Queen's Light

Apotelesma {Part II}

It was stuffy.

The castle, the nobles, her dress. It was all too stuffy. Too false.

The arm of the puffed chair in her parlor had doubled her over. She lay sprawled unceremoniously on the settee, one arm over her eyes, the other clutching at her lower abdomen as though trying to keep her innards from exploding. As it felt they would.

She had been heading to her study. Forgotten that the maids had done some rearranging of the furnishings in her parlor. Ended up walking directly into the sharper edge of the chair. It caught her just beneath her ribcage, and the pain only spread, to the scar below her waist and up to her head. Even the dim candlelight made her feel sick.

Her head screamed at her in its agony. Telling it off only made its cry louder.

She wanted to cry. More than anything, really. But the spinning of the room and the stabbing agony in her stomach put tears far out of her reach. Crying would have to come later, when her tears had refilled.

The evening maid eventually found her. The young woman had panicked a bit before calling for the healer. It all seemed to be happening in a haze, like a distant memory. Her arm was peeled away from her face, and her slitted, blinking eyes were met by Hann's round face wrinkled in concern. She heard her name, then saw Hann's lips move. Nothing seemed real.

Her arm was replaced. She felt her legs being moved, stretched out instead of rumpled beneath her. A small, sweet-smelling pouch was placed by her face—a poultice of some sort.

Somehow through the haze of absolute agony, one thought came clear as day. This couldn't be kept quiet. The people would hear of it. They would know.

The Queen is weak.

By every iteration of gods, she wanted to sob. A hand pressed a small shred of cloth over her mouth. The stench of it was sickly.

She remembered nothing else.

The chirping of songbirds awoke her. She opened her eyes, blinking in the morning light. The long windows on either side of her bed were open, curtains fluttering in the slight breeze. Her vision came to rest on the tea tray beside her bed. More importantly, on the person tending to the tea tray beside her bed.

"Hann?" Her voice came softer than she'd intended. "What..."

Hann glanced at her over her shoulder, a brow raised. "I'd lay back if I were you. That was a nasty blow you'd been hit."

She frowned, her mouth moving as though to form words but unable to. "I...I don't..."

"Nor do I expect you to," Hann replied, taking a cup of steaming tea and holding it out expectantly to the Queen. Rhiannon took it, hands unsteady and slightly trembling. One sip and she immediately felt lighter, her head less foggy.

She met Hann's gaze. "What happened?"

Hann sighed, sitting beside the Queen's bed. "My Lady, if I may, you've been quite sick and under much stress lately. I really don't think you should concern yourself with--"

"Hann." Rhiannon could hardly draw the breath to speak. "What aren't you telling me?"

The old healer wrung her hands. "I have reason to believe you were poisoned, My Queen."

It was a moment before Hann's words hit their mark. "...Poisoned?"

"You...were on the verge of dying, My Lady. A minute more and you could have been gone. It is impressive that you were still alive when you were found." Hann sighed. "I believe the mixture to be a concoction of some sort of magic, little that I know of those sorts of things."