King Eden

Chapter Six: Haile

Ten days passed. I spent them in illness and frenzy. My wounds were fast to heal, however. On day five, I could limp around the infirmary. I should have been well on my way to Pallas by day nine with my spear in hand but a fever kept me bedbound. My body insisted that I spare no energy in combating the infection. I wish I could say I recovered by fortitude alone but without the medicines of Zoar, I would've corrupted and taken to the wastes. I spent the rare moments in between bouts of violent sickness checking my side to see if Eli was there, then searching the infirmary until I realized I was mad.

The Empress agreed with Thief's idea to find a diplomatic solution, contacting the Pallas and offering terms. They refused to answer. No one seemed to care. Pallas had only reclaimed a piece of their own property. To Cyrus, Eli was just another child lost to the wastelands.

I suggested we respond with force. The Empress was quick to remind me that "Cyrus is nothing but a scattered collection of weathered kingdoms and tired souls. Pallas is formidable. They will greet us at the Serpent's Mouth, grin, and invite us to loose the first arrow before they grind us into dust. Besides, I prefer to maintain a favorable relationship with Jeno. There are far more benefits in trading goods than fighting petty wars."

I made arrangements to march regardless.

My fever broke on the last day. I woke up, touched my cool skin, and came to value life a little more as a good sickness tends to make one do. Thief was at my bedside smoking, half-asleep from a night shift guarding the city walls. I told her once again she didn't have to keep me company. She insisted that she had to make sure I didn't try and escape.

She was wearing a pretty set of ceremonial armor rather than her usual combat uniform. Polished leather covered her waist and chest. She wore a skirt of quilted cloth, its thick layers of cotton dyed scarlet and decorated in cornflower blue diamonds. Her Aynat mask was on the medicine table beside a bottle of powdered opium. The old paint depicted a demon with a ram's horns and red eyes. My own set was gathering dust in a corner of the throne room, untouched since Outcast wore it the night she gave into corruption and slaughtered her own soldiers.

"Why are you wearing that?" I asked.

She flicked away her cigarette and prepared a glass of water for me, then offering it, asked, "How are you feeling?"

I took the glass and pressed my cheek to it, my fingers slipping through the condensation. The humidity was hostile and the infirmary's fans, mighty as they were in spirit, did little to combat the Aurelian's incessant summertime heat. "I'm okay," I said. "Answer the question."

"We held a ceremony for Rook and Nova this morning," she said.

I stiffened, smearing the condensation across my cheek. "You did what?'

"We had to send their spirits into the wastelands."

"I should've attended. What will people think of me, huh? That I'm so weak, I can't honor my own soldiers?"
"They know you're injured and sick."
"I'm well enough now. I've shown them nothing but incompetence in the time I've spent here where I was denied the smallest of requests such as seeing the person I care about most dearly."

"Jessamine is still sick. Permitting you to visit her would've put her at risk."

I grumbled profanities even though I knew she was right. She dismissed the insults I threw her way and prepared my medicines: echinacea, ground dandelions, yarrow, cayenne, catnip, and ginseng tea. Useless remedies, all, but I took them just to shut up the nurses.

"Did you honor Atlas, too?" I asked.

She stirred a generous amount of honey into a mixture of tea leaves and water from a kettle that was put over a fire too long ago. "The Empress is searching for her. We are as well, but we don't have a lot of leads."