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The man standing in the middle of the room was a surprise. Despite the lack of armour, he was clearly a soldier. Nelda wanted to stand, but she didn’t have the strength, and Grace leaned against her.
“He is a friend,” said Pip, the little witch, as she fussed about the room.
“He is a soldier,” Nelda returned.
“He is the general’s friend. He helped me, and we can trust him,” she insisted.
“We are witches,” Nelda said. “We can trust no one.”
Grace flinched and sat up slowly.
“I need you,” the man said.
“We are not to leave the room—or are you another trying to lure us away?”
He shook his head. “She is dying. No one can help her.”
“The surgeon helped,” the child said, although she didn’t sound confident.
“She is a maid, and of no consequence. They don’t care if she dies.”
“We cannot help you,” Nelda said, and the child then turned pleading eyes her way. “The king would have us publicly executed if we leave this room, and there may be others just waiting to do that.”
“Lady Graewyth,” he pleaded, bowing low before her. “You are the only one who can help us. No one will know; everyone is busy with the presentation.”
“Mmm,” Nelda returned, unmoving. Frayne had been escorted from the room in his finery by the king. Dunstan had looked just like she remembered him, and something odd had touched her heart as she watched Frayne leave the room—as though he might not return. She wondered what the queen was doing.
“Please,” the man tried again. Grace pulled at her arm, and they were standing. Nelda wasn’t sure how her legs were keeping her up. She could have slept for days, she still felt dry, and any sound made her flinch. She was not as she had been. Although she had spent her days in hiding, she hadn’t felt the fear she did now.
“I can’t guarantee we would be of any assistance.”
He nodded, the smile brightening his face, although he looked as tired as she felt. Nelda wondered if he had sat over this woman’s bed.
The soldiers at the door followed without question as they moved through the hallways. It was oddly quiet, and Nelda wondered if everyone in Sunsong Castle was in the throne room or at least nearby. Part of her wanted to watch, but she wasn’t sure she could. In many ways, it was as though she was losing him again. She had mourned the baby for so long. Now she knew the man, and the fear of losing him again was pressing in on her.
“In here,” the soldier whispered. She followed him into a dimly lit room, realising only as she entered that she hadn’t paid attention to the path they had taken or those around her. He very nearly might have led her away from safety, although the clank of metal armour signalled that the guards still followed close by.
As she adjusted to the dim light of the flickering candle, she took in the small room, which contained only a narrow table against a wall and a single cot in the middle of the space. The window was open, the drapes pulled across to block any light, but the breeze blew them further into the room and then back. All it seemed to do was circulate the smell of sickness in the room.
The soldier sat down on the cot, and someone murmured.
“Oh my,” Grace whispered.
It was something the army would have issued, and on it lay a woman with her eyes closed. Nelda knew she wasn’t asleep. Her breathing was laboured, and her eyes were closed to the pain. She pulled her hand from the soldier’s and clawed at her throat.
“What is it?” Grace asked, leaning over her. She tried to calm the woman’s hands but couldn’t.
“Ymma doesn’t speak,” the soldier said.
“She can’t,” Nelda said, pulling at the drapes and allowing the light to filter into the room. A scar ran across her throat, almost straight, and then it dipped towards her left collarbone. Without seeing them, Nelda knew there were others. Old, faded, but significant scars likely inflicted when she was a child. Ymma coughed and scratched at her throat again.
Grace looked up at her. The soldier took a deep breath and then tried to smile for the woman, despite her closed eyes.
“Sit her up,” Nelda instructed, and Grace pulled Ymma forward. The woman rested against her chest, her head over her shoulder, and Nelda sat behind her resting her hand on her back. She closed her eyes and breathed in the taste of stale smoke.
“They are here to help,” the soldier whispered.
Ymma hadn’t moved, but perhaps she had opened her eyes. She could feel the smoke sitting in her chest and the pain of each breath.
“I don’t know how to,” Nelda said.
“Try,” he pleaded.
“This is an air problem, not a fire problem.”
“Smoke comes from fire,” Grace said.
“I can feel the smoke, but I don’t know how to remove it.”
Rose had been able to heal people with her fire. But just as when Frayne had been fevered, Nelda was more worried of the damage she would do than the help she might give. If this woman died, what might the soldier do? What if word surfaced of witches under the protection of the king?
Nelda cleared her throat, tasting the smoke as though she were back in the convent. She moved her hand slowly in a circle around Ymma’s back, the smoke so potent she thought it filled the room. The woman coughed, as did Nelda. Then she stood up and stepped back, the smoke overwhelming her. She bent forward, coughing until her eyes watered.
When the feeling passed and she stood slowly, her head swam, and she pitched forward to be caught by Ymma. Ymma held her tight, and as she closed her arms around her, Nelda could feel the smoke was gone.
Ymma patted Nelda’s back much like Nelda had done and guided her to sit on the edge of the cot. Nelda coughed again, and Grace rested a hand on her shoulder. The soldier stood. Despite their being the only ones in the room, it appeared he was keeping his distance.
Ymma bowed her head to him, then looked over herself and her lack of clothing. Putting her hand to her neck, she covered the scar. Nelda took her hand and gently lowered it to her lap as the soldier wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. Then he stepped away as though responsible for her state.
Nelda wasn’t sure what to do next. She wasn’t even sure what she had done. She looked over her own hands, wondering at the power in them and the taste of smoke still in the back of her throat. Ymma rested her hand on Nelda’s arm and smiled, then looked around the room as though something were missing.
“The little one is safe.” The soldier came around the cot, squatted before her, and pulled the blanket tighter around her.
Ymma nodded slowly.
There was a knock at the door that made Nelda jump. The soldier stood slowly and took the few steps to the door, which he opened enough to see out.
“They must be returned,” a voice said. One of the soldiers watching over her—or watching to make sure she did not escape again.
The soldier nodded once, returned to the cot, and lifted the woman easily into his arms. She didn’t appear frightened by the idea. It hadn’t been so long ago that Frayne had carried Nelda in the same way, and the idea of walking back to the room they shared made it hard to even stand now. Grace, chewing on her lip, took Nelda’s arm, and they leaned on each other.
As they made their way back towards the rooms surrounded by soldiers, Nelda wanted to return to Nuris and her family home instead. She knew she wouldn’t be safe there. Not that she was confident Frayne could keep her safe, but he would try. She knew that much, if nothing else.
The Flames of Burasal continues with The Pyre King
Coming 2023