Page 32 of Court of Secrets and Flames (Dragons of Tirene #2)
Chapter Thirty-Two
The morning light creeps in, too cheerful for the pain still curling within me. Mother’s fingers brush against my forehead, her touch light as a sigh. My eyes flicker open, and she’s there. Not just a desperate dream of comfort.
Her presence is a silent sign of safety. She dips a cloth into the wash basin, wrings it out gently, and places it on my forehead. While the coolness doesn’t reach the fire in my gut, it still soothes the ache in my head.
I blink away the foggy ache that clouds my vision and find her eyes brimming with unshed tears. “Mother…?”
“Oh, Lark. I nearly lost you. They said if you’d taken a bigger bite…” A tear escapes, trailing down her cheek. “All I ever wanted was to keep you safe.”
I reach out, weakly grasping for her hand with mine. “Not your fault.”
She catches it and presses it to her lips. “Do you feel any better?” The worry behind her soft voice roars as loud as any dragon.
“A little.” It hurts to talk. I remember the healer checking my throat and saying the lining was torn and bleeding.
I turn my head to avoid retching again. My mother came sometime during the night. After the healer brought the first tincture of herbs but before the sun came up.
Though things will never be the same between us and we still have issues to work through, I can’t deny that having my mother here caring for me brings me comfort. She and Leesa took shifts sitting in a chair by my bed all night, swapping out cold cloths on my head and wrist and warm ones on my back. Thankfully, I’ve thankfully managed to keep this fourth nightgown clean.
So far.
The bittersweet beverages the healer insisted I try to drink did not stop the vomiting, which the healer deemed necessary to rid me of the poison. At least it’s helped with the cramping. A small gap separates the curtains hanging around the bed, allowing a partial view of the chamber. The brocade drapes framing the windows remain open and permit enough light to see.
In the sitting room, Blair’s low tones mingle with a guard’s clipped responses. A stranger in a cook’s apron stands with them, wringing his hands. He’s unfamiliar, a new face amongst those I trust.
“Blair?”
Mother tsks at me, shifting from her chair to the edge of my bed. Clearly she does not approve of my calling a man to my bedside.
Still, she helps me sit up, pulling the blankets over my shoulders once I am braced against the pile of pillows the maids brought in overnight.
“Right here, Lark.” He appears at the foot of the bed.
“Update?” I wheeze out the single word between swells of nausea.
“Don’t push yourself, dear.” Mother stays awkwardly on the edge of the bed, keeping herself between Blair and me as if to guard my modesty.
She has nothing to worry about from the soldier who quite likely saved my life last night.
“Close to something.” His jaw clenches. “I was able to track the pastries to a new potboy who has only worked a few days. He has been missing since the incident.”
“A spy…from Aclaris?” I try to keep my words as short as possible.
“Possibly.” Blair’s eyes sharpen like knives. “We need proof.”
My laugh comes out as a cough. “Strawberries. They’ve always been my favorite. Now, they’re tainted. Someone will pay for this.” The words burn their way up my parched throat.
“Indeed.” He picks up a glass and the pitcher of water. When I focus on it, I can see the cold form and turn the drink into slush. “Sip this. And rest. The cold will help with the fever.”
Mother holds the glass while I sip. Blessed relief traces down my throat, the half-frozen water numbing the pain. Blair glances at my mother, giving her a tiny nod before backing away.
She watches him for a moment until he’s on the other side of the curtain. “Well, at least he’s good for something. Would do him well running a tavern.” She continues to grumble as she adjusts my blankets lower again.
A flash of color catches my eye, and I spot a huge bouquet of pink, yellow, and white roses. “Pretty flowers. Are they from you?”
“No. The king. I heard you got sick while dining with him, so I’m guessing he feels guilty.”
Not guilty enough. Though, I suppose that’s not entirely fair. After all, he’s not the one who poisoned me.
I close my eyes, allowing the tiny bit of comfort to lull me back toward uneasy slumber. The strawberries of death will not be my end. Not today. A sudden chill touches my forehead, and I pry my eyes open to spot my mother rolling the frigid cup over my skin.
It takes all my strength, but I think I manage to smile at her before sleep takes me again.
Moments later, I’m pulled from my slumber as the door creaks open.
“Look who we brought.” Leesa sings out, though concern underscores her attempt to lighten the mood.
“Leesa, quiet. This is a sick room. Your sister was trying to sleep.”
“Sorry, Mother.” I can’t see her over the pile of blankets stacked around me, but I don’t miss the guilt in her voice. Sitting upright is too much of a struggle, and after a few fruitless attempts, I give up.
The guy who was with my sister in the archives, Bastian sidles over, pulling the curtain open. I honestly have no idea what Leesa was thinking, bringing someone who’s a virtual stranger to me for a visit, but I’m too exhausted to argue.
At least he’s quiet. And oddly enough, the concern on his face appears real.
Blair steps up beside him. “How are you feeling? I have to say, you look a thousand times better than you did last night.” Despite his jovial tone, he keeps his voice low.
“Thank you. I’m getting there.” I let out a breathy laugh, then gasp as my stomach clenches in protest. Needles, only slightly dulled, scrape at my insides again.
“Careful now.” Leesa strokes my hair as the maid enters with a tray.
The steam from the tea wafts toward me, carrying the sharp, familiar scent of medicinal herbs.
“Healer’s orders.” She sets the tray with the cup next to me. “It’s been an hour already.”
The tea scalds my sore throat as I swallow, the herbs leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. I set the cup down with a shaky hand and lean back against the newly fluffed pillows, relishing their cool comfort.
“I don’t think I can talk much.” The effort of speech grates like sandpaper.
“Don’t push yourself on our account. You just need to rest and heal.” Leesa keeps her voice gentle, her brows knitted with worry over an armful of pillows she’s holding.
The maid scoops up the tray and empty cup. “I’ll be back in one hour.”
“I’m going to make myself comfortable on your couch. Get some rest.” Blair dips his head, first to me, then to my mother, before stepping away.
I like that Mother approves of the friendly soldier since my own affection toward him keeps growing as well.
“Would you like your book?” Mother offers, her eyes kind pools of worry.
I nod, grateful for the distraction.
She reaches for the large, dusty tome on the bedside table. Blair must have retrieved it from the cell. As Mother hands it to me, the familiar weight in my hands brings an odd sense of normalcy amidst the chaos of poison and treachery.
The others settle around me. Leesa perches at the foot of the bed. Bastian leans against the wall, wings folded neatly behind him. Blair remains on the sitting room couch while the other two guards whisper near the door. Mother sits close, ready to assist at the slightest sign of distress.
They all talk softly among themselves.
I open The Chronicles of the Mother Wurm to where a silk ribbon marks my place. The tale unfolds before me, a narrative rich with the struggles of a land besieged by the creatures of shadows.
Mother Wurm’s courage seeps into me, bolstering my resolve. If she can face down mythical beasts, then I can confront the shadows lurking in my birth kingdom. With each page turned, the line between fiction and truth blurs, until I’m no longer just a reader, but part-bearer of her mantle, fighting for peace in a land rife with betrayal and loss.
It’s just a story, a tapestry of trials and tribulations that captures my mind and keeps me from dwelling on the darkness. For now, that’s all I need—to be lost in a world where the hero prevails and peace is worth the battle.