Consciousness returns to me slowly. At first I am dimly aware of a cold cloth washing my body, of light hands brushing over my wounds and tending to my broken bones. I recognize the telltale itch of a healer, but my body is far too tired to move, my mind too sluggish to do anything but be aware of what is going on around me. Exhaustion sits on me like an oppressive weight, clouding my senses. I hear voices, disconnected and far away, but when I try to focus on them, to hear what they are saying the weight pushes me down further and I let myself be engulfed by it. I think I hear the Darlking's voice, smooth and deep, perhaps followed by a brush of cool skin on my cheek, but it could just as easily be my imagination.
More distant voices, and shuffling feet around me. I become aware of a bed under me, of the crisp sheets and mattress which supports my body. I focus on the light I feel coming through my closed eyelids, and on the sound of air moving through the room. I can hear someone is working near me, the scratch of ink on paper telling me they are writing. The weight is less crushing, instead now it feels like an anchor of exhaustion pulling me back to sleep. I hear footsteps enter the room and a short exchange of words before someone scurries out. I struggle to resist the pull to return to rest. Something tells me I should resist it, some sense in my body telling me to stay alert.
When I hear him sit down beside me and feel him take my hand into his own, I realize what, or rather who it was. His thumb strokes the back of my hand in small circles and he squeezes it as he brings my hand to his mouth to plant a gentle kiss on it. I want to return his squeeze, to sit up and embrace him but I cannot to resist the fatigue threatening to pull me away.
The bed shifts slightly near my hip and his muffled breathing by the sound of his muffled breathing, I guess that he has lain his head on the cot by my waist. I feel the warmth of his breath through the sheets. I am not sure how ling he stays like this, my hand in his, his face down in the bed beside me, because I give into the dark.
When I climb back from the dark again, its pull on me has lessened. I pry my eyes open to a dark room. As I look around my eyes slowly adjust to the darkness and it appears as though I am in a tent. I can feel that I am sore and stiff, but I know a healer has tended to most of my wounds. I slowly move my neck, working through the achiness present there. The brown cloth ceiling and rounded walls of the room come into better focus, and from the lack of light, I guess that I've woken in the middle of the night. There is little furniture, save for a bedside table to my right, two chairs by the bed and a desk across the tent. It appears to be a workstation, covered in small bottles, pens and papers.
I scan my body and take inventory of my stiff and sore areas. I don't notice any injuries but I feel haggard, as if my body had been sliced open on the inside and was not healed. ** need a better metaphor.** This must be the after effects of using the dark magic. Upon thinking of the dark magic, the memory of the thrum of power rushes back to me and I shiver with the echo of desire.
I sit up slowly, testing my strength. I swing my legs over the side of the small cot and they touch a soft fur which covers the ground. Slowly, I shift some weight to my feet in an effort to stand. My muscles groan at the effort, and I wonder how long I had been unconscious to warrant this amount of protest. Across the tent I spot a cloak hanging by the entrance. Taking slow steps, I make my way towards it and pull it around my body. Still barefoot, I pull back the flap of the tent to the outdoors.
Two guards turn towards the sound of the tent opening, the surprise on their faces telling me I was not expected. They wear the Darlking's personal guard uniform. One of them, a short burly officer with dark eyes and hair that was slightly too long for military standards says, "Miss Starkov, we were not expecting you to be awake so soon! I shall fetch the Darkling."
Before I have a chance to reply, he scurries off. I'm sure his orders were to inform the Darkling immediately upon my waking, and he will not be praised for the fact that I woke without them realising.
I turn to the other guard, hoping for a more productive conversation. I open my mouth to speak, and am struck with the realisation that I do not know where I stand with this soldier. It occurs to me that these guards were likely posted to keep others out just as much as they were meant to keep me in.
I decide it couldn't hurt to play the demanding sun summoner. I straighten my back and lift my chin slightly. "Where are we, and how long have I been unconscious?"
However, he seems to only pay half attention to me as he focuses on something behind me. I hear the other guard returning and anticipate who will be with him. I turn slowly, as if I don't want to confirm where, and with whom I am with.
He strides towards me, nearly outpacing the burly guard by double the speed. His dark eyes are unreadable beyond the intensity painted all over his face. My chest tightens and my stomach lurches. Despite the late hour, he wears his signature black kefta, and his hair is combed back as he usually wears it. He reaches me and he puts his hands on my arms, just above my elbow, squeezing tightly, as if he doesn't quite believe I am there.
His gaze remains unreadable, and his voice comes out hard when he commands the guards.
"Leave us." His gaze doesn't leave me as the guards bow in acknowledgement and walk away.
"You are awake." His tone is matter-of-fact, but I think I detect hidden relief. His grip on my arms loosens, his hands lowering to his side.
I don't trust my own voice when I reply, "I am. How long was I out?"
"You were unconscious nearly six days. Using all that dark magic took its toll. You shouldn't have done it." His tone was first, bordering on angry.
"I don't know what happened. It just felt…" I can't finish my sentence, because I can't think of any words to describe how it felt when I summoned that power.
"I know." His voice softens, and he pulls me to him, folding me into his arms. I am taken aback at the tenderness of the gesture and tense slightly. He senses my hesitation and pulls back. "Come. I'll show you to your tent." He says, curtly now.
"Thanks", I say, eager for rest despite having just woken up. "Where are we, by the way?"
"Camped outside of Os Alta, north of the city." I don't miss the lack of detail in his answer.
He leads me past a few tents similar to the one I came from, all with guards posted outside. We approach a slightly bigger tent with four guards posted out front, and two more circling it, that I can see.
"This is where you'll stay. It should have everything you need, but tell the guards if you need something; they'll know where to find someone to fetch it." He pulls back the flap of the tent, and I wonder again, if these guard's duty is to keep me in just as much as it is to keep others out.
I turn to say something to him but he is already striding away. It is just as well, because I'm not sure what I wanted to say.
Stepping into the tent, I let out a gasp. It is elaborately decorated, ornate quilts of splendid colours hang from the walls and furs line the floors. There is a large armoire which I don't need to open to know it contains beautiful gowns of every description. My eyes wander to the massive four poster bed made of dark red cherry wood, and covered in black silk sheets. I make a beeline for the bed, reaching out my hands to stroke the sheets, and I stifle a giggle of excitement at how amazing they feel.
I may be recovering from summoning life-stealing dark magic, but I feel confident that a bed as beautiful as this one will cure me of this exhaustion. At that thought, I launch my body onto the bed, arms splayed out beside me and let my face drown in the buoyant sheets. This time I let the giggle slip out as I herd my limbs under the blankets and drop my head into the pillows.
After some rearrangement and careful burrowing into the plush bed, I close my eyes and invite sleep. Despite my exhaustion, it comes slowly and fitfully. The guilt I had been trying to ignore crept into my thoughts. I wondered where Mal was, if Tolya, Tamara and the rest of them had made it out. I even thought about Zoya. Eventually, my thoughts turned to dreams. Dark, twisted dreams of Mal, of Tolya and Tamara holding him back despite his screams. I also dream of Genya, how she had recoiled from David and how broken her eyes had been. Finally, I dream of the Darkling, of entering his arms and of the chapel caving in on us. I don't know what being here, with him means for me. I do know my friends are safe from him, and I can rest knowing the Darkling is not hunting them. A part of me I don't want to acknowledge rests easier knowing he isn't hunting me either; I'm already here.