Of Whispers and Daggers ✓ [TLRQ #2]

Chapter 31.1 - Aster

When she's gone, I lock the doors back and pull off the shirt stained with Ressa's blood. One of our field healers has experience with magic-related illnesses. She examined Ressa and got her to sleep. Physically, she'll be fine.

We'll have to wait to see if she comes through it mentally.

I lie shirtless down on my bed, habit be confounded. If an emergency comes before the morning, whoever it is will just have to deal well enough with my impropriety. I'm not wrinkling tomorrow's shirt by sleeping in it or wasting another one just in case someone needs me within the next four hours.

I'm tired.

I watch my ceiling. We should have made them pull back sooner. Then again, there's no telling how long the Kadranians were waiting for our retreat. In the morning, Averí will start trying to scry people to see if anyone survived.

Ten days. It's only been ten days since I returned.

I should get to sleep. I don't have much time left to, and not resting isn't an option. I won't function tomorrow, not with everything else that's going on, not with the fact that I've been staying up in order to practice. I force my eyes closed.

We have seventy-five fewer soldiers now. Twenty-five fewer wizards. I can't escape the feeling this is going to end with all my family's blood poured out on the flagstones.

I shift and pull the blankets over me. Despite knowing the room is usually cold, it feels fairly warm compared to my hour and a half of being slammed with frozen wind. Even so, I tug the duvet tight around me. I know I stopped shivering a good half-hour ago, but now tension grips my muscles, and I curl up.

The darkness is too quiet. I shouldn't have run Leavi off like that. We had tea in Niv. The memory feels ridiculous and unreal, like nonsense from a dream. I hold onto it. We were friends.

I pull the blanket tighter. Go to sleep.

Instead, my mind seems to grab for every other possible topic. Wondering how little Zena is doing at the Kitten. Hoping the reinforcements arrive soon. Wishing my castle didn't seem out to kill Leavi. Eventually, it hits me the one thing I'm not thinking about.

What made us choose those men? What made them any more deserving of a funeral pyre than the other soldiers? We handpicked men to die.

My chest aches, and I pull my pillow over my head. Sleep overtakes me while I beg myself to stop picturing the barbarians slay my people. My dreams pay no more heed than my conscious mind did.

In the morning, my neck is sore from not sleeping on my pillow, which seems to have found its way to the floor. More exhausted than when I went to bed, I drag myself up and dress for the day. I'm forced to wear my least comfortable shirt; the rest are all dirty.

I scoop the pile up. After depositing it in the corner of my living room, I wander down the halls toward the Mage Room. Any mage not on the wall is in here, and they all look up as I enter. Even Solus respectfully raises his head from his work. I freeze in the doorway, unsure why they're all here and watching me.