Page 34 of Kissed By the Gods
“You’ve met my sister, I gather,” she says as she works. “Princess Rissa.”
Shocked, I study her closer. The resemblance isn’t obvious. The shade of their hair is different—Rissa’s is a pure white compared to Elowen’s deep gold. And Rissa’s eyes are much lighter.
But the two women share the same regal cheekbones, the same slant to their chins. The real similarity, though, is the commanding presence they bring into a room. Princess Rissa’s is more aggressive. She demands you take notice and expects her due. Elowen, with her more reserved, kinder demeanor, moves with a natural, confident grace.
Yes. I can see the resemblance.
“And what is a princess doing working as a healer?” I ask her. “It’s a rough, dirty job.” One evidenced by her utilitarian clothing. Where Princess Rissa wears dresses and jewels, Elowen is in trousers and a simple leather vest. The only thing of relative beautythisprincess wears is a blue bow around her neck.
She brings a tray with a pitcher of water, a towel, and a paste to the bedside table.
She gestures for me to sit. Giving into the exhaustion, I gingerly ease onto the bed, a groan ripping from my lips at the movement. She takes the chair next to the bed and unravels the cloth binding my hand together.
She winces when she sees my fingertips, but gently bends and twists my hand in different ways, testing the strength of it. “At least Nyrica wrapped it well,” she mumbles, but I think she’s talking to herself.
Her thumbs press into my palm, and she traces a circle over the tender joint of my thumb with the pad of one finger. It’s such a small motion, but the pain ebbs. Not entirely, but it’s enough that I can flex my fingers.
“How did you do that?”
“I’m a gifted healer. It’s what I do.” She smiles at me and it’s soft and unguarded like everything else about her. How does she survive in this hard place?
“You don’t act like Princess Rissa,” I blurt out.
“No,” she says. “But then, we were raised for very different purposes.”
“Why didn’t you introduce yourself as Princess Elowen?”
“I’m not a princess here. I’m a healer.”
“Are there other healers here?”
“Kind of,” she answers.
I wing an eyebrow up and my lips curve a little. “You’ll have to explain that one to me.”
She laughs openly. “My little sister is also a healer, though she’s only 11 and has only recently started her training. She won’t live full time at the Synod until she turns 12, which isn’t for a few more months.”
Elowen watches me carefully, and the lines at her eyes crinkle in worry. “You’re in such pain,” she whispers. “Is something besides your hand injured? Do you think you have internal injuries?”
The sincere concern in her tone almost breaks me. My throat tightens. A confession is on my tongue—I’m going to tell her about the temple, about the goddess and the kiss, about the weapons shoved under my bed. I want to tell her I think something inside me is broken and it has nothing to do with my body.
But before I can part my lips, the door opens with a deliberate, icy grace—no knocking this time. Rissa steps inside,her entourage of guards behind her. She doesn’t announce herself. She doesn’t have to.
I tug the hood further over my temple. Elowen straightens, her hand withdrawing from mine. Her shoulders stiffen, and the weariness that softened her vanishes. Their eyes meet—Elowen’s quiet and watchful, Rissa’s cool and appraising.
“Still abed?” Rissa taunts me, her voice is mocking. “At high noon.”
I don’t respond. What could I say?I’m sorry to disappoint you, your highness, but being kidnapped, wrecked by a death demon, and then whipped by a goddess is exhausting?
“Rissa,” Elowen starts, a warning in her voice.
“Don’t address me informally in front of the likes of her.” With a flick of her wrist, Princess Rissa dismisses the men standing behind her. “Leave us.”
Their shocked faces stare at her, mouths slightly open. “But your highness,” one begins to argue. “She’s?—”
“She’s nothing,” her voice whips out. She lifts one regal brow. “Leave us now.”
The man who started to argue looks torn, but he acquiesces.
