Forged in Frost and Fire (Book 1 in the Chronicles of Kings trilogy)

Chapter Eleven

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

I dreamed of strange things in that world between waking and sleeping.

I dreamt of a boy, shrouded in darkness. He was drowning in it, the tendrils of shadows were wrapping around him like an embrace, a suffocating embrace. One tendril wrapped around his neck, the other his chin, forcing him to look up at me. His eyes were full of anguish, it was all I could see of him, everything else was covered with shadows.

I reached out a hand to him, trying to help, but no matter how close I got, I couldn't reach him. All I could do was watch as he suffered.

I slammed into the waking world with a start. Usually, I'd take some time to awaken, stretch and yawn and slowly let my eyes open...but not this time. Now, my eyes flew open and I sat up immediately, reaching for my knife, only to find it wasn't at my hip. Nothing was at my hip. I looked down to see I wasn't in what I could last remember wearing. My tunic and pants were gone, replaced with a simple white shift that went down to my knees.

I looked around, clutching my blanket to my chest. I was in a bed in a place I did not recognize. The walls were wood, simple, bare. There were no paintings, no furnishings. Nothing. Not even a window. Beds were around me, simple small white beds. No one occupied any of them.

I looked around to see that my bag was on the ground at the foot of my bed, I lunged for it and zipped it open like a madwoman. Everything was still there, nothing was taken. Even the dagger I had at the bottom was still there, along with the food from Gretchens.

"Don't worry, I made sure no one stool your biscuits," a voice said to my right. I whipped to the side to see a boy who couldn't have been much older than me walking into the room. He was thin, a little on the shorter side, with sandy blonde hair and large brown eyes covered with thin wire glasses. He was wearing a simple blue tunic and pants and had a mug in his hand along with a bundle of what looked like gauze.

"Where am I?" I asked, pressing the comforter tight around me. My hand was still inches from the dagger, if he tried anything I could easily thrust my dagger into his stomach. Damn, my thoughts were dark.

"You're in a holding room," he said.

"A holding room?" I asked, my brows lifting. He pulled the seat down from the edge of my bed and brought it close to me. He plopped down onto it and set the mug down on the little stand next to me.

"Yeah, it's where we keep people whose papers need to be checked to validate that they're suitable to join the army. It's rare, but if they need to stay overnight, this is where they do it," He had a kind face and looked gentle. His face was more human than the others I had seen, though I could still see those pointed tips to his ears and the features that simply were too extreme for a mortal. Like high cheekbones and sharp edges and planes.

"And who are you?" I asked, inching away from him. He was beginning to undo the strap of gauze.

"I'm Lason," he said. "I'm a novice medic for the army. They sent me to you because all the other medics were busy. I know right, lucky me." He gave me a flat expression. "Now, do you want to explain what you're doing passing out in the middle of registration rooms?"

"I...I don't know," I said. "I thought I was fine-"

"Really?" he asked. "Because you were sweating bullets when you came in, running a low grade fever though it didn't look low grade. Does your body temperature run low?" I nodded. He rubbed a hand along his jaw. "You had traces of goblin poison in your bloodstream. You had a reaction to it. I was able to draw it out by draining a considerable amount of blood with no harm done. As long as you drink this tea I got you and rewrap your bandages, you should be good to go."