Night's Cold Embrace

Chapter 16

The first thing he heard when he entered his sanctuary was the soft, rhythmic clinking of the large metal gears which occupied the inner structure of the tower. At that moment, the memories of the dreadful morning that had plagued his mind - the Queen's shaking hand reaching out to him, the blood spraying across the floor, the horrific creatures rising from the dead - dissipated. With the realization that he was safe here, he let his mind clear with each steady tick of the clock's giant mechanism.

Garrett stopped at the small landing, feeling a wave of nausea hit him after having forced his exhausted and brutalized body up the stairs. It had been two days since he had last slept, and the lack of rest was taking its toll on him. He waited for his breathing to slow, letting his gaze drift upward to the soft light bleeding in through the opaque glass facing of the clock. The rays were brightest where it streamed in through the jagged chink from the previous night. Garrett had to look away, his eyes unused to such bright light. If this were any normal day he would already be asleep in his bed.

As his breathing quieted, his ears picked up gentle trickling sounds coming from above. He pressed onwards, ascending the next flight of steps with alarming difficulty. He glanced down at the rag wrapped tightly around his arm. It was soaked in blood and as he raised his arm the red deepened in colour. He began to suspect that he had underestimated the damage inflicted by the bolt.

When he reached the top level, his head was reeling and his footing was unsteady. Dismissing any worries - he had gone through worse and survived, after all - he stumbled to the heavy lacquered chest beside his bed.

"By the heavens," a soft voice exclaimed. Isabella stood to his right, wringing her wet hair out before rushing to him. He had almost forgotten about her again.

"Are you alright?" Isabella ran to his side, immediately taking hold of his injured arm.

Garrett tried to ignore her, but flinched as her delicate fingers wrapped themselves gently but firmly around his arm. He leaned away from her, trying feebly to evade her grasp. She hesitated a moment, then let go of him, much to Garrett's relief. He removed a small leather bag from the chest and poured its contents into his palm. Small glass pots of salves and oils fell out of the pouch. He set the pot containing a ruddy paste on the lid of the chest. When he did, she cleared her throat.

"No, you - um... you don't want that one," she said in a small voice.

He halted, slightly irked by the girl's tentative but nonetheless offensive remark. He knew what he was doing; he'd been taught well and had been healing himself on his own for a long time.

"I'm pretty certain I do," he replied dryly. "I'll do this myself."

"But that's, um, that's frankincense oil and... saffron, is it not?"

She inched closer to him, muttering a quiet apology, and studied the salves in his hand. Her eyes flitted over the various containers, studying each one briefly before moving on to the next. After a moment her eyes lit up with recognition and she plucked a single pot from his outstretched hand.

"What you want is this." She pried the metal lid off with deft fingers and sniffed the balm. "Myrrh resin. There's nothing wrong with using frankincense to treat an open wound, but myrrh is much more beneficial. It prevents infections from developing, and helps with the swelling around broken skin."

He let her take the rest of the salves from him, surprised by her extensive knowledge.

"And then there's yarrow - that's what gives this cream its nice aroma. This is what will stop the bleeding." She reached out to unwrap the rag covering his arm, but thought better of it and paused before she touched him. "I can help. I know what I'm doing." All timidness was gone. Confidence and hopefulness flashed in her eyes.