If she were Irran, the color would indicate her she felt equal fear and desire. I would know to soothe her before I kissed her, to share my heart first. But she is not Irran, so I have no knowledge of her colors’ meaning, only that they fascinate me.
My touch makes her eyelashes flutter, an encouraging sign. I stroke her cheek as well. Though she’s colored like tili stalks, she feels softer than the heads of the grass, the pale, fluffy parts used to line infant cradles.
“Wake, soft one,” I say. “Open your eyes for me.”
She murmurs, turning her face into my touch, and those lips brush against my palm, sending a rush of warmth up my arm. And her lids open, revealing eyes the rich color of gratitude, like new growth. I want to sink into their beautiful green depths.
“Alara,” I say without thinking, lowering my forehead to press against hers. Behind me, I hear Saana suck her breath in.
“Your queen?” Her whispered question barely reaches my ears.
I can’t answer. I’m transfixed by the beautiful, broken female in my arms. Sliding my arm under her back, I help her sit, then hold a cup of water to her lips. She tries to take it from me,but her hand cannot grasp its contours. She mumbles something around the edge of the cup but takes a few long sips before her neck sags back, her mouth twisting into a grimace of pain.
“She’s very badly injured,” Saana says when she comes over with a bowl of herbs and oil she has pounded together. “Inside and out.”
“Some Mizarans had her. They were mistreating her, so I took her from them,” I explain awkwardly, not willing to admit out loud that I paid for her. “The healers in Gren’Irra are loyal to the temple priests, and they won’t heal anyone from Elsewhere.”
“So you thought of old Saana and her poultices.” Saana flashes the points of her teeth before the smile slips away again when my Alara groans in my arms. I gently lay her back down and take a few steps back so Saana has space to examine her. She begins a careful inventory of the tiny female’s wounds, applying her herbs where she can. Every touch makes my little queen whimper and cringe, sending a burst of fear and panic through my whole body.
I can hardly stand it. The sound rattles from my skull to the soles of my feet until I’m pacing back and forth, growing more and more agitated at every cry.
“This isn’t right! It’s not right!” I repeat again and again. Everything is wrong: the way she came to me, the way she was treated in captivity, the way she’s feeling now. “Why must the cure for her injuries hurt as much as the cause?” I finally snap.
“Healing is work, and sometimes work is hard,” Saana says calmly, attempting to feed the remains of the herb mixture between my Alara’s lips. Her eyes have fallen shut again, and shejerkily turns her head away from the pressure of the spoon, smearing the green oil across her cheek.
“You must take it. The goddess brought you here for this, for my help,” Saana says soothingly. “All will be well in her light.”
She hums a child’s lullaby until the small female’s lips part, allowing the medicine in. Even though it’s clear my Alara does not enjoy the taste, she swallows it. I swallow in unison, relief settling heavily over my shoulders. It is not the end of her healing, but at least it is the beginning.
Saana rises, giving a satisfied nod, and turns to me. “That will help her ease the pain and lighten her bruises. I can’t say whether it will help with the rest.”
“What you mean?”
“Her movements are odd, and her eyes, too. I have seen something similar in a herd of braxas once. The owner had contacted me by messenger because they were wasting away even though they were grazing on a fertile grassland, the same pasture they had lived on for years. He wondered how they could starve with so much food. When I visited his homestead, many of them had died, and the others exhibited erratic movements like this.”
“Did you find a cure?” I ask urgently, black claws slicing into my palms with the passing of every second that she does not answer.
Saana nods, although her pigment grays. She dreads telling me whatever is in her thoughts. “It’s lucky I went there in the warm season and noticed his fields contained no flowering plants. They were rich in zalu and krisk and tili, but no blossoming anitha or efala as one might expect. The ownerexplained they had a blight several seasons before. Thinking the braxas might be lacking some key nutrient provided by the missing plants, I went and gathered some flowers elsewhere and made a tincture of them.”
“Did it work?”
“It did. Slowly. Most of the remaining animals recovered.”
“Will you make some for her?” That is the only thing I care about now. “Tell me which types of flowers, and I will gather them for you. Anitha and efala, you said?”
“Oljin.” Saana shakes her head, her skin muddying even further. “It’s likely her diet has been missing some nutrient, perhaps for a year or more, but unless she grazes the grasslands like a braxa, it’s probably not flowers.”
I refuse to accept this as an obstacle, so I say that first stupid thought that comes into my head, wanting it to be true. “What if it is? She is beautiful enough to live on flowers.”
“You’re right, she is, poor thing. But I think she’s living on starlight right now,” Saana says, her tone meaningful.
I understand what she implies. The goddess may have brought my queen to me, but my poor Alara has paid a terrible price for her passage. And now it’s up to me to help her recover. I just wish I knew how.
Chapter 5
Rose
Something’s in my mouth. Someone’s trying to pry my jaw open.
