Songweaver's Awakening

Chapter 26 - Farahd

The world swam in and out of focus.  Farahd could make out the faint outline of someone in red, sitting on the edge of his bed, black-haired head bent.  He squinted, trying to recall what he'd been doing before he'd laid down to sleep.

It was Anestan.  He wondered how he could ever have thought of her only as an outline in red and black.  She was bent over a tray, stirring something into a small white cup.  She hadn't noticed yet that he was awake.  She stirred again, then tilted the cup a bit as if to check the color, and then stirred once more.  Her brow was furrowed and her lips pinched into a determined line.  The light from the window struck her from behind, outlining her in gold.  She looked tired, as usual, but the light softened the dark circles beneath her eyes and gave the stray hairs creeping out a hazy look.  A smile crept onto his face as he considered her concentrated expression.

A pang touched his chest.  What would happen to her, if he died?    Had he named her his heir?  He couldn't remember.  It worried him.  Anshana's tears, he thought, the pang in his chest increasing, I love her.  It left him breathless and unable to think.  His vision swam out of focus again.  When had cold indifference turn to love?  He wanted to weep.  It wasn’t supposed to happen this way.  He’d as well as killed her parents, took a Seat that should have been hers, and then forced her into marriage.  And she’d taken it all in stride.  She should have murdered him, she should have thwarted him at every turn.  Instead, she’d helped him when he’d needed it the most.  He was a fool.  He should have given her the world.  For so long, the only warm thing he’d given her was his bed.

He opened his mouth, tried to speak, and only got a whispering hiss.  He licked his lips and tried again.  “Anestan.”  He was startled to find how weak his voice sounded.

Anestan stopped, her hand poised above the cup, spoon still in her fingers.  She looked over at him, her eyes wide.  “Have you been awake, all this time?”

Farahd had the odd feeling that she wasn’t actually speaking to him.  She seemed to be talking to someone else.  He reached out his hand and tried again.  “Anestan.  My tea, please.”  Now that he was fully awake, the headache was hitting him, throbbing behind his eyes.  It hurt to blink.  Anestan only stared at him, frozen in place, her face draining of color.  Farahd cleared his throat and tried to sit up.  That was a mistake.  The pain in his head increased, sending waves of nausea sweeping over him.  He felt nearly as badly as the time he’d eaten the raw akha leaves.  He slumped back into his pillows.  “Tea,” he croaked out again.

His unsuccessful attempt to get out of bed seemed to break Anestan’s stupor.  She blinked, looked down at the cup, then back at him.  She thrust it out, the liquid nearly leaping from the rim.  “Here,” she said, her voice flat, “It’s ready.”

He took the cup from her, draining its contents in one long swallow.  It scorched his throat and tongue as it went down.  The fragrance of mint and lavender stuck to the roof of his mouth, brushing over his tongue when he inhaled.  Sighing, he watched the ceiling turning in circles while he waited.  It always took a few minutes before the tea affected him.  He was never sure how long.  Sometimes he dozed off, and awoke feeling refreshed.  Other times, such as now, he waited it out.  It started with a lessening of the pain behind his eyes, and then the dizziness and nausea eased.  The relief was so great it was nearly pleasurable.  He could feel it now, draining away his pain.  Farahd pushed himself onto his elbows.  “Anestan.  Thank you.  Sometimes you know what I need before I even know it myself.”  He tried a smile, and found, to his relief, that it was not so difficult.

She didn’t smile back.  “I do my best.  I have always done my best.”  The look in her eyes was accusatory, and it cut him to the bone.  He wanted to tell her it wasn't his fault.  He wanted to ask for her forgiveness.  Instead, he sighed.  There would be no forgiveness for him, no relief.  He'd known from the beginning that he was taking the long and hard road, and now he paid the price in the lives and feelings of the ones he cared about.