Of Whispers and Daggers ✓ [TLRQ #2]

Chapter 53.2 - Aster

When I wake, my head still throbs, and my bones are hollow as a gourd scraped of its flesh. Slowly, I push up. My shirt sticks to my back, adhered to my skin by the blood of a countryman. My eyes close as I gather myself.

Above, shouting still resounds, and I wonder how Reyan is faring. Belatedly, it occurs to me that he would have died if I hadn't been there. For all I know, he could be dead now. I grip the edge of the bed. A swell of fear threatens to drown me—fear for my family, my friends, my country. Myself. For a moment, my eyes tighten, as if I can shut out reality along with sight. A growing certainty says I won't make it out of this war alive.

I grit my teeth, throw back the sheet, and stand. Morineaux will.

I push through the door into the hall, wondering how much of my sickness right now is from casting and how much... isn't. I glance at the stairs up to the wall, and my lips twist in regret. My rest was only refreshing enough to get me back on my feet, and even standing here, fatigue drags at my limbs and twists my balance. If I go up now, I'll only get myself killed.

I need to check on my wizards inside the castle. If the battle still rages tonight, I'll come back then. Perhaps I'll be in better shape.

I catch an officer in the hall and ask if she's seen Reyan.

"I believe he just went up a few minutes ago, my lord."

I nod, hopes dropping. "Alright. If you see him, please let him know I'm in the castle."

"Yes, sire."

I make my way to my new bedroom, glad to find Riszev is out. I step into the connected bathroom and strip off yesterday's clothes. As I wet a washcloth in the sink, my reflection glares back at me. Mottled discoloration tendrils across the left side of my chest. I scrub at it, but no dirt falls away. The rest of my skin is unnaturally pale, and I itch to somehow snap my fingers and make the effects of the poison disappear. Angry, I turn away from the mirror and fight with the blood dried on my hands, my face, my hair. I leave the sullied cloth on the sink and dress.

As I head to the Mage Room, the violence of the morning dully plays and replays in the back of my mind. If I had cast a second faster in that moment, the axe wouldn't have slammed against that soldier. Or if I had looked this direction a second earlier, the sword wouldn't have taken my wizard. Guilt pricks me, and for a moment, I want to forget it all. Let them win, just to end the bloodshed.

My lips curl, and I berate myself for even thinking it. Surrender is unacceptable. If we give in now, everyone's deaths are in vain.

Even so, tendrils of regret and nausea chase me while I gather reports and overview maps of the city. In the quiet moments, I have to fight to keep my eyes open, and I despise myself for that too. After a couple hours, Reyan pushes into my office. I look up sharply, and my head swims. I force my eyes to stay open as I focus on him. He didn't bother changing, and covered in blood spatter and gore, he looks like a body animated from the mass pyre.