Figurehead

thirty-one

I had flinched as he'd taken his daggers out, and I'd taken a step back. He sighed, giving me a sympathetic look. "I know you probably never want to pick up a blade again, let alone use it." He shrugged. "But the Sirdiu know who you are now, and it is more dangerous than ever now in Anshakim. Especially since you're second heir."

Now I sit on my pallet, knees drawn loosely to my chest. My arms and legs ache; it has been a while since I needed to use them so vigorously. Last time, it had been at the battle. It had taken a lot of coaxing on Gri's part before I had forced myself to take two daggers from amongst my piled belongings and join him in the front room.

I don't know where my daggers went- the ones I used on the battlefield- but I don't want them back. It was bad enough trying to gather the courage needed to defend myself against Gri while he patiently and relentlessly attacked. He is definitely one of the most skilled fighters I've ever seen. The fact he never drew blood or scratched my skin at all, despite the huge difference in skill, was a definite display of strong discipline. The only reason I didn't even scratch his skin was because I couldn't get the opportunity.

When I was first training as messenger, learning how to attack and defend myself with blade, I didn't mind it. Maybe because I thought I'd probably never have to use those skills. But, fighting against Gri, I know that I hope to never have to use them again. They kept me alive in the battle- well, no, the Lord kept me alive- but I hope I never need them again.

Still.. I know I might. And that Gri is right. I'm second heir. Like it or not, I need to accept that.

I lift my head at the closing of the doors and approach of footsteps, meeting the High healer's dark blue eyes. "You weren't at the High meeting," I realise aloud.

He wrinkles his nose with a shake of his head, releasing a sigh. "I left the Sirdiu last Dre. Some of them are urging for my return." He shrugs. "I'd rather not. Especially now, after the battle."

I nod. "I'm assuming you support the king and his first and second heirs, then?" I hold my breath.

He shoots me a look. "If not, all three of you would have died long ago. I do hold some power here, after all."

I manage a weak smile, blowing out a breath. "Sorry."

He shrugs, entering the room to pull the sheet back and look over Dein's body. "We both know he only has a few days left." He pauses. "Two at the most," he adds softly. I swallow.

"You can't tell if he'll wake?" I manage. "Why isn't he awake yet?"

"Blood loss." Ret's face is sombre. Dein saved my life, killing Pev before she killed me. And now he might lose his life because of it. I close my eyes, take a deep breath before re-opening them.

"Is there anything you can do? Is there anything I can do?"

He places the sheet back over Dein's sleeping body. "Just keep him warm, keep him safe, feed him and give him water to drink." He shrugs. "There is nothing else we can do but wait. His wounds and poultices are clean and have been applied properly."

"So there is nothing?" I ask heavily.

"All we can do now is pray."

I rise to my feet. "Yes. Pray, pray, pray," I exhale.

Ret nods once, offering a small smile before leaving.

Wherever the Lord leads, He will make a way. He will strengthen. Right? But if Dein dies, then I'm to be first heir. How could Dein's death possibly help? Is it possible that the Lord has decided there is no more for Dein to do here? Or, what, that Dein's death would lead to the people of this empire growing closer to the Lord?