Wyvern Tails and Phoenix Feathers

The Cortège, Chapter 5 - Eloise

Eloise ached. She removed her breastplate and jerkin. Her brown tunic was red with her own blood and speckled with that of those she had slain. The skirt was damp and dirtied from creek water. She peeled it off carefully, folded it, and tossed it beneath the table.

Annette was kneeling on the floor beside the water. She looked somewhat ghoulish in the dim candlelight of the snail shell. She had found a white tea towel which was balled up in her hand. She patted the polished floor in front of her and Eloise obliged, groaning as she reclined. The surface was cold against her naked back.

Annette got to work immediately, cleaning the blood from her skin and investigating the size of the incision. Eloise felt the steady dabbing of cloth between the frothy trickle of the tea towel being wrung. The pain wasn't overwhelming. Eloise didn't feel she had much room to complain anyway; the stab wound was the final riposte of the girl she had killed. The girl was dead while she still lived. Unless, she wondered suddenly, if the blade were poisoned. She doubted Annette would have the wherewithal to heal her. A poisoned blade would be the end of her.

"The bleeding hasn't stopped," Annette said with dissatisfaction. She stopped cleaning abruptly, stood, and walked towards the shelf.

Eloise grimaced. She hadn't expected the Princess to assist her in dressing her wound. She was surprised she had offered. Abandoning the task was somehow worse.

"So you're giving up on me?"

Annette shook her head as she rummaged through jars, boxes, and tins.

"I'm looking for a needle and thread," Annette explained.

Eloise lowered her head again. Her explanation made sense. She doubted Annette would find anything useful, however. The shell had been out of The Archmage's possession for years. It was instead in the hands of Horus Morningshire and his lover, Fernon.

"I can't imagine Horus being much of a seamstress," said Eloise.

"And yet..." Annette returned to Eloise's field of vision with a spool of orange thread and a curved upholstery needle. She knelt beside her again. She exhaled with some revulsion. "So much blood," Eloise heard her say.

"I'll try to hold it in," Eloise teased.

"If you could." Annette wiped down the area again. She took another deep breath, as though she were trying to keep from fainting. "Alright. I imagine this going to hurt."

"That sounds likely."

"Luckily, I am skilled at needlepoint," said Annette.

"Oh good," said Eloise. "Make it look like a bouquet of flowers, please."

"Don't think I won't."

Eloise smiled, but caught herself. Were she and Princess Annette engaging in friendly teasing? She hadn't thought it possible. Her thoughts were interrupted as the needle poked through her flesh. She grunted through the pain. It didn't numb as Annette worked. Every stab felt just as terrible as the first.

"How did you kill that girl?" Annette asked. Eloise couldn't decide if it was to distract from the pain or if she were truly interested. "I mean, she stabbed you, so I assume there was a struggle."

"The struggle was all hers," said Eloise. "And I don't know what killed her in the end. She either drowned as I forced her beneath the water or I strangled her."

"Oh. What's it like? To kill someone, I mean." There was no judgement in her tone. Rather, Annette asked with childlike naïvety.

"I've learned to not think about it," said Eloise. "The first time? Horrific. The second time it simply bled into the third. And they're different. Sometimes it's easy to absolve yourself. It was either them or me. I survived. Other times, it feels like cold-blooded murder and I wonder if I deserve to walk away and enjoy a meal or the love of a good man."