be my future—that I would be someone’s burden and eventually reduced to ash.

” Elyse swallowed hard at the memory. “The smell, Sylas. It was too close to meat. I couldn’t… ” her voice tapered off.

Sylas offered her his hand across the table. She hesitated but placed her own in his—a silent comfort. Tears were quick to fall from her eyes.

“Though my father isn’t a very traditional male, I was to wear the traditional mourning veil through the burning.

He also made me wear it for the mourning period after, not allowing me to have it washed.

” Elyse’s voice guttered, and Sylas squeezed her hand.

“He said the scent that clung to my veil was my reminder of what my future could be. Ever since then, anything burnt or roasted or of meat brings back those memories.”