Chapter 16 Amaranthine’s Hope
I wake to the sound of crashing waves and whistling wind. Just like every year, the trial is followed by the first raging storms to hit the coast, and the castle is the only beacon that still stands against its mighty force. The wind itself is the orchestra in which those who survive the trial have to turn and face the great climb up Dragon Mount to begin training. Just like the trial itself, the hike up the mountain is treacherous and not all who step foot on that path survive.
These things are truths I don’t have time to consider, because somehow I’m not in the courtyard, I’m inside the castle. The crispness of the sheets as I stir beneath them tells me I’m in the infirmary, and the sound of distant chanting confirms it. Slowly, I open my eyes enough to peer through my lashes. I know I shouldn’t have made it out of the maze alive, and I don’t know what kind of reception will be waiting for me. Will they think I cheated?
The flickering glow of candles greets me as it plays on the timber roof above. It’s warm in the infirmary, regardless of the wailing storm outside. The smell of herbs and magic tickles my nose, both pleasant and astringent. My gaze follows the stone walls down to a desk in front of the entryway. A healer sits there, his white robes tarnished with blood and dirt, his shoulders drooped in exhaustion. He’s talking slowly, quietly, as he rubs his temples. His back is to me, facing whomever he’s speaking to.
“All I can tell you right now is her body is whole. Cuts and bruises, yes. I do not know if she will wake up tonight, tomorrow, or ever. What I do know is the same for every single patient in my infirmary; rest is the best way to heal. Rest and peace.” He sighs heavily, a sure sign of pure exhaustion.
“You will inform me when she wakes?” Serena asks, her voice trembling with emotion.
“I will, Your Majesty. Your efforts now should be directed at spending this final night with your son, who is uninjured and awaiting your presence, I’m sure.”
Bold. Very bold. Being tired is never a reason to tell the queen where she should be, but to my surprise, I hear her skirts rustling as she stands and walks toward the door.
“Do not let anyone in here, mage. Do you understand? Not Silas, not Thorne. The only people I want in here are those who are in beds now or assisting you. No one comes or goes from this room until she’s awake and ready to receive me. Do I make myself clear?” There’s a tone of fear in her voice, a hesitant worry to leave this room at all, and it speaks much louder than her words.
“Your will be done, Your Majesty. I am forever your servant, as you know.”
“If you forget it, I’ll take your head.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
His chair scrapes back as the queen leaves, and I watch with slitted eyes as he follows her to the door and bolts it behind her. When he turns his gaze back to the room, I almost gasp. His face is hollow, his skin as thin as parchment. His eyes are dark and sunken in his skull. He’s expended way too much magic for one mage, and I can clearly see he’s standing on death’s door himself.
His gaze crawls to me and I shut my eyes and try to make my breathing as even as possible. I listen to the whisper of his shoes as he glides over the stone floor to my side. He sighs, his cold hand stroking my forehead.
“You must wake, Anara. Wake, or we will all suffer,” he whispers.
I fight the urge to shiver as chills run up and down my spine at his words. What does my life mean that if it were lost, they would suffer? Who is they? The mage and his assistants? The whole court?
“All of Amaranthine depends on you, little one. I forbid you to die.”
He isn’t wrong
I have to work to keep myself still as shock rocks me to the core. The voice again? What does he mean the mage isn’t wrong? What could my life possibly mean to the whole of Amaranthine?
You do not know the lengths the queen went through to secure you at her side. You have no idea what she sacrificed.
I feel sick. There’s no more pretending to be asleep, no more listening covertly. I roll to the side of my cot and spew everything I’ve eaten over the last day. I wretch and gag, struggling to breathe until both the voice in my head and the mage are urging me to relax and breathe.
When I finally suck in a solid breath, I fling my eyes open and come face to face with the mage. The relief on his face is palpable, and though my vomit is now contributing to the stains on his robe, he’s smiling at me.
“You are a blessing, Anara,” he says, stroking my hair back from my face as he coos gently. “You have blessed us all.”
“What are you talking about?” I cough, wiping the back of my hand over my mouth.
The mage startles, blinking a few times before he rises. “Every life saved from a premature death is a blessing, wouldn’t you say?”
“She’s awake? Get out of my way. Now.”
“Oberon?” I try to sit up, but the mage holds me down. I look around the infirmary wildly until my eyes land on him. He’s bloody and bruised much worse than when he escaped the trial and I can only contribute that to Zaries’ fury. Two nurses are trying to hold him in bed, but when he sees me looking at him he throws them off and leaps out of the bed as if he isn’t hurt at all.
He rushes to my side, barreling through another nurse and knocking over a table full of medical supplies before he crashes to his knees beside me. I reach for him, cupping his face and stroking the black bruise under his eye.
“Oberon,” I sob, leaning up in bed and wrapping my arms around his neck.