At present, Luan’s slumber was peaceful. Her eyelids flickered with motion. Ryl snuggled her baby close to his body. He watched in wonder as the child stared up at him, its large brown eyes investigating the newness of his environment.
“You’ve been born into strange times, little one,” Ryl whispered more to himself. The child cooed softly in reply, continuing its survey of the chamber.
Handing Luan’s baby to the guard who had been assigned as both caregiver and nanny, Ryl continued his rounds. The air in the chamber was thick with the potent scents of the blighted rose remedy and the vile after products of the sickness. He found Odus, Rikel, and Quinlen. He smiled, scanning the room, as he half expected to find an earthen jug of his friends’ powerful brew squirreled away somewhere from prying eyes.
Ryl had little trouble locating the massive frame of Zed. His sleep was tormented. His hulking frame thrashed. The struggle was so powerful that it required his assistance atop two additional guards to settle the agitated tribute. His uncontrolled strength was an inadvertent danger to himself and others within reach.
Aelin was among the youngsters showing the most promise. His eyelids struggled to open against the discharge that had settled over his lashes. Once free, they remained open for several moments though his eyes were still clouded and unfocused. His speech was rambling at best. Lucid moments had yet to settle in with any longevity. The boy was a fighter, physically strong beyond comprehension and just as powerfully stubborn.
Ryl was eager to witness the progression of his skills once his full consciousness was restored. What other innate abilities would his awakening unlock?
The final stop among the tributes was Sarial. Her temporary ward was located inside the base of the great tree that housed the bulk of the severely injured guards. Ryl was surprised by the strength of the odors here. The metallic tang of stale blood added a new, unpleasant layer to the stench of the roses’ leaves. The ground underfoot was solid, though he plodded carefully, avoiding the patches that had been stained darker by one of many uncontrolled bodily fluids.
Mender Jeffers was a near permanent fixture under the base of this tree. While requiring supervision and steady care, most of the tributes’ cases were similar. The course of their sicknesses was linear. His trained watch oversaw those most desperate in need, those primarily having been injured by blade, bludgeon, or bow.
Ryl needed no explanation. Sarial was a special case. She was special to him.
She, along with a handful of others, would weather their internal storm under his direct care and supervision.
The mender, changing the bandages on a wounded guard, acknowledged his entry, nodding as their eyes met. Jeffers’s gaze moved quickly away; his deft hands carried on though his eyes were momentarily averted from his charge.
Ryl followed the tangent of his vision to the furthermost section of the room. He smiled as he made his way toward the woman he would have considered his mother above all else. Sarial looked peaceful, at rest. Had he not known better, one could have mistaken the state for merely slumber. Though outwardly, she seemed calm, he knew the peace didn’t translate internally. Her mind and body would be tormented. The pain would be intense.
As he knelt at her side, visions of the past inserted themselves into his mind. It had been little over a cycle since he’d left. The unsettled agony over his departure was still fresh in his mind. She had been on death’s door when he was stolen away by his Harvest. Her battered body had been found in her room. The bloodied corpses of the wicked Master Delsith and his henchman were found eviscerated at the foot of her bed.
Her consciousness hadn’t fully returned for moons.
The deaths of Delsith and his lackey were attributed to a fit of jealous, drunken lust. The subsequent hasty investigation failed to illuminate any differing opinion.
Though shocking, the case was closed.
The kingdom moved on.
Ryl and a few others knew the truth.
Their blood was still fresh upon his skin. The spatter painted the walls—the individual droplets rolled sluggishly downward. The growing pools on the floor merged into a lake, leaking slowly through the gaps in the uneven floorboards.
The uncertainty swelled in him as he looked down upon her still form. He watched the shallow, yet steady rise and fall of her chest. The last he’d left her like this, he had ventured forward, blind, uncertain, without purpose. Today, his course was defined. Ryl understood the path he must tread. He was ready for the decisions he must make.
Kaep was out there.
Miles separated them.
An army separated them.
His blood boiled as the heat intensified in his veins. The alexen cried out for retribution.
He would find her.
Ryl reached down, brushing away a stray hair that had settled across her forehead. Her eyelids batted wildly for a moment. A slight tremor rolled through the length of her body. What nightmares ailed her? He studied her, focusing on the thoughts that disturbed her. The muscles on her face contracted as the disturbance within her amplified. He let wave after wave of comfort pour from his body, washing over the suffering frame.
The sound of approaching footsteps drew his attention from her care. The shuffled steps advanced with patience, driven by understanding and compassion. They paused several meters away, unwilling to interrupt the silence and privacy of the occasion.
Ryl smiled. Whatever had addled her tormented mind had, at least for the moment, subsided. Her body was again calm. Still.
He rose to greet the approaching figure, unsurprised at who stood behind him. The long white gown was stained from the toils of his labor and the wear of travel. Jeffers rubbed his hands together, a combination of frayed nerves and idleness.
“They struggle against something I cannot aid. I’m powerless.” His voice was hushed. There was unveiled, raw emotion behind the words. The pained look was uncommon with the
