“It’s just a spell. It shall pass,” she told the sleeping body of the little girl. “You’ll live. You’ll live to be twenty-one. Just like me.”
The girl, like always, didn’t respond, and only when Rea dug her fingers sharply into the young child’s wrist could she even feel the faint throbbing of a pulse. It was even fainter than yesterday. Tears gathered in Rea’s eyes. She’d done everything she could to keep the lass in this world. She’d stolen bread and ground up herbs and applied them to her tongue and skin and eyes and forehead.
But maybe the child had already gone to the gods when the general brought her here. And those breaths were mere illusion designed to drive Rea’s mind crazy with hope. Tired from the sleeplessness of the previous days, Rea slept beside the tiny thing, wiping her tears.
What is this cruelty, she wondered? To find someone who can ease your pain, only to lose them so quickly.
On the eve of her father’s death, she’d met the general and though he was her enemy and she hated him with every fiber of her being, with him, her pain had felt less…painful. Less unbearable. In her weaker moments, she could even admit to herself that she’d liked his company, that she’d found him intriguing and kind and fascinating.
But he’d left to go fight a battle in Mesinia. The girl was supposed to be her salvation, her companion, one she would never lose to war or destiny or culture clash.
But now she was teetering on the brink of death, too. How many people did she have to lose before the divine believed she had suffered enough? How many cruel partings were yet to come?
Rea patted the girl’s head, caressing her thin, lusterless hair. When her hands slid to the girl’s face, it was cold.
And she wasn’t breathing anymore.
4
SPRING, AGAIN
Sebestyén
The city was too vast. Or perhaps it only seemed that way because he’d spent the larger part of spring and winter inside battle tents and dangerous ditches pelted by fire, arrows, and spears. The battle had dragged on beyond expectations, forced him to make and remake his plans, but it had finally ended in Mesinia’s defeat. One more feather added to the emperor’s cap. How overjoyed his father would be.
Perched on his majestic stallion, Sebestyén advanced toward the palace at snail’s pace through the excited crowd, his entire battalion following him, their red-and-gold banners flying high. The chorus of cheers rising up to greet him, though fervent, filled him with exhaustion instead of pride. He prayed he could arrive at the councilor’s hall, give his report, and retire to his chambers soon.
Blood and the stench of death clung to his armor, burning at his nostrils. The first thing he’d do once he was alone was strip off those cursed clothes. Erase any reminder of Mesinia’s war.
By no means was Mesinia the first war he’d led his troops to, but that victory made him lose all interest in further conquests. Though it hadn’t been a tough battle, he’d been grievously wounded, and it was unlikely he would be able to endanger his life any further. Already, he was steeling himself for the reactions of his family when they realized his leg was too broken to cure.
A limping warlord. No country would fear such a man. Trepidation tightened the muscles in Sebestyén’s chest. Honestly, what kind of future did he have to look forward to when he ascended the throne?
“Long live the archduke!” A bouquet of flowers hit the side of his head.
Sebestyén glared at the woman who’d hurled them, causing her to shrink back in fear. Plodding along, he cast a cursory backward glance at the crowd gathered in front of the palace to celebrate his triumph.
She wasn’t there. Obviously, she wasn’t there. Her tattoos coupled with her skin color would make her too conspicuous. Besides, she hardly ever came to the capital. Sebestyén sighed. He’d been thinking of the Suveri woman too much. Every night during the war in Mesinia, he’d seen her face in his dreams. And nightmares. Quiet. Bewitching. Accusing. He hadn’t done anything horrible to her. But she was haunting him all the same.
On the way back from Mesinia, he’d taken a detour through Crua valley, scaled the hills to her hut, but all he’d found was the empty, dilapidated ruins of what had once been her home. Had her tribe come and taken her? Or had she perished in the winter? What had become of the little girl? Unanswered questions pounded his mind until he felt dizzy and sick.
Just as the sun was starting to slip lower in the horizon, his army cleared the entrance to the palace. Grand towers of gray stone and magnificent spires rose all around him. Abruptly, the scent of sweat and dust gave way to roses and expensive perfume.
“I’m glad you’ve returned. The entire court has been waiting.” The emperor, his sire, waved at him, robed in a decadent cape trimmed with white fox fur. Beside him, Arnold had a pinched look on his face.
“Yes, your highness.” Sebestyén sketched a bow. “We managed to achieve victory and depose the Durins. Mesinia is ours now.”
“You’ve done well.” The emperor turned on his heel. “Now, join me in the celebrations. I’ve declared a grand feast.”
Sebestyén couldn’t believe his ears. From his father, a compliment like that was worth the entire national treasury. His boyhood heart couldn’t help but luxuriate in the recognition it’d finally obtained. Long decades, countless wars, and injuries later, he getting validation. How cruel that he’d have to disappoint his father immediately after such a momentous occasion.
Dreading dismounting and his limp giving away the seriousness of his injury, Sebestyén lingered on the back of his horse a moment longer. But when his father cleared his throat, displeased, Sebestyén had to alight.
The first step was the most painful. His gait unbalanced, every pair of eyes keenly focused on him—it was pure torture. Self-consciousness set his face aflame.
“Brother, are you all right?” Arnold circled to his side offering his shoulder for support.
“It’s nothing. I’ve gotten used to it,” Sebestyén said. “Please don’t worry.”
Ahead, the intimidating form of his father went still. The emperor’s eyes darted sharply to him. Irises that’d been a sunny sky blue suddenly froze to the color of thin ice. “You neglected to mention this in your letters.”
“I didn’t want to worry you, your highness. Besides, injuries are only to be expected during a war.”
“Such carelessness is unacceptable from you. You’re the future of this country.” With the back of his large hand, the emperor rubbed his balding forehead. “Never mind. There are some important matters for us to discuss. Make yourself presentable and meet me in the yellow parlor within the next hour.”
“Yes, your highness.” Sebestyén bit the inside of the cheek. “What about the report to the councilors?”
“I’ve arranged for you to make it tomorrow. Today is a day for celebration and nothing shall intrude upon that.” With that regal command, the emperor swept into the palace.
Sebestyén plunged into the grand foyer to his left which led to his bedchamber. He’d find his rooms in the pristine condition he’d left them in, along with a steaming hot bath prepared for his return. Once he soaked his skin in hot water and let all the dirt and memories of Mesinia bleed out, he’d allow himself to ponder why his father wanted to see him at the yellow parlor. It was where the emperor entertained important guests and nobles, not his own children. Personal conversations usually occurred in the emperor’s chambers or the dining hall.