Broken (6 page)

“What can you see?” he asked, not wanting to know the answer. How much permanent damage had the poison and Darkord blood caused? He’d never heard of either causing blindness or even impaired vision.

She closed her eyes and shook her head. “Just . . . dark shadows.” Her body relaxed as she drifted back to sleep.

“Kira,” he said a little louder.

She jerked awake. “Don’t . . . I want to sleep,” she begged. “Please . . . let me . . . sleep.”

“Shh . . . be still, my love. Sleep. I will be here when you wake.” He could see now that there was no way he’d be able to keep her awake. He could only hope she would become more and more alert in the hours to come.

She lay there a few more minutes in silence. When he lowered her hand to her side, she moaned. “Octavion?”

“I am here,” he said.

“You said . . . cuddle.” The words were barely a whisper, but his heart leapt knowing she was alert enough to know what she wanted.

He went to the other side of the bed and slid under the covers, then pulled her near. She responded by snuggling closer.

“I . . . missed you,” she mumbled.

A lump threatened to choke back his words. “I missed you too.”

Ussay wiped the tears from her face, walked to the drapes and pulled them partially closed, leaving a small stream of light splashing across the floor. “I will be in your dressing chambers if you need me.”

“Thank you.”

She curtsied and then flashed a smile. “You are very welcome.” Then she walked into the other room. She’d been a very important part of Kira’s recovery. Her constant vigilance and kind hearted demeanor had made an enormous difference in how he’d dealt with the situation as well. He would be eternally indebted to her.

Octavion held Kira through the night, waiting patiently for her to wake again, but she didn’t stir. She remained asleep for two more days and when she finally woke, it was with a vengeance.

Early one morning, Gregor came to remove the stitches in Kira’s cheek. He insisted Octavion leave the room in case she bled. Standing outside the door, he heard Gregor giving Ussay instructions regarding the instrument used and the salve he meant to administer when they finished.

“Clip it at the base, next to the skin,” Gregor instructed. Octavion felt glad Gregor had allowed Ussay to remove the stitches, for Gregor was a crotchety old man with shaky hands.

“Like this?” she asked.

“Here let me show you.” There was a pause, then Kira moaned. “Hold her head still.” Gregor let out a grunt of frustration. “Ussay, hold her still.”

Ussay screamed.

Then Kira yelled, “Don’t touch me.”

“Octavion!” Ussay called, but he had already entered the room.

If the scene hadn’t been so serious, he would have laughed and cheered Kira on. She stood in the middle of the bed, her eyes wide with fear. A pair of scissors clenched tightly in her hand. Oh, how he loved her fierceness.

Gregor leaned over the bed, attempting to grab her weapon, and Ussay threw her hands up to ward Kira off.

“Get away from me,” Kira yelled. She blinked and squinted as if trying to get her eyes to focus.

“Gregor, back away slowly,” Octavion instructed. “Kira, it is all right. They will not hurt you.”

Her brow furrowed. She closed her eyes and shook her head, as if trying to clear cobwebs from her mind. When she opened her eyes once more, she sliced the air with the scissors, first toward Gregor, then Ussay. Her body shook violently and Octavion feared she’d fall off the bed.

“Kira? It is me, Octavion. You are safe here. Put the scissors down.” He stepped to the side of the bed.

“No!” She stumbled back against the massive headboard. “Don’t touch me.”

“Kira, do you not recognize me? Look at my face, my eyes.” He took a step closer.

“My head hurts . . . everything is so fuzzy.”

“Try to focus on my eyes.” He hadn’t taken the time to shave and what little facial hair he had could have distorted the shape of his face, especially if she wasn’t seeing well.

With jerking movements she glanced around the room. “Where am I?”

“One of the rooms in my castle. You are safe.” He tried to sit on the edge of the bed, but she took a swing at him with the scissors, barely missing his face.

Ussay had disappeared into his dressing chambers and now stood at the foot of the bed. “Octavion,” she called.

He turned as she threw a small blue bottle at him. He caught it. “Where did you get this?” It was V'Larian, the same white powder he’d used on Kira the night Lydia had been hurt.

She blushed. “In your lair. I thought it might be of use.”

He poured a small amount into the palm of his hand, held it up as close to Kira as he dared and blew it into her face. The fine powder flew at her like a mist. She jerked her head to the side to avoid it, but her first breath drew it into her lungs. She instantly began to sway, dropping her hands to her side. As she collapsed, Octavion jumped onto the bed and caught her in his arms. He threw the scissors to the floor.

“I have her. The effects of the V’Larian will not last long. I will hold her so you can remove her stitches.”

Ussay came around beside him and painstakingly removed them while Gregor watched. After cleaning the area she put on the salve and then helped Octavion get Kira back under her covers.

Long after the effects of the V’Larian should have worn off, Kira still slept. Octavion spent most of the night pacing.

At some point during the night, Ussay instructed two male servants to move an overstuffed chair from Octavion’s sitting room into the corner near the window. “If you will not sleep in another room, at least sit here and rest. You are making my head spin.” She sounded more like a mother than a servant. “And furthermore, do you not think it wise to eat? You will want your strength when she wakes. She will need you.”

“Thank you for the chair, but . . .” He glanced at Kira, still sleeping peacefully. “I will wait to eat. Perhaps you should alert the kitchen staff to make something for Kira to eat. Have them prepare something thin, as if for an infant. I may try to wake her again in a while and see if she will take it.”

Ussay smiled. “As you wish.” Then she scurried out the door.

For several moments, he heard Ussay’s voice echo up the staircase as she called out to the other servants. He remembered when Ussay was a child. Her mother had been his nursemaid and she often brought Ussay along with her to play with him and his sisters. As he got older, Ussay followed him around like a little cub. She sat and watched him experiment long into the night. Even after her mother was no longer employed, one of the other servants would bring her to the castle and take her home again. She’d become almost a part of the family.

The longer he reminisced about his childhood, the heavier his eyelids became. Sometime after midday, he gave into sleep. His dreams were of Kira—her kiss, her gentle touch, her warm embrace—but most of all her smile. How he longed to see it again.

Kira slowly pulled air into her lungs and tried to separate the medley of scents and sounds drifting around her. Herbs and spices and melted candle wax. The earthy, woodsy aroma of fresh cut wood and cold ashes from a fireplace. They hung in the air until they were swept away, replaced by the sweet perfume of flowers riding a breeze.

In the distance, birds chirped and horse hooves clomped on a hard surface, like brick or stone. The muffled chatter of women echoed outside the room and nearby she heard the heavy, even breaths of someone sleeping. Another breeze. Leather and musk—
Octavion.

She forced her eyes open. It took a moment to focus and it wasn’t perfect, but near the source of the light—the window—she saw him. She squinted, trying to see more clearly. The very sight of him made her heart leap in her chest. She wanted to jump out of the bed and crash into his arms, but the slightest adjustment under the covers was painful so she reconsidered. Instead, she watched him sleep peacefully.

He slouched in a dark blue upholstered chair with his head leaning precariously to one side. It couldn’t have been comfortable, yet he slept. His appearance seemed a little off to her—not as she remembered. His hair appeared to be straighter and several strands flopped over his eyes as they caught the air flowing in from the window. He’d always had a bit of stubble on his face, but now wore a scruffy beard a shade or two darker than his hair.

He wore black pants made of a loosely woven fabric and a white tunic with puffy sleeves. The laces hung loose, leaving the neck gaping open. The cuffs were rolled up midway between his wrist and elbow and around his waist he wore a thick black belt, leaving several inches of shirt fabric hanging out the bottom. His boots reminded her of an English riding boot with their slick polished leather rising almost to his knees—his pants tucked into the top.

She flexed the muscles in her back to see if her memory of Zerek’s whip was a dream, but met with the painful reality of his sadistic torture as her wounds brushed against the pillow and sheet below her. She pulled her rope-burned wrists out from under the blankets, wincing when the muscle in her shoulder tensed, reminding her of the knife she’d taken there. She tried to distract herself from the memories by focusing on the strange room in which she lay.

Near the bed was a small table with a single ceramic cup and pitcher.
Water.
Her throat felt as though she’d swallowed a handful of sand. She pushed up on one elbow to reach for the cup. Every muscle ached. Her arm trembled as she took the tiny vessel in her hand and pulled it to her lips. Empty. And the pitcher may as well have been a five gallon bucket of led. No way could she lift it. She put the cup down, but before she lay back on the pillow, she gave it a fluff so her head would be more elevated. When she repositioned herself, she twisted slightly to see more of the room. The enormity of it took her by surprise.

A large wooden dresser sat against the wall near where Octavion slept. Much wider than it was tall, a pile of white linens and an array of bottles littered its top.
Octavion’s concoctions.

Footsteps approached from the other side of a large door opposite the bed. She pulled the covers to her neck and waited. The only thing keeping her from being terrified was Octavion’s presence. She trusted no one, not yet.

The door slowly opened and a beautiful young girl with long brown hair walked in, her footsteps now light and almost undetectable. Smaller than Kira, she wore a simple tan dress that bordered in design somewhere between Renaissance and prairie pioneer. It covered every part of her except her neck, head and hands. She also wore a long white apron which added a certain rustic charm to her costume. If Kira wasn’t sure she was in Xantara, she’d assume she’d stepped back in time a few hundred years.

Kira relaxed as the girl went to the dresser and placed the small bowl she carried next to the linens. Her hair swayed from one side to the other as she adjusted the bottles and thumbed through the linens, counting them under her breath. When she’d finished, she turned and walked toward Kira, not realizing she was awake until she reached for the water pitcher. The girl’s eyes widened in surprised and she froze in her steps, half leaning toward the table near the bed. She slowly straightened and took a step toward Octavion.

Kira grabbed for her, missing by several inches. “Don’t wake him,” she whispered. “Let him sleep.”

The girl looked at Octavion and then back at Kira. “But he will be angry.” Her voice was sweet—a little higher than Kira’s with an accent that sounded like a cross between Australian and Irish. Her beautiful brown eyes shone with sincerity and Kira liked her instantly.

Kira smiled. “He’ll get over it.” She tried to push up on her elbow again, but before she even made half the effort the girl stepped to the side of the bed to help her. “May I have some water?”

The girl nodded.

Kira glanced at Octavion to make sure he still slept. “Why is he so pale? He looks awful.”

The girl sighed. “He refuses to eat until you are able.”

“How long have I been here?”

“It is the evening of your ninth day in Xantara.” She poured some water into the cup and held it to Kira’s lips.

Kira drained it and handed it back to be filled again. “Thank you.”

She smiled. “My name is Ussay. Are you hungry?”

“What a beautiful name.”

Octavion took a deep breath and adjusted slightly in his chair. Both girls held their breath as they watched him for a few seconds to make sure he wasn’t waking, then continued to whisper. Kira secretly wished she could share her thoughts with Ussay, like with Lydia.

Lydia!

“Lydia. Where is she? Is she all right?” Kira asked.

Ussay put a finger to her lips. “Shh. It is forbidden to speak her name, my lady.” Ussay went to the dresser and retrieved the small bowl she’d carried into the room. “Octavion asked me to prepare this in case you woke. It is Kostai and will give you nourishment.” She took a small spoonful and put it up to Kira’s mouth.

Kira caught a whiff of the mixture and it made her stomach churn. It smelled like dirty gym socks. She pushed it away. “Tell me about Lydia. I need to know where she is.”

Tears welled up in Ussay’s eyes as she turned her focus to Octavion. She took in a deep breath and let it out slow. She leaned in close to Kira. “To speak of her is forbidden and the punishment severe. I cannot risk my station here at the castle. I am sorry, my lady.”