The Queen Must Remember

Part 13: Ilkene, the realm of skeletons...

He couldn't hold back tears, everything hurt, everything twisted and shrivelled. His vision was blurred, but he saw many strange figures take him from the safety of the trio of strangers. All he could hear was the muffled voices surrounding him as he was laid on a bed and undressed, the words cursed skeleton reverberated around his ringing ears.
Nobody coaxed or calmed him, they were too busy unwrapping the poor excuses of bandages to reveal blackened wounds bulging with rooted veins. The stitching had broken, now revealing gaping, bloodless holes in his chest and the side of his stomach, as if the skin had parted for the organs. The healers got to work, one tied leather through his teeth, no stick...
Three more held down his head and wrists. He was scared, his whimpers muffled and tears streaming down his face. There were tools ready for incision:

They picked apart the roots and veins, pouring sludgy herbs into the gaping holes. Orpheus screamed, thrashing as much as his body could allow. It hurt. It hurt like a thousand barbs of venom. It hurt like a chest of silver betrayals. It hurt like death...he was close enough to kiss her cheek.

The healers kept talking, he heard none of it. One of the healers holding him down wiped the sweat from his skull-like brow, dabbing at them with a cloth. Orpheus screamed and sobbed, his fangs grinding into the leather. It felt like a thousand years, but the healers retracted their tools, massaging salves into the holes. He seethed viciously, whimpering loudly with puffing breathes.
"Almost done..." someone murmured in his ear, dabbing at his moist brow tenderly.
He closed his eyes, panting ferociously.
He was bandaged up better than last time, though he couldn't judge the trio's efforts, they had saved his life. Now, he just had to figure out where he was, and why people were calling him the cursed skeleton.

**

He could not remember a time he had woken up in such pain, even in the garden after the pixies had given him what for. He remembered Rhae visiting him every morning, a cheerful smile on her face and a plate of sweet treats for breakfast. He missed her. He missed her smile, her happy voice telling him everything in the garden was good... ignorance that plagued him, but still gave him a purpose to show her the truth.

He opened his eyes sleepily, he was in a tent lit up by small fae-lights, his bed curtained off. He didn't feel claustrophobic, especially when the curtains swayed in the windless air calmly, like a subtle wave. His torso and stomach were heavily bandaged under a thin yet comfortable blanket. Many herbs were scented in his curtained off area, mashed into the fabrics of his threadbare body.
He turned his head to the side to see his limp hand in the grasp of another, a Fae dozing beside the bed. They had braided dark hair, dark enough to match his own...and probably silver eyes too--

"Brother?" He rasped, his voice broken and cracked. The Fae's eyes blinked open, and sparkled as they saw he was awake.
"Brother!" They cried, enveloping them in a tight embrace. Orpheus ignored the pain rocketing through him as he wrapped his arms around his brother, breaking into sobs of happiness, "It's been three centuries..." He breathed.

His brother nodded, resting his face against Orpheus's neck, "I know, Orpheus, I know... I'm here now," he replied happily, "I'm so glad to see you..."

Orpheus chuckled, "You don't know how much I missed you, brother."

His brother pulled away with a grin, "Oh, I have a name now."

Orpheus raised a brow, "Really? Took you three centuries to think of one?" His brother had yet to rename himself last time he'd seen him, and Orpheus would be happy to call his sibling a name better than brother.

"Idris." He beamed. Orpheus clapped his weak hands together with pride he never thought he'd live to see,

"Good to meet you, Idris." He wheezed with as much stature possible in his state. His brother's eyes lit up at the mention of his name from the mouth of his brother, Orpheus only hoped that others called him by his chosen name and not his dead one.
Idris looked down at his bandages, "Royal arrows, eh?"