Quinn woke to three things. A phenomenal headache, the odd feeling of trying to figure out how she got back in to her bed, and a pleasantly surprising at feeling all of the tiredness behind her eyes gone. She didn’t open her eyes. She heard someone else breathing. Quinn wondered why she couldn’t feel them. Perhaps they were asleep. Perhaps it was Sammah. Then the door opened, and she heard Maertn’s voice whisper into the quiet.
“How is she?”
To Quinn’s astonishment, Sirah responded. “I don’t know. She hasn’t woken up yet. She’s barely even moved. Are you sure you healed her right?”
Quinn bristled at the accusation against Maertn’s unquestionable abilities. Whatever had been wrong with her, Maertn had fixed that. But there was more. Unless Sammah had morphed into Sirah, she hadn’t been able to feel the vicious woman in the room. She couldn’t feel anything coming from Maertn either. She had expected to be bombarded with worry. Tentatively, she stretched her mind out. In the same way she used to try to focus her attention away from people to try to block their emotions out, she reached out to try to feel what was actually there.
Quinn immediately pulled back when her mind reached Maertn. There was indeed emotion there, but it was stronger and deeper than she had felt before. Even more significantly, as soon as she drew back, the emotion went. She had a choice on what she could feel. This was amazing. She couldn’t keep quiet, not with the excitement that began hammering in her chest. Hoping to look and sound convincing, though with very little experience at play-acting, she feigned stretching, and the yawn some people affected when they first woke up.
Maertn dashed to her side. Sirah stretched and got up from her seat lazily. Quinn reached out to her and recoiled with a squeal at the malice she felt there, actually whimpering in fright. Maertn hushed her, wringing a rag and placing it on her forehead. She was grateful for the soothing cold, though it didn’t dampen her anger at what she had felt within Sirah. What had she actually done to deserve such malice from this woman?
No matter. She reached out to Maertn again and was soothed by what she found. She sank her eyes shut again and let herself be tended in relaxed silence. Such a rare luxury! Swinging back to reality before she fell asleep, she tapped in to Maertn’s gentle words.
“You fainted on the parade grounds. They’re saying all sorts around the castle. Don’t let them get to you Quinn, you know what they’re all like.” She did, she knew exactly what each and every one of them thought of her, not that she would let Maertn know that. “You’re not to work. Sammah had Ross pinned up against the wall telling him. Well, not physically. But Ross was scared, and I’ve never seen him back away from any man like he did from Sammah. We were petrified, Quinn. We thought we’d lost you.”
Quinn fluttered her eyes open again, hoping she made a convincing job of it. Sounding hoarse however wasn’t a problem; her throat was dry and cracked so her voice, when it did come, was croaky and barely audible.
“What was wrong with me?”
“What do you remember?”
She remembered the searing agony as soon as she had gotten near the men. What had they been doing? Training? Swordplay? What had hit her with such force that it had caused her to pass out?
“I don’t remember much. I was coming to see you. I couldn’t sleep. I was coming to get a valerian draught. I left through the back halls. You know I hate to go through the main gardens. When I got to the yard there were men there. They were doing…training. It looked like training. There was so much noise, and I think I heard some shouting.” She had to get creative with her lies at this point. Not her strongest skill. “It was so noisy and dusty. Overwhelming. Maybe that was it. The heat and the dust, the shock, it all got to me. That’s all. Please. Water?”
“Oh spirits, I’m sorry Quinn, here.”
He lifted a wooden bowl, ready and full of water, and pushed it to her lips. He tipped it, so little sips spilled onto her dry lips. Quinn glanced a look at him, then concentrated on Sirah, who stood at the end of the bed with her arms crossed. The snake-like woman wore a lopsided smile. She looked like she didn’t believe a single word Quinn had just said. Unsurprising. Maertn was a simple and trusting man. He would believe almost anything said to him in earnest.
“They think you were scared of the noise, child. They think you fainted out of fright. Did you faint out of fright, little girl?”
Quinn had to fight down the urge to jump out of bed and throttle the arrogant woman. That would be foolish. She couldn’t fight. Sirah could. Sirah had been in the wars. Not many, and not at the front lines, but she had been there. She could sit with the veterans and exchange tales. Her body was still lean and lithe, her arms still taut with small muscles. Sirah kept herself in shape. Quinn had bodyguards. They were not a match for each other.
Sirah sensed this surge and decline. Her smirk grew.
“What’s the matter, little girl? Need me to get your papa?”
“Get out, Sirah.”
Sammah stood in the doorway. He did not look pleased. Sirah scuttled off. If she hadn’t been mistaken, Quinn had heard her hiss. She reached out, hoping to feel what was in the woman’s mind, but Sirah was too fast, practically sprinting out of the room, and within seconds, she was out of Quinn’s tenuous new reach. Maertn rose to follow, but Sammah waved him down.
“Stay, lad. She’s only here because of you.”
Without reaching out, Quinn felt the swell of pride from Maertn. So, she wasn’t completely healed of her immunity to the feelings of others. She licked her lips, adrenalin coursing through her body at the thought of what she might now be able to do. Standing right there at the end of the bed, could she finally reach out to Sammah?
She lay back down, feigning the need to sleep again. Sighing, she tried to sound breathless. “My head hurts so much. Maertn, please, do you have anything to burn, to take away the pain?”
Maertn nodded, all quiet efficiency, and left to get the herbs she needed. Sammah took the opportunity to sit down by the head of the bed. He even took one of her hands in to both of his. They enveloped her small fist. She looked incredibly pale by comparison. Quinn thought then, she hadn’t been this physically close to Sammah for a long time. Not to feel his skin. His palms were oddly smooth. For some reason, this made her want to recoil. She didn’t. That wouldn’t do. He still had to believe her devotion to him, complete and utter in its naivety.
Tentatively, concentrating on the vile heat emanating from his hands, Quinn reached out. She had thought she was being subtle, undetectable. Quinn knew that she had never been able to feel him before, and she had no idea what to expect now. She didn’t know what she had hoped. Whatever she had or had not expected, what she did get she did not want. The pain she had felt in the courtyard paled in comparison. This time her body was set on fire. Every inch of her skin burned with a white heat, tingling, hot and angry and impossible to douse. As she screamed, aware this time, and carnal with agony, Sammah leapt back. Quinn arched off the bed as Sammah nursed his hand, as if he, too, had been scorched.
Maertn hammered through the door between the pair of them, the look of utter terror on his face showing he hadn’t known what to expect. Confusion quickly replaced this. He looked between Sammah and Quinn, before deciding where he was truly needed. He threw himself on the screaming figure, again terrified at the noises she made, at how anyone could be in so much anguish without showing any wounds. Quinn did not bear any signs of a natural illness.
Slowly, the screaming stopped. A crowd had gathered outside their door. Yvette and Grainne were at the front. There jaws were agape, but as they saw that Quinn seemed fine, within Maertn flopped on to her, they started pointing and tittering.
“If that’s how the lasses react when you get in to bed with them it’s no wonder no one wants to visit you at night.”
Grainne sniggered at her own wit. Maertn leapt off the bed and, scowling, slammed the door shut in their faces. It was opened again seconds later, and Maertn found himself rounding on a man no less than the king himself.
Vance shut the door calmly behind himself. Maertn backed in to a corner, petrified. This was the closest he had ever been to their ruler. He might even have to speak to him. If he’d brought himself over to this side of the castle, it would not be a good conversation.
Quinn was panting, though thankfully, she had stopped screaming. She appeared to be asleep again. Without asking, Maertn went to her and placed his hands on her head. The same illness hadn’t returned. There was nothing there. She had not regressed; was not ill. So why had she been screaming?
“Sammah. I hear your charges have been causing quite the stir today. One of them has died horribly, not only once in my courtyard, but apparently again just now in her own bed. What is going on?"
Sammah wrung his hands. A sign of humble embarrassment, he knew.
“Ah, your highness, I must apologise. We have been experimenting with some complex herb lore. Its art has so far only been practised in Sha’sek and I’m afraid with Torran being so old and behind the times, young Maertn has taken it upon himself to find better ways to heal your people.”
Maertn went hot with horror as the eyes of both Sammah and the king fell on to him. His hands shot from Quinn’s head to his sides as he stood stiffly, trying not to look utterly guilty at something he was reasonably sure he hadn’t done.
Vance looked unconvinced, but with Quinn lying there, now apparently in a peaceful sleep, and with such a simple tale, he didn’t feel inclined to delve too deeply into the baron’s matters.
“Ah well, yes, I’ve heard stories about Torran’s issues. Perhaps his skills are declining with age, but I don’t hold with this experimentation, not on my people, no matter who their master is.”
Vance eyed Sammah severely. “If I hear any more of this—specifically if I hear anything else from this girl’s mouth,” Vance jabbed an accusatory finger at Quinn, “and I hear it’s because you’ve been dosing her with potions, I will hold you to account, baron. I may even have to report you to your brother. You’re a good, quiet man Sammah. Don’t let my opinion of you start to change.” Vance’s eyes flicked to Maertn, but no admonishment came. The king left.
“Is her illness back?” Sammah’s voice was tight, and Maertn could only shake his head in response, not trusting his voice. Sammah glared at the lad and left in silence. Maertn thought that perhaps his cheeks had reddened a little, maybe his shoulders had slouched slightly from their usual rigid poise. So. Sammah was not immune to the laws of the court.