The Lady Penitent

VIII. Before the Wedding

Holland staggered into her room, covered with dust from the road and aching all over from a day spent in the saddle. Her arm was still recovering, bruised and battered at the shoulder to the point where stretching it was difficult and painful. She was barely awake. Even worse was the invisible weight that had settled on her, knowing that Galeo would never return safely home because of her. It was a surprise to be met by someone: Seva. Delicate hands steadied her even though she knew she was grimy. The baroness's blue eyes were wide with concern.

"I'm fine," Holland said, voice rough and raw. She didn't sound alright even to her own ears and she knew full well that Seva could see through it, no matter how much the warrior wished otherwise.

"Let me aid thee," Seva said. She sat Holland down on the edge of her bed and set to work unbuckling the strange armor. The penitent tried to help, but she was so clumsy from exhaustion that she was more of a hindrance. The baroness helped her out of her surcoat and armor, carefully setting each piece on the floor. There were no questions about how the battle had gone or what was wrong. Seva knew enough to just let it be. She peeled off Holland's subarmalis, the black cloth dirtied by sweat and blood. She wasn't straight off the field, but the road back had left her little time to clean up. There had been two more skirmishes with those Imperials that had retreated off the field, these on the road to Tamaris where some of them had run. The last had been within a day of the city. The Yssan troops were victorious, but that did not mean they were casualty-free.

Holland knew the number and variety of scars across her body surprised Seva, but the baroness was good enough not to say anything. Normally, Holland would have been embarrassed to be seen battered and beaten like this, but she was too tired to care. It hadn't even really registered that Seva was seeing her unclothed, nor was she aware enough to look for a real reaction.

Once the armor was discarded, Seva helped her lay down on her better side. She brushed Holland's dusty hair out of her face. "Wouldst thou have thy bath this night or on the morn?" the baroness asked softly.

"Tomorrow," Holland sighed, hiding her face in the pillow. She was leaving dirt marks on the sheets and the pillowcase, but she didn't really care. It felt so good to be out of her armor and sleeping on something other than the cold, hard ground. Her eyes fluttered closed and she felt fingertips trace along her cheekbone, following the line of a bruise carefully. She wanted to sleep so badly, but she kept stubbornly clinging to consciousness.

"Certes," Seva said, tucking a few more loose strands back behind Holland's ear. "Thou art too wounded to attend."

"Attend?" Holland said groggily. Vaguely, the buried memory was coming back to her: the wedding. The wedding was tomorrow. She fumbled for Seva's hand without opening her eyes and settled on grabbing the one that was currently touching her face. "I'll be there."

Seva smiled faintly. "Sleep for now, o faithful hound."

Without any further prompting, Holland slipped into unconsciousness. She was too tired to even dream, falling deep beneath the level where Deus could whisper into her mind the way she had become accustomed to.

She woke to the sound of her name and a dull ache of muscles throughout her whole body. Holland felt stiff and distinctly unattractive in her dirt. She groaned and lifted her head slowly, which was about all she could do without incurring penalties from her body. The winter sunlight was bright and beautiful streaming in through the windows where the curtains had been pulled back. A serving girl was watching her expectantly. "What?" Holland said thickly.

"Your bath is ready, Lady Penitent," the young woman said patiently.

Holland grit her teeth and forced herself up, feeling that strange blend of pain and pleasure. It was Saraqael's sorcery that had given her an appetite for breaking her own body. The first thing she did once she was sitting up was begin to slowly, gently, stretch her injured shoulder. She didn't want to lose the full range of motion that she had regained. "Coming," she said as pleasantly as she could while things in her body snapped and popped. She rotated her neck, feeling the tension release with a few cracks. She felt as though she had a new appreciation for the pains of wheat sent through a grain mill.