Guian (A High Fantasy)

Sweet Dreams

Gwen was awake before the sun rose, mixing, burning, concocting. She wanted to see justice done. Marie was gone, and there was only one person left to blame.

Valerian, catnip, poppy--she didn't want to kill River, only get him out of the way, out of Steele's sight, to eliminate the constant reminder of lost love and heartbreak.

She had held him while he wept, his body wracked with soundless sobs, the collar of her tunic stained with his tears. She had held his hand while he endured wave after wave of a pain she couldn't understand.

She would never fall in love.

At breakfast, Steele was still absent. Gwen felt oddly exposed without him by her side. The morning was brisk and windy, and Gwen had no one to discuss the day with, to sit too close to to keep warm, to pick off the plate of.

When Gwen wasn't talking, she was thinking. That said, this happened quite often. Gwen wasn't much of a talker, and preferred to stay that way: silence meant invisibility. And invisibility meant no one would notice as she seasoned River's plate with the flavors of sleep. But those with their heads in the clouds are not known for precision.

And so it was that she met Aaron Nathan Warren.

At the time, she didn't know this was his name.

She was lost in thought--a lovesick brother on her mind, herbs in a cotton pouch under her belt, and a long day of ill and mangled patients stretching ahead.

She just brushed his elbow, nothing more. When she looked up to mumble an apology, he had already beaten her to it. His eyes were green and blue and brown and yellow, and the skin around them was lined with his smile.

Gwen tripped on the leg of a chair.

***

"She's trying to kill me." River stalked the pavilion, agitated. The General stood surveying the scene, hand on his chin.

"It was valerian!" Gwen was indignant. "Who ever died from sleeping? And besides," she continued, "I was bringing it to a sick patient, he won't sleep and desperately needs it. He's a foot soldier. His name is Xavier. You can ask him about his sleeping patterns yourself."

The General was smirking. It took all of Gwen's patience not to slap him.

"It seems to me that your story has a few loopholes, darling. Lieutenant Marks is one of my best strategists, and even a trusted friend." He placed his fingers under Gwen's chin, lifting her head. His teeth were dangerously white, and his breath smelled too clean for this place, cut off from Queendom luxuries. "However," a finger came up to brush across her cheekbone, "You, Gwen, are one of my most gifted healers, and the rebellion needs you." He paused, dropped his hand. "And I'm sure your worth goes far beyond your most basic value. My, you are a beautiful one." This last sentence he said almost to himself. Gwen flinched. "So, Gwen  Eris, you are on probation."

Gwen let out a breath she hadn't even known she was holding.

But the General smiled then, and Gwen began to rethink her relief.

"Lieutenant Marks will be your overseer."

Gwen closed her eyes. She thought about pleading to be jailed, or dismissed. Anything but this. The General made her question why she joined the rebellion, and River's slick condescension, not to mention his crimes, made her sick.

Instead, she looked up. "Thank you, General. Your mercy is kind."

She left the pavilion.