Page 56 of Wicked Prince of Shadows
I tried to lift my head, but the world spun sickeningly. "The panels. More after the three scenes," I managed, each word scraping out of my throat. "The curse. There may be more—more to it. Sediment. Centuries."
Then everything went dark.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Iwoke, my body stiff but warm. A hand smoothed the hair back from my face. “Sabine?”
Vetle’s voice pressed in on me, gentle but firm, distant at first. The scent of myrrh and cloves enveloped me. Fingers swept across my temple, brushing the damp strands of hair from my face.
My tongue pressed at my cracked lips.
Something warm and earthy touched my mouth—the rim of a cup.
"Drink," he murmured, his hand sliding beneath my head to lift it slightly. Chills played down my spine from where his fingertips stroked my neck and scalp. "Slowly."
Pleasantly warm liquid spilled across my tongue. Mushroom tea, bitter but strong, with an undertone of something sweet I couldn't identify. I swallowed reflexively, heat spilling down my throat, blooming in my chest like a strange, reluctant comfort. The fog in my mind frayed at the edges.
"That's it," he murmured, his thumb grazing the line of my jaw, then brushing the seam of my lips. "Another sip."
I drank again, slower this time. My body felt heavy, anchored to whatever surface I lay on. A bed, probably. Soft sheets beneath me, a pillow cradling my head.
"Open your eyes for me, little thorn," Vetle said, his voice dropping lower. "Let me see those beautiful endless depths you hide behind your lashes."
Endless depths? The phrase tugged at something warm and aching in my chest. I tried to respond, but my eyelids weighed more than I could manage. My lips parted slightly.
"Sabine!" Osric’s voice rang out from somewhere beyond where I lay. Osric. His footsteps pounded across the floor, rapid and eager. “Is she awake yet?”
Vetle's hand left my face. "She's just resting," he said, his tone shifting to something more measured and protective. "Give her time."
"But the dance starts soon!" Osric's voice carried a note of worry mixed with excitement. "Will she be awake for it? She can’t sleep through that."
"We'll see," Vetle replied. "Now go. Let her rest."
The door slammed shut with a heavy thud that echoed through the room.
I forced my eyes open, just barely. The world swam into focus—grey stone ceiling, the flicker of candlelight casting dancing shadows. My head turned slightly, and I found Vetle sitting on the side of the bed, hunched slightly forward, his amber eyes locked on me like I would fade away if he so much as blinked.
"I’ve never feared death so much as I did seeing it try to claim you." His hand found mine, fingers threading through mine with surprising gentleness. "How do you feel?"
I swallowed hard, my throat thick and my body exhausted but surprisingly whole. Heat crept up my neck and across my face at his words. I barely knew how to respond, so I went with the basics. “Not nearly as bad as I expected.”
“Doctor Rasoul said you should be fully recovered aside from some lingering weakness and fogginess. You’ve barely stirred for hours. Your sleep was so deep, I don’t know if you were even able to dream.”
I blinked slowly, trying to rouse myself. There had been dreams. Something with vines and hands and falling. But the memories slipped away like water through a sieve. “Is everyone all right?” I started to sit up.
Vetle’s hand rose, pressing me gently back. Clawed fingers splayed across my shoulder with just enough pressure to pin me and make my breaths tighten. “Deep breaths.” He pressed a pale-grey mug into my hands. “Drink if you can. It’ll help you complete your recovery.”
I sipped the thick liquid, wincing at the bitter tang that clung to the back of my tongue. But with each swallow, the haze in my head peeled back layer by layer, until the room sharpened at the edges and the weight in my limbs eased. I set the mug aside, my fingers trembling just enough to betray me.
The memories came flooding back—the behemoth attack, the vines dragging us toward the chasm, Osric's terrified screams, the deathbeak's beak piercing my thigh. I looked down at my leg, half-expecting to see it mangled and useless even with the combination of Vetle’s shadows and Rasoul’s healing magic. Lifting the blankets, I smiled to find it loosely wrapped beneath a fresh grey gown. I wiggled my toes experimentally, the muscles stiff but not painful. “Is Osric all right?”
“Yes. Eager for you to be awake and terrified you’ll miss the dance tonight.” Vetle smiled softly, but his claws flexed and retracted against his thighs. His shadows curled along his shoulders and hands, moving along his wings. “He was a little bruised and cut up, but the healing salves set him right.”
“I’m glad he’s all right.” My chest tightened as I saw those vines wrapping around him in my mind.
“You saved his life,” Vetle said, voice low and certain. “I couldn’t break away from the behemoth in time. I thought?—”
He stopped.
