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A Promise Between the Living and Dead

Triona

Monday, 5 May 1823

The Kelpie’s Tavern

Iwake to a world that feels distant and hazy, as if I’m surfacing from a dream I can’t quite grasp. The room is dim, unfamiliar in a way that unsettles me. A dull ache lingers throughout my body, but it’s nothing compared to the gnawing emptiness in my stomach. Hunger claws at me, fierce and insistent, and the pressing urge to use the chamber pot forces me to move.

My limbs feel as though they’re weighed down with stones, sluggish and reluctant to obey, but the pull of hunger still outweighs my fatigue. It’s only as I shift I realise something odd—my back, the source of so much pain before, feels… fine. No burning, no sharp stabs of agony. Just a faint stiffness, as if the injury had never been as dire as I remembered.

Confusion thickens in my mind like fog. Had I imagined it? The memories of the past few days blur at the edges, dulled by pain draughts and fevered exhaustion, but I know I didn’t imagine that. Right?

With hesitant fingers, I pull my arm from the sleeve of the humorously large linen shirt draped over me. My breath stutters as I reach back, heart hammering. My fingers find smooth skin. No open wounds. Only the faint ridges of scars remain. The sharp, searing pain that had consumed me?

Gone.

The rustle of blankets behind me startles me, pulling me from my thoughts. Finn stirs, his head snapping up from where he’s slouched beside the bed. The sight of him immediately eases some of the unease coiling in my chest.

If I had the mind to notice him before, I might have scrambled for some shred of modesty. Right now, however, my dignity is a distant concern, buried beneath the weight of exhaustion and the lingering fog of pain. There are greater burdens pressing down on me.

His eyes, wide with alarm, meet mine, and he bolts upright, his face drawn tight with panic.

“Triona?” His voice is rough from sleep. “Ye’re awake.”

The words are a statement, seeped in relief, like a prayer fulfilled. He eyes me as if he’s confirming the validity of my existence. “Do you… how do you feel?”

I blink at him, still shaking off the grogginess. “Hungry,” I rasp, the dryness in my throat making my voice sound rough. I shift slightly, testing my body, and the absence of the sharp, searing pain in my back hits me like a shock once again.

“And… I don’t hurt.”

Finn steps around the tiny bed, his massive form filling the space. “How d’ye mean?” His tone carries something subtle—a suggestion that he’s not as oblivious as he’d like me to think. But fine, I’ll humour him.

“I don’t hurt.” My hand instinctively reaches behind me, brushing over the places where I’d felt the wounds the most. I can feel the faint ridges of scars beneath my fingertips, but no pain—nothing even close. “They’re gone,” I say, my words trembling with disbelief.

Finn keeps his eyes locked on mine as he steps closer, his movements measured. “I dinnae ken how else to explain it, except to say the scars remain, but the injury itself…” He exhales sharply, his throat bobbing as he swallows. “Triona, when I found you after—” He stops, jaw tightening, as if the memory alone is too much. “It was bad. Worse than bad. You should’ve been bedbound for weeks—maybe longer—before you could even think about moving without pain. But now…”

“Months?” I whisper, trying to wrap my mind around what he’s saying. I can see the truth of it in his expression—the way he’s looking at me, as if I’m a riddle with no solution.

“Aye,” he murmurs. “It’s as if time sped up. As if ye’ve been recoverin’ faster than… faster than is possible for anyone.”

He hesitates, his gaze flickering downward before returning to my face. “The necklace,” he says, his voice quieter now. “The one I gave you.” His fingers twitch, as if he almost wants to reach for it, but stops himself. “Ellen said there was something about it. Something meant to heal.” He exhales, shaking his head slightly. “I didnae think much of it at first, but after seein’ the impossible with my own eyes…” His voice trails off, the unspoken thought hanging between us.

I glance down, my fingers brushing against the cool metal resting against my collarbone. My mind reels, struggling to grasp what he’s suggesting—what any of this means.

Finn exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. “We’re all tryin’ to make sense of it, Triona. Everything—this, you, the world itself—none of it feels…” His voice falters. His gaze turns searching, almost haunted. “Things are changin’. Faster than any of us can understand.”

This explanation should be a relief. It should make me feel stronger, grateful even. But a cold unease creeps into my chest. My hands go still, my gaze shifting away as my shoulders slump beneath the weight of it all.

I struggle to hold on to his words, to piece them together into something that makes sense. But another pain surges forward—one sharper, deeper, more unbearable than any wound I’ve suffered.

My parents.

For a moment, silence stretches between us. I stare at the far wall, my thoughts tangled in something I can’t quite name. Finally, I exhale. “It’s strange, isn’t it?” My voice is soft, but there’s no mistaking the anguish beneath it. “My body heals faster than I can make sense of, yet the things that matter most—the things inside me—feel as if they’ll never heal.”

Finn’s brows pull together, concern etched across his face. He doesn’t speak. He just waits.