Elvirund | ✔️

Chapter Forty Three

Without a sound my father was gone, and in his place was Sibriel.

"So, how is it, dying?"

"Oddly satisfying."

He laughed quietly.

"I assume you're not just here to make small talk." This dream was to the point, even if it was myself.

"Yes, about that. I admit I have nothing of use to add but a trifle. It's true that Raphael is your true father. What he didn't tell you, and what no one has told you, is that your mother actually was your true mother as well." He shrugged. "Though if I know anything about you from Caphriel then you already figured that out."

With those words and a smile he was gone, and I was alone once more. The execution hall faded around me and I fell back into a peaceful slumber.

Freya did arrive the next morning, to the relief of those awake.

"Don't mind Caphriel, she's had a long night." Sibriel rubbed one eye.

"I don't want to disturb them."

"It's okay, I'm moving," mumbled a sleepy Caphriel.

Freya set her bag down and draped her coat over an empty chair. Sitting by Alethia, she tugged a roll of bandages out of her bag and set about working.

"This doesn't look too bad. My only worry is the poison."

"How did you know?" Caphriel mumbled.

"Oh, everyone has heard by now, dear. It was sent through the news after someone got a holorom video."

"By the angel, if that's not typical Elvirians for you."

"I'll say. It certainly made my escape from the hospital slightly easier though."

Caphriel yawned and stretched, her gaze resting on Alethia's sleeping face. Nothing, it seemed, could stop her heart from sprinting off when she looked at Alethia. Even while Freya bandaged her wounds she appeared to be at peace. It was relieving, to some degree.

"It looks to be manageable. That head wound is a nasty one, but the poison has affected minimal places around her eye that are easy enough to heal."

"So she'll be alright?"

"Assuming the poison hasn't spread through the rest of her, then yes."

Caphriel sighed happily and leaned back against the wall. That was all she needed for the time being. If there was a chance she would make it through, no matter how small, Caphriel knew she could rest easy.

"Hungry?"

"Not particularly."

Pahaliah slid two sections of the deer over the fire anyway, thoughtfully chewing on a small sprig of rosemary. The embers glowed bright orange and red, lighting the floor by the fireplace, one of many small sunsets in the room. What was is that had worried them so much? Herian Falour. That was it. What would a high noble with a stable position and wealth want with a Mimicry Potion?

"You're thinking about something." Pahaliah hardly even turned her head.

"One of the nobles wanted a Mimicry Potion. I'm trying to think what for."

"Lost loved one?"

"Hardly likely."

"Personal scandal?"

"Maybe."

Pahaliah frowned and sighed. A noble wanting something from an Alchemy shop was odd enough, but asking for such a misunderstood item was almost too much.