Niam

NIAM

V oices drifted through darkness, fragments catching like leaves in a stream.

“...fever’s broken finally...”

“...more tharrow tea...”

“My lord, you must rest...”

“...not leaving her...”

A warm weight pressed against my hand. Familiar. Safe. The rumbling purr vibrated through the mattress, a constant anchor as I floated between consciousness and shadow.

Time slipped. More voices.

“...my lord, at least eat something...”

“Later.”

The purring stopped. A calloused thumb stroked my palm, gentle despite its roughness. Someone was speaking - harsh consonants softening as they shaped unfamiliar words.

“Ku... kuralai...” A pause. Paper rustling. “My queen. Wake soon.”

Tharon. Learning Terran, for me.

I tried to squeeze his hand. My fingers barely twitched, but his sharp intake of breath told me he’d felt it. The purring resumed, louder. More hopeful.

Opening my eyes took monumental effort. The room swam into blurry focus - wooden beams, drying herbs, afternoon light slanting through tall windows. And Tharon’s face, drawn with exhaustion but blazing with intensity as he watched me.

“.” My name came out more growl than word.

I tried to speak. My throat felt raw, unused. He lifted a cup of water to my lips with infinite care, his other hand still gripping mine.

The water soothed my throat. “How...” Even that single word was an effort.

“Six days.” His voice was rough. Had he been speaking at all during that time? “Serra says... healing good. Strong.”

His Terran was awkward but determined. I managed to turn my head slightly, taking in more details. His clothes were wrinkled, his hair tangled. Dark circles shadowed his eyes. A book lay open on the bed beside him - a children’s primer, well-worn.

“You’re learning...” I whispered.

His lips curved slightly. “Need words. To tell you...” He struggled, then switched to Valti. A stream of soft growls and rumbling syllables that I couldn’t understand, but their meaning was clear in his eyes.

Footsteps on the stairs interrupted whatever he meant to say next. Serra appeared, her practical apron stained with fresh tanning solutions.

“Finally awake properly, are you?” She moved to check my pulse, shooting Tharon a pointed look. “My lord, now would be an excellent time for you to get some actual rest. In a real bed.”

He growled something that made her roll her eyes.

“I’ve been treating tannery workers longer than you’ve been alive. I can handle one recovering girl for a few hours.” Her tone softened. “She’ll still be here when you return.”

Tharon looked torn. I managed to squeeze his hand again, stronger this time. “Go. Sleep.”

He pressed his lips to my fingers, then forced himself to stand. Every movement showed his exhaustion. But at the door he paused, looking back with such naked emotion that my breath caught.

“Return soon,” I whispered.

His smile was worth the effort.

Serra helped me sit up, checking the crystal burns on my arms with efficient hands. “Healing well,” she said, mixing something pungent in a cup. “Though you gave us quite a worry. That one wouldn’t leave even during the fever.”

The tea tasted bitter but sent warmth through my limbs. “The city?”

“Settling.” Serra’s sharp eyes assessed me. “But that’s for later. Rest now.”

She was right. Even this brief conversation had drained me. As she lowered me back against the pillows, my eyes were already growing heavy.

“Serra?” I managed.

“Hmm?”

“Thank you. For taking care of both of us.”

Her weathered hand brushed my forehead. “Sleep, child. Heal. There’ll be time for everything else later.”

I drifted off surrounded by drying herbs and the lingering warmth I still felt from Tharon’s hand.

The next time I woke, golden evening light filled the room. Tharon sat in his chair, freshly cleaned and changed, frowning in concentration at his book. He mouthed words silently, testing their shape.

“That’s a nice sight,” I said softly.

His head jerked up, joy flooding his features. He looked years younger after real sleep. “Feeling stronger?”

“Yes.” It wasn’t a lie - my voice worked better, and the room stayed steady when I moved my head. “What are you reading?”

He held up the book, embarrassed. “Children’s stories. Serra says... good for learning.” His words were already smoother. “About girl who finds dragon egg.”

“Read to me?”

He hesitated. “My grasp of your language is still bad. But I would learn, for you.”

“I don’t mind.”

After a moment, he began reading slowly, carefully shaping each word. When he struggled, I helped him, and sometimes he taught me the Valti word instead. The story wove through the growing dark until Serra brought lamps and more tea.

Days blurred together. I grew stronger while Tharon remained my constant - reading stories, supporting my first attempts to sit up, sneaking sweet pastries past Serra’s watchful eye. But sometimes I caught him watching me with a haunted look, as if afraid I might still slip away.

One evening, as he smoothed my hair back from my face with surprising gentleness, I finally asked. “What happened? After?”

His hands stilled. “You were so cold.” His voice roughened. “Thought... thought you were gone. But there was heartbeat. Tiny. We ran. The Temple...” He switched to Valti, frustrated by the limitations of his Terran.

I reached back, touching his hand. “Show me instead?”

He moved around to face me, taking both my hands in his. Through gestures and broken sentences in both languages, he told me about the escape - the voices guiding them, the families helping, the city rising up. When he described carrying me, thinking me dead, his hands tightened on mine.

“I heard you,” I whispered. “In the systems. Your roar broke through everything else.”

Something fierce and tender crossed his face. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to mine. We stayed like that, breathing together, until Serra’s step on the stairs made him pull back.

But that night, after Serra had gone and the tannery grew quiet, he didn’t return to his chair. Instead, he carefully settled on the bed beside me, letting me curl against his warmth. His purr rumbled soothingly through my bones.

“Tell me about Zashi?” I asked.

His voice was soft in the darkness as he described his home - the mountain peaks, the wild forests, the great stone halls. I fell asleep to tales of snow and starlight, safe in the circle of his arms.

Morning sun had barely touched the windows when a sharp rap announced Denna. She stood in the doorway, grinning at finding us tangled together on the narrow bed.

“Well, if you’re well enough for that, you’re well enough for visitors,” she said cheerfully.

Tharon growled something that made her laugh, but he helped me sit up against the pillows before reluctantly heading downstairs. His hesitation at the door made Denna roll her eyes.

“I promise not to let her strain herself,” she said. “Go. Korrin wants to discuss patrol rotations anyway.”

Once he was gone, she settled into his chair with a grunt. “Getting harder to move gracefully these days.”

I studied her more closely, noting the subtle changes in her shape. “Denna!”

Her smile was radiant. “Due in winter. Korrin’s insufferable about it - you’d think no one had ever had a baby before.” Her expression softened. “But it feels right, bringing new life into a free city.”

“How is everyone? The city?”

“Better than we could have hoped. Everyone stepped up - families, crafters, even the merchant quarter. The city was ready for change.” She leaned forward, eyes twinkling. “Though I think some merchants are disappointed they can’t dramatically reveal hidden rebel connections anymore.”

That startled a laugh from me, though it made my ribs ache.

Denna’s expression grew serious. “We’ve had word from Zashi. Once you’re stronger... they’re eager to welcome their new princess.”

The title still felt strange. “I’m not sure I know how to be a princess, let alone a queen.”

“You led a revolution by believing in people’s better natures. I’d say that’s a good start.” She reached for my hand. “And you won’t be alone. Mila’s already planning diplomatic arrangements, and Korrin’s organizing trade agreements.” A pause. “We’ll miss you, though.”

“I’ll come back to visit. Often.”

“You’d better. This little one will need their Aunt ’s influence to balance out their father’s stuffiness.” Her attempt at lightness didn’t quite hide the shimmer in her eyes.

I squeezed her hand, throat tight with emotion. Through the window, I could hear children playing in the streets below, their laughter free and unconstrained. Soon there would be decisions to make, a journey to prepare for, a new life to build. But for now, this was enough - the sound of hope in children’s voices, my friend’s joy.

The future stretched before us like dawn breaking over mountains. Different than we’d imagined, perhaps. But brighter. Free.