“Are you going to explain why the villagers and the guards treat you this way?” Braelyn hissed as they walked up the steps of the palace.
“Let us not ruin this day with melancholy stories,” Laken whispered back and would speak no more on the subject. Braelyn wanted to slap him, he had never mentioned the townspeople and how they viewed him. In truth they had never left the house together but Braelyn had thought it because of the rumours and ransom on their heads, now it seemed as though Laken did not wish them to know of his reputation. Sighing Braelyn pushed all the thoughts of harming Laken out of her head and walked demurely behind him, allowing him to lead the way to the King. The castle was beautiful, with mahogany floors and walls, long stain glass windows, tapestries of rolling hills and beautiful wide oceans. It was large and luxurious and yet felt so empty. This could have been my home; Braelyn thought sadly, if I had lived here it would have been a happy home.
Numerous guards lined the corridors, pointing the way. These guards were those of the King and did not taunt Laken when they passed. They were sombre and dressed in a grey uniform. Braelyn glanced at them as often as she could, these were the men that protected, and were loyal, to the King – her father. Eventually they reached an open room, before them, sat on a large golden throne, was the King. He looked much older than his years, his face was gaunt and his beard was untrimmed. His clothes hung limply on him, highlighting how frail he was. Upon his head a golden crown sat but it looked out of place, it was a crown meant for a ruler and the man before them was more of a shell. Braelyn stifled a sob and with Laken walked up to the throne and kneeled. The ground was hard under her knees and she wished she could forget such formalities and hug her father. The King mumbled something and Braelyn raised her head to look closer at her father. Up close he looked old and ill and depressed, she wanted to throw her arms around him and comfort him but held herself still.
“Sire,” Laken began, looking up but still kneeling, “My friend has travelled many miles to see you today; I hope it pleases you to hear her.”
The King nodded distractedly not bothering to look directly at them.
Braelyn coughed to clear her throat, “Sir, thank you for seeing me. I have travelled far and survived much to kneel before you today; you must know that I have heard of your past and what happened to your wife and daughter.” The conversation had started in an odd way and both Laken and the King looked at Braelyn in shock. The King sat up straighter and his eyes were tight and cold.
“You cannot possibly know the pain I have suffered.”
“No you are right, mine has been a different kind of pain,” Braelyn said softly, trying to ignore the tortured look in the King’s eyes, “Sire I am your daughter, I know this is sudden and something you have probably heard many times but I know if you look in your heart you will see we are kin.”
Laken spluttered but pulled himself together, he had never questioned Braelyn’s need to see the King; he had silently and obediently helped her and followed her, for she was someone who was easy to follow but now they were in serious danger of offending the King. Braelyn, enraged at his outburst in front of her father, shot him a look of such anger that he cowed and looked away; she then turned to the King who was rubbing his eyes in distress, “Sire I know this is a shock but I am telling the truth,”
The King looked down at her, then stood up slowly and knelt before her, surprising them both by honouring them and taking the same position. “Take off your scarf,” he commanded and Braelyn slowly pulled it from her head, her blonde hair tumbling down her shoulders and down her back. At that moment he saw his wife’s face, her beautiful ocean blue eyes, her pale milky skin that flushed pink at the slightest emotion, her golden blonde hair that tumbled down like silk, but it was not just his wife’s face for in it he saw his own, his nose, which had always been slightly to large for his face and his bow shaped lips.
The King gasped softly and slowly reached out his hand to touch Braelyn’s face, “For so... so many years I have dreamt of this day, I cannot begin – I cannot express – Oh but what is your name, young one?”
“Braelyn,” she whispered, her voice hoarse.
The King nodded, mouthing the word silently. Braelyn looked so similar to his late wife, but how could he be certain? How could he know beyond doubt? He did not want to be hurt again; he knew his heart could not take it. The King wondered at how they would prove it, he knew his mind was not what it once was.
“I believe you, but my mind, my memory, it cannot be trusted. I have a cousin; she will tell me if it really is you.”
The King smiled broadly and Braelyn could not help but smile back, he was not what she imaged but he was her father.
12
Wynn listened to the wind howl outside of her window. She had woken up just a moment ago and from the very second her eyes opened her side had hurt. Hurt more than any wound she had ever received, it was like lightning up and down her side, across her ribs, across her hip, like a naked flame blistering her skin. Every time she breathed it caught in her throat as she gasped from the pain; her whole side throbbed and was oozing a combination of blood and pus. She lay there drowsily for a long while, unable to wake completely and unable to fall back to sleep. Her body was not ready to deal with the onslaught of pain that would arrive when she truly woke up and so she stayed in a
somnolent
state. Her dreams mixed with reality and she could not separate the two, Aerona stalked her in the Seminary and flashes of the Hybrids fluttered through the night sky seventeen summers ago. It made everything more terrifying and Wynn felt trapped by her injury and her dreams.
When the darkness shifted and she could gradually begin to see where she was, she forced herself to wake up. Her vision slowly became clear and her thoughts more coherent. The room she found herself in was bathed in varying degrees of blackness. She was a in a walled room, the window shuttered, a single door leading in and out, an old chest in the corner. If there was any other furniture she could not see it in the darkness. She lay quietly, wincing every time the pain in her side became unbearable, wishing she could find the energy to think properly. Why was she in so much pain? She had never been in this much pain, not even at the Manor. It was worse than when she had fought Wolf’s tribe, or even after fighting the students when they had tested her... Then it struck her like lightning across an inky sky. The wound had come from fighting the half lion, half eagle creatures, the Hybrids, and had not been healed even though there were over three hundred people in the Seminary with the magic to do it.
Something was wrong.
Cautiously Wynn sent her senses out and instantly found someone was asleep in the corner; she probed more, having no emotions or urges to go by and found it was Taien. It was hard but his signature, what made him Taien, was there under everything. Wynn shivered, if she had not thought to check any number of people could have been hiding in the darkness. The shielding of oneself may avoid embarrassment but it could be deadly if she was not careful. Slowly, for the effort caused a fresh wave of pain to flow through her body, she created a small light in the air, it danced beside her following her eyes so wherever she looked she had a faint amber glow to help her see. Under the golden glow everything looked alien and old. The room was clearly never lived in. Her eyes revolved back to Taien; he was slumped awkwardly on a wooden rocking chair, snoring gently. The orange light darted around his face, highlighting his pale skin, rebellious stubble and gaunt cheekbones. He looked as bad as Wynn felt, though Wynn was sure she did not look much better. Her hair felt slick from sweat and was sticky and hard in places from blood. She glanced down at her clothes but they were uninteresting, clean but not hers.
Taien began to stir then and Wynn extinguished the light hurriedly and pretended to be asleep.
“I know you’re awake,” he said thickly.
Wynn relit the light and watched as Taien rubbed his eyes and sat up straight. Wynn tried to push herself up but the agony it caused her was not worth the better view she would gain. Evidently Taien felt her pain for his eyebrows wrinkled into a frown and he could not help but clutch at his head as though he was faint. Wynn scowled at Taien’s expression; she had the overwhelming urge to blame her pain on him, and to scream at his weakness. Was it not
her
that was in agony? He felt but a fraction of her agony, could he not hold himself together? Now that she was thinking clearly her thoughts became dark and brooding, as they had been over the past few days and she could not force her face into a neutral expression. Taien did not react to her thoughts and emotions, his face was completely haggard and did not look as if he was fully awake.
“Why was my wound not healed?” Wynn tried to snap, but her voice was hoarse and cracked and it came out more like a whisper.
“I tried....” Taien began wearily and everything stopped. Wynn’s brow creased and her eyes widened in shock, her dark and sudden mood instantly disappeared to be replaced by nothing. She could think of nothing and feel nothing because it did not make sense.
“
You
tried?” Wynn interrupted him, the words sounding odd in her mouth. Taien winced and opened his mouth to try and change what he had said but it was too late, the moment he had reacted to her words Wynn’s mind began to race. Why would Taien be trying to heal her wound? Only those with magic could heal. Had he lied to her? Who was he? She suddenly remembered last night, and the sparks of gold that had come from Taien’s fingertips just before she had fainted. And even now feeling her pain as though it was his own; her clouded mind had accepted it because she was used to people around her having the gift, but Taien should not have reacted to her agony if he was truly who he had claimed to be. She knew Taien would hear every word of her thoughts, she was too connected to them emotionally, but she did not care, “Who are you?” She spluttered.
Taien held his hands out to show he meant her no harm, he could hear her thoughts clearly and sense her turmoil, and the pain her ragged breathing caused her, “Calm down Wynn. Remember you are injured.”
“I am not the issue here! Who are you?” She demanded, clutching her side in pain as the action caused a fresh lash of agony to wash over her. Her gaze was solely on Taien and she was not about to be distracted.
Taien sighed dejectedly, “My name
is
Taien, but I am not a servant, I am a professor, and a Mage.”
Wynn’s head spun sickeningly, she thought she would faint and closed her eyes, but reality stayed where it was. Taien was still sitting in the rocking chair, eyeing her with worry, she was still awake, and she still had a gaping wound on her side. She wished she
had
fainted; she could not deal with this, not while her side throbbed and nauseated her. In anger and pain she gritted her teeth. She had been let down once again. What was the point in trusting anyone? She thought of every conversation they had had, a lie, it had all been a lie. She was sure her heart could not take much more. It was a piece of glass, one more crack and it would crumble to dust forever.
Taien moved to get up, sensing her pain but Wynn held her hand out to stop him. She did not want him near her while she was in so much different pain.
“My wound?” She hissed through her teeth.
Taien’s face fell and the realisation forced the breath from her lungs. It was serious, so serious that it could not be healed. They had tried, all of them, and yet here it still was, just as fresh and painful as when it had been inflicted. She closed her eyes and forced herself to breathe, in, out, in, out over and over again until the pain had dimmed slightly because she was not so focused on it. Wynn knew she needed to inspect the wound from the inside. Taking a deep breath she closed her eyes and went inside herself to inspect her wound. She saw it in her mind’s eye, rotting quickly, eating her healthy flesh. It stretched from her back all the way around to her hip. The bandages she had been wrapped in were almost soaked through and she knew she did not have long.
Deep in the wound she felt the distinct tang of Aerona’s magic, and she knew infallibly it would eat her alive, slowly, and was designed so that no Mage or Magus would be able to reverse it. It would take a large amount of magic and she did not know if she had the energy left to fight it. She considered asking Taien, he was hovering in the chair watching her intently, but her pride would not allow it. Slowly she called magic to the wound and began to try and purge it of Aerona’s magic, she knew once the vicious magic was gone treating the gash itself would be simple. But it was not an easy task, it was as difficult as picking a specific grain of sand from a beach; Aerona’s magic had wound itself around every nerve, vein, muscle, all over her skin, in her hair, nails so that she felt she would never be rid of it.
It began first at her heart, the central point of her body and the most important thing to purge. She sent her magic deep inside it, calling out the poison, watching it from her mind’s eye as it separated from her blood and was destroyed by her magic. It took a long time, and Wynn felt beads of sweat begin to form on her brow. She was nowhere near finished; when her heart was clean she went next to her lungs. It was harder; the lungs were larger and had so many different places to hide. It reminded Wynn of collecting branches for the fires at Oprend Manor, sifting through the undergrowth, selecting the driest wood, though this time it was not kindling; it was Aerona’s evil magic that was slowly killing her.
Wynn felt her chest cave as her breathing became difficult, her lungs suffered from the battle she was fighting and for a split second she could not breathe at all. Her eyes misted and her body slumped and darkness began to fall, but her body was fighting, she took a deep breath and life trickled back to her. Her lungs were clear.
In spite of her determination and will to live, every strand of magic Wynn removed weakened her further and the longer she exerted her energy and magic the more she feared she would lose the silent battle. It was more exhausting than anything she had ever done, walking from Woodstone to Berhandril had not cost her this much. She knew her limbs were shaking and her jaw felt ready to crack with the strain but she would not ask for help, she would not...
Taien got up then, knowing Wynn was struggling, sensing her fear and determination and put his hand on her arm. Wynn jumped as she felt his magic enter her and combine with hers but she did not lose her concentration, at this moment she wanted very much to live. Together they began to unpick and purge the magic from her organs. Across Wynn’s eyes a rainbow danced, morphing into unrecognisable shapes. She watched the symphony of colour with exaggerated interest, anything to detract from the agony of her gaping wound. She tried to ignore Taien’s cool palm on her arm, but in the darkness the golden sparks danced across her mind and she found herself thanking him silently despite herself.
Slowly the poison was destroyed from her liver, then her kidneys, her stomach – the relief was almost overwhelming and she had not realised how nauseous she had been due to it – and finally her bowels. Wynn sagged into the bed, too tired to even blink. She was shaking uncontrollably and tears were escaping her eyes, falling down her face. So extreme was her exhaustion that she forgot Taien was beside her, that he still touched her, that she had only purged herself of the magic, not healed her wound.
Taien hovered over her, feeling Wynn’s feverous, sweat covered skin. He knew she would not have been able to do it alone, it had wound its way like ivy through her and she was unquestionably dying, it had only been her magic, the magic of the Foreseen that had been strong enough. Taien healed the muscles and veins and skin together until no mark remained on her skin. He pulled her shirt down, covering her ribs that stuck out sickeningly under her pale, milky skin. Wynn had not noticed that she had been exposed; she opened her eyes, the silvery light bright against the darkness.
Dawn was coming, and she was jolted awake by the realisation that they had fought with the evil magic all night. It seemed like such an anticlimax after the effort expended, that all was suddenly quiet, but she was alive and the air had never tasted so sweet. Taien put his cool palm to her forehead again and she was reminded of the present, the urge to scream at him – he had lied! – overwhelmed her but she was too weak for such things. So in her head she cursed him and shrieked of her pain, it did not matter that he had saved her life, such truths did not matter, he had lied and betrayed her trust and she could not take it.
“You never did learn how to hide your magic and emotions,” Taien said quietly, removing his hand from her forehead awkwardly and what seemed to be sadly. Wynn lowered her eyes as Taien moved back to the rocking chair, she was mad at him, seething at his betrayal, but seeing him hurt was an uncomfortable experience and that surprised her.
“Explain yourself,” Wynn said more sharply than she intended, a mixture of anger that he had lied and anger that he had made her feel guilty about it. Not that it came out sharply; her voice was no more than a rasping whisper.
Taien rubbed his face and Wynn was reminded of how exhausted he was, “The moment I met you I felt your magic,” he began, “it screamed out to everyone and anyone who would listen, as I’m sure you have felt and seen before. I was wary of you, for you were so frail and yet a fire of magic burned within you, the likes I had never seen before. Irik took me aside after you were put to bed that first night, and asked me to pose as a servant to gain your confidence, to prove you really were the Foreseen.”