The Infernal Crown: Of Roses and Lies

Chapter 2

The comforting sound of crackling flames jostled me awake. My body, stiff and numb, relaxed slightly as the heat from the hearth caressed my back. For once, I truly felt at peace with no more blood and gore to worry about.

Gentle hands prodded my wounds with a wet cloth, tracing around gashes and scars. I knew that my back was an unholy sight -- a living jigsaw of skin and scabs.

I moaned as the burning sensation of water touched raw flesh, numbing my back once more. Voices flitted out from the bedroom. I didn't need to discern their words to know that they were Alistair and Father arguing, something about the village Elders as always. I couldn't help but smile a bit nevertheless. It was good to know that they were still the same.

I dug my fingers into the plush carpet, squeezing my eyes shut in pain. The carpet was what was left of our former wealth, a painful memory of history. My father had once been a fine merchant, traveling across the seas to trade. This very rug had been a wedding gift to my mother, bought from the faraway continents on the other side of the world. We had managed to save it before our estate went up in cinders, although I didn't know what was the point in keeping it when we could sell it for other necessities.

I grimaced.

"Shit, Theodore!"

He winced at my tone. "Sorry, Eleena. Your wounds are quite bad this time. Are you sure you don't want your healing herbs?"

I took a calming breath, unclenching my fists before craning my head slightly to meet his eyes. He looked so sincere, his grey eyes -- my mother's eyes -- remained pinned on me, daring me to refuse. I couldn't help it, not when he was giving me that look. I sighed as I gave in, a triumphant gleam in his eyes.

"Fine, I will."

"Cheer up Eleena, don't be so glum. You would be as fit as before in no time." You see, that was the problem. The Elders would suspect something suspicious about us if I healed so quickly. Only the faeries had herbs and abilities to do that, not humans. I couldn't put my family at risk again, not when I had been through so much the last time I had.

The bitter smell of the brew wafted from the kitchen, seemingly taunting me to drink it. I could see the vague outline of Theodore tending to the herbs, his porcelain skin giving a warm glow. Sometimes, I thought of how ironic our appearances were. My calloused, tan skin from hunting under the sun compared to the smooth, pale skin of my brothers. It wasn't that my brothers were lazy. They weren't like Father, who just sat around and moped. Alistair and Theodore sometimes didn't ... observe as much. It wasn't their egos or cold-heartedness that prevented them to help; it simply never occurred to them that we were poor now and needed as much help as we could get to survive.

"Here," he said, placing a mug in front of me, "Drink up."

I pushed myself up, Theodore's warm hands supporting me as I leaned against him. Of all of us, Theodore had taken our lost the lightest. Although he had resented our father from the second we'd fled our manor, he had always believed that one day we would regain our wealth and the life we had once lived before.