Page 105 of Kissed By the Gods
A Selencian warning
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Cool fingers brushagainst my forehead, and the suffering eases just enough to swim for the surface.
“Shhh,” a familiar voice says. “I’ve got you.”
I manage to scrape my eyes open, and I’m staring into the most beautiful blue eyes. At first, I think Ryot is the one bent over my bed, but when I flutter my eyes closed and back open I realize it’s not him.
Of course it’s not. Why would he be next to my bed? It must have been a dream. But how much of it was a dream?
“Elowen,” I whisper.
She smiles, and it eases something twisted within me. “You’re suffering,” she murmurs, “Such suffering.”
And she runs her delicate fingers across my forehead, tracing the outer edges of my scar. The pain recedes little by little. Her eyes close, but not before torment flashes there. I slap her hand away from my face, though I’m so weak it’s more like a kitten trying to bat at a string. She jerks her eyes wide.
“It’s hurting you,” I accuse, as I sit up further in the bed. The movement brings to life a battering ram inside my skull, but Iignore it. I won’t show weakness, not to Elowen. Not if using her gift pains her. “Healing hurts you.”
There’s a flurry of movement from the corner of the room and a little whirlwind of white skirts and white, springy curls hurls herself in front of Elowen. “Don’t hurt my sister!” she shouts, one hand holding Elowen back, and the other held up toward me as if to block against a blow. My stomach sinks at the stark fear on her face, but Elowen runs a comforting hand over the little girl’s mop of curls before firmly pushing her out of the way. “She didn’t hurt me, Siofra,” Elowen says. “Go back to mixing the tonic, now.”
Siofra. Her white hair—so like Princess Rissa’s and the king’s—is pulled back in a bright blue ribbon. Her eyes are fierce, but she still has the plump cheeks of a child. We watch each other warily as she backs up toward the table at the back of the room. She gives me one last dark look that saysI’m watching youbefore she goes back to mashing a thick paste with a mortar. She sprinkles in some black powder—with a glare and a smirk for me—and starts slamming the pestle down. Whatever she’s mixing smells rank. Elowen takes a seat at the edge of my bed, and I drag my gaze from Siofra.
“Magic always comes at a cost,” Elowen says, reaching toward my forehead.
I swat her hand away again, pressing further into the pillow at my back. “Well, the cost is unnecessary today. I’m fine.”
She presses her lips together in a firm line. “Maybe you don’t understand how this works, Leina, but you can’t lie to me about the state of your body. I know exactly what you’re feeling right now. You’re far from fine. It’s either a miracle or a testament to your own asinine hardheadedness that you’re even able to sit up.”
She reaches her hand for me again, and I swat her away. “Dammit, Elowen, haven’t you ever heard of boundaries? I said no!”
Elowen crosses her arms, ready to fire back at me, but Siofra reappears, a smug little sprite, proudly offering a cup of what looks like tar. She hands it to Elowen while aiming a devilish grin squarely at me.
Without hesitation, Elowen thrusts the cup into my hands—harder than expected from someone usually all softness and calm. “You're drinking every last drop of this, Leina. And I don't want to hear a single complaint.”
The command in her voice allows no argument. That royal bloodline? It’s showing.
“Fine,” I grumble, raising the cup. The smell alone nearly knocks me out, but I steel myself and down it like the godsdamn warrior I am. Barely.
“Gods, Elowen, are you trying to kill me?”
A snort of laughter comes from the corner. I look up to see Siofra poorly concealing a giggle behind her hands.
“I added extra bitterroot,” she says sweetly. “For flavor.”
The little menace. But … the pain starts to ease. The fog lifts.
“Leif!” I burst out. “How is Leif?”
Elowen brings me a cup of laomai. “Leif is fine. He left the infirmary yesterday.”
I’m nervous to ask about the others—I’m not sure I want to know. That nauseating crack as bone hit the wall echoes in my mind. Elowen senses my trepidation, though, and she tackles it head-on.
“Fenrir was only slightly injured and is now recovered. Varek was more seriously hurt—he lost a foot—” I wince, remembering his bloodcurdling shrieks after the swipe of my scythe knocked him over. “But I’m re-attaching it. It will take time, but I think it will be successful.”
I gape up at her. “You can … do that?”
