Syrilth; A Dei Realm Tale

Chapter Two

I lost my breakfast as soon as we entered the stables. Leaning into the door frame, my stomach heaved violently as I emptied its contents into the snow below. Injros rubbed my back in soothing circles as Nyra ran back into the castle, muttering under her breath various ingredients for what could only be another one of her potions. Mortified, I caught my breath as the ominous churning in my stomach dulled, giving me time to swallow the embarrassment that was rising to follow what had been my breakfast. Cautiously I straightened, unable to bear the thought of turning around now to face the war-hardened warriors who waited further in the stables.

A handkerchief patterned in various shades of blue appeared, stopping my hand midway to reaching my lips. Jonathan was attached to it, judgment nowhere to be found in his unnaturally solemn gaze. He motioned for me to take the piece of cloth. Murmuring inaudibly my thanks, I resisted the urge to scrub fiercely to get rid of the vile sensation that coated my mouth. Injros' hand moved to my shoulder, and as I was nearly finished tidying up the dark strands that had come loose from my low bun, he said, "are you still sure? The journey will be difficult."

I stilled, my vision flashing red momentarily. The question had already been asked by so many different individuals, I had lost count before the sun had risen. It's genuine concern, I reminded my ire as I took unnecessarily long to fold the ruined handkerchief. Exhaustion and terror for the unknown fate of my Beloved weighed me down as I focused on the tiny cloth. Undoubtedly my mood had only continued to take a turn for the worse since the meeting the other night, the endless "what if's" that had plagued me since causing me to first lose sleep and now patience.

Though the gods of old had become mere myths over the past few centuries, I had prayed to the legendary figures when my thoughts had finally spiraled out of control. I prayed to them now, despite knowing I wouldn't get an answer. Only myself would hear my desperation. Knowing so darkened my mood further.

Nyra returned then, holding up a small, leather bag that clinked as glass met glass. "Take this once a day when you're feeling ill," she told me after she placed the bag in my free hand. "This little concoction was inspired by the terrified thought that I would never be able to keep food in my stomach again, at least while I was pregnant with Rosa. It was a life saver...for myself and everyone around me." Her bright gaze gained an evil twinkle as she turned to her husband and Injros. "Stop pestering her, this is for the best. You need her, remember that."

Jonathan's expression grew warm as he listened to his Beloved scold them. The sight twisted my heart until I nearly gasped, blinking back tears. Killian? I reached out to my own Beloved. Silence. No indication that he had heard me, nothing to ease the fear that festered within me. My nails bit into my palm, strengthened by my frustration. It had been this way for days now, and the inability to answer my endless questions made me want to scream.

"Is there water I can steal to rinse my mouth with?" I asked abruptly, needing a distraction so I wouldn't give in to the rising urge.

An Injros, awkwardly avoiding looking at the couple to give them some semblance of privacy, eagerly led me to where his men waited for us. From one of the saddled horses, he brought me a water skin. I quickly rinsed the foul taste out of my mouth with the cool water it held, giving it back to Injros before gabbing one of the vials inside the bag Nyra had handed me. The unearthly green that glowed in the dim stables made me pause, soldiers shifting uncomfortably around me at the sight. Though Nyra had been ruling the Ninth Kingdom by Jonathan's side for several years now, many still treated her with apprehension. Witches and Warlocks were creatures of the dark, their constant pursuit of gaining more power often leaving a trail of the dead behind from their experimentations. Nyra had lived a life that proved she was unlike the rest of her kind, but people were slow to forgive and forget the history witches had.