My mission into the Waste has been an utter disaster. As I drift in and out of consciousness, I wonder if this famed acolyte of Sirona might be able to remove the Rings from my body.
She produces a roll of clean white bandages and a golden pot of blessed ointment. “I’m sorry we no longer have the healing waters of Sirona to speed along your recovery,” she says. “I understand you must return to Loegria urgently.”
“Ah, those lovely healing waters. It will shock you hear that I’m not fond of them,” I retort.
“Just one more thing Osian has claimed for himself,” Sister Dosha says, irritation biting at her words.
She wraps a bandage around my hand as she continues. “The waters were claimed by King Osian years ago. Many of those who are sick or injured must now go to the king for aid. The royal healers are always happy to oblige, but their price is steep. Even the simplest healing must be repaid with a year’s service to the king, sometimes two,” Sister Dosha says, gently tying off another bandage. She shakes her head. “Without the blessed waters, our temple has returned to the old ways of healing. Our methods are slower than the waters, but as you can see, they still work. Now, rest, and let your body heal.”
I close my eyes, and for once, no dreams come.
…
Several days later, I can walk.
Several more days after that, thanks to the healing salts, oils, and clay, I’ve come back to life and some semblance of normalcy. I no longer look like a corpse. I’m almost myself again.
I’ve been given a room on the top floor of the temple in which to recuperate. I have been denied any news that might disturb my recovery, and I haven’t seen Aren since we arrived. The isolation is driving me mad. Unable to sleep, I step out onto the balcony to take in the cool night air. I can see Castle Engel in the distance, its spires reaching into the night sky like a clawed hand cupping the rising crescent moon.
Even though I’m safe and healed, there are many others who aren’t. That castle is still filled with unwilling servants and prisoners in the dungeons. I wonder how many of them escaped when Aren and I did and how many remain. I promise myself that I won’t abandon them, that I will find a way to free them all.
All of a sudden, a voice comes from behind me.
“You’re supposed to be lying down, tough guy.”
Aren.My heart leaps, and relief fills me from head to toe. I feel like I’m floating. She’s finally come to see me.
Still gripping the balcony railing, I turn around slowly. Her face is in shadow, but her eyes are bright. I want to run to her, to take her in my arms, but instead, I fall into the familiar pattern between us and wave a hand nonchalantly.
“I’m tired of lying down. I needed some air—too much incense.” My tone is teasing, but gratitude grips my heart like a vice.
Aren.
On painful nights at the temple, I imagined she abandoned me, that the healers were soothing me with lies when they told me she was still here.
“Maybe they want you gone. Ever think they’re trying to smoke you out?” she asks with that sass I remember all too well.
“Maybe that’s the temple’s secret. They annoy the patients until they heal themselves and leave.”
“Is it working?” she asks as she steps out onto the balcony and joins me at the railing.
I shrug. We stand in silence, the two of us looking toward Castle Engel looming in the distance.
I’m keenly aware of how close she is.
She’s dressed in a sleeveless flowing gown of yellow silk. Her hair is twisted up into elegant braids, exposing the freckles along her shoulders. The airy fabric graces every curve of her body, every inhale. She looks like a princess. I fight the urge to touch her.
Aren appraises me, looking up and down my body. I’m relieved when she speaks first. “They must be doing something right. I was scared you’d never walk again.”
“Scared? You were worried about me?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
“It’s a figure of speech,” she says, smiling, her eyes drifting down to the bandages beneath my loose tunic. “Maybe we should see how well they did.”
Then, with no warning, she smacks me in the arm.
“Gods, woman!” I recoil, rubbing at the sting. “What was that for?”
“You really have to ask?” She leans in close, fire in her eyes.
