Figurehead

twenty

It takes a few attempts before my eyes fully open.

I'm lying on my back on a pallet, which must be on the ground, based on how hard it is. I can't move my head, and my stomach is clenched. How long have I been asleep? I mustn't have eaten for a while. My lips are cracked. I mustn't have drank anything for a while, either. And I smell. I smell like dried sweat and blood and vomit, and maybe even waste. I'm filthy. My right leg seems to be wrapped tightly in something, and I can feel cloths wrapped around my neck. I'm wearing nothing but a loincloth and torso wrap beneath this single sheet.

It's cold.

My Lord, my Lord...

I stare up at the ceiling and opposite wall, and from the flickering shadows, I can tell there must be a fire in this room. In my periphery, I can see blurred figures of others lying on pallets, and of healers walking around.

"Ah, someone is awake." I blink and flick my gaze to the healer standing at the end of my pallet. The same one that came to me when I stood last night- was it only last night?

"How long have I been asleep?" I try to ask. It comes out a rasp.

He runs a hand through his dark hair. "Almost two days." He pauses. "Kla gave you a krufid half-leaf so you could heal," he adds, by way of explanation.

My mouth drops open. Krufid? "Is that safe?" I exclaim. Or, at least, I try to.

He nods. "As long as you consume less than a full leaf every month."

I gape. "What-" I don't know what I was going to say.

He waits, but when I shut my mouth, he speaks. "In a moment, some healers will take you to the washroom next door, and they will teach you how to apply poultices and whatever else you will need to know." He tilts his head. "You are in a much better state than most others."

Dein. Sher. Lus. Ni- "How many dead?" I ask, interrupting my thoughts.

He shakes his head. "Hard to tell still."

"High Healer Ret," someone calls, and he turns with a brief apologetic smile before walking away, out of sight.

I roll my eyes back up to stare at the ceiling. Is Dein alive? Sher? Lus?

My Lord, be with us. Thank You that I'm alright, but... Oh, my Lord, give me faith, give me strength, help me trust You. Your will be done. Oh, Lord, Your will be done.

Three healers show up in my periphery and I shift my gaze to meet theirs. One holds a cloth, towel and bundle of clothes. One holds a staff. The other is empty-handed. "Come. You must stand."

I suppress a grimace and take the hand one offers, leaning heavily on the staff she hands me. Another takes the cloth and wraps it loosely around me, making sure to cover my ink, and I manage a faint smile of thanks before we head slowly out of the room.

The room is, in fact, much larger than I initially thought. It is lit by hearths, one on either side of the length of the room, and it has two doors. One leading to the hall, one leading to what I assume is the washroom.

My assumption is proved correct when we head through the door, and are welcomed by the sight of several closed waste pots, a long table covered in an arranged assortment of containers, several baths, and alongside each, a rectangular firepit. A communal washroom.

They help me into one of the baths, and the water is colder than I'd anticipated. But it is still Dre, after all. One sets the clothes and towel down on the table, another places the staff on the ground in reach, before they pull a curtain of cloth so it surrounds the bath and I'm hidden from sight. "Thank you." I don't know if they hear.

"There are oils and scents on the table; once you have washed and dried, wear only torso wrap and loincloth before informing us you are ready to learn to apply poultice."

I keep forgetting I can't nod, and it's painful. But even if I could, I realise they wouldn't be able to see it. "Alright."

Having taught me to carefully and evenly coat certain cuts and bruises in certain poultices, the healers return to the others to offer their assistance. Their assistance, which is so needed right now. Kla, one of the healers, told me that healers are coming from almost all provinces. Anshakim is a mess, another informed me. Every one of the Escatin empire looks to the king, to the first heir, and to the second heir.

"There's a second heir?" I asked, gingerly touching the cloths I just wrapped around my neck.

"Yeah." The healer said it as if it was common knowledge, frowning at me. "A few weeks after the crowning, there was a High meeting. The king announced the second heir, the Sirdiu reacted in fury." She readjusted her grip on the basin of soiled cloths in her arms.

Thankfully, I'd thrown up in the waste pot, and she'd commented earlier on being grateful for that. Many didn't, and caused mess.

"A few weeks after the crowning?" I'd echoed.

One of the other healers arched an eyebrow. "The whole empire knew just days afterward. Where were you?"

I don't have an answer to give. It must have been when I went to Kalsemir. "So who is the second heir?" I asked.

They'd exchanged glances. "The king didn't give a name."

"Well, what did he say, then?" I asked. He had said nothing to me when I'd returned, Lus had said nothing. Nothing.

"She's a trusted messenger, she wasn't present at the meeting, and she would not be informed until the time was right." Oh, no. Please, no. But maybe I'm too self-centred in my thinking, maybe I'm wrong. Maybe he didn't name me second heir. Maybe he didn't go behind my back and give me a chance at the crown without telling me. Maybe it's someone else, like Nirs or Tui or any other female trusted messenger I can't think of right now. Maybe it's not me.

"It does mean she might have no idea right now, and she could be dead," another had commented darkly, interrupting my thoughts. If it's me, then no, she's not dead, not yet.

"How are the king and first heir, then?" I asked.

"The first heir is sleeping under influence of a krufid half-leaf." Lus. Oh, Lus.

"And the king?" It came out a bare whisper.

They'd shared glances. "He's kept under high guard. We don't know."

Now I stand alone in the washroom, fully dressed, leaning on a staff. There are cloths wound loosely around my neck, there are occasional smears of poultice drying quickly on my body. My right leg has a cut running down the length of my shin, coated in poultice and wrapped tightly in cloth beneath my clothing.

My body is warm, but I'm cold. So cold.

They will not allow me to see Lus, who is in another room with the male wounded, under the careful watch of guards. They will not allow me to see Dein, who sleeps in his rooms under the guard of five of the palace's most trusted. They will not allow me to see Sher, who is one of the most wounded of all.

They do not know who I am when I say I am a trusted messenger. When I tell them my name is Janf. They don't know.

But perhaps I'm wrong. Perhaps I'm not second heir. Perhaps they have not kept this hidden from me all these months.

Worse still- perhaps I'm right.