9. Thalia

NINE

THALIA

T halia's consciousness swam up from the darkness steadily. It was the scent in the room that first ignited her senses, a soft rose and lavender infusion. She became aware soon after that she was lying in a strange bed, one that was far more pleasant than the one she had to curl up on in the village.

She shifted in the bed, her mouth dry and achy. She groaned and tried to sit up, though the reasoning for it was distant and detached.

Someone familiar raced to her side. They gave her cheek a tender caress.

"It's okay, Thalia. You are safe. You are in the castle. Everything is okay."

The voice lilted with a hypnotic sweetness. When the Creation Sorceress fluttered her eyes open, Sorcha was crouched by the bed, her eyes bright and inviting.

"That's a good girl," she said, smiling.

"I'll tell the king she's awake."

Another woman rushed out of the room. Thalia darted her head around, frazzled for a moment by the strange and luxurious decor.

"Wait…where…" she croaked, her throat sore. "Where is my father?"

"He is safe, sweetheart," Sorcha crooned, continuing to caress Thalia's cheek with the affection of a lover. "He's asleep in one of the guest rooms. All is well."

Sorcha's entrancing voice was convincing, but Evanth hadn't been out of Thalia's sight for longer than a few minutes in nearly a decade. The dread of him having fallen or tripped spun like clockwork in her panicked chest. "What happened?"

Sorcha rose to her feet as she answered and picked up a jug of water on the bedside table. She poured it into a glass and spoke, choosing her words prudently and wisely.

"I'm sure the king has informed you of the current political climate in our region. He has enemies, ones of our kind, and they are seeking you out as well. Last night they located us, and you were taken by a dragon named Zendel."

Sorcha set the water jug down, then bent over, some of her bosom spilling forward in her strained dress. She held the glass to Thalia's lips.

"Not too fast," Sorcha whispered. "Just take a little at a time."

Thalia tried to do as she proposed, but she was far too parched and tense. She finished off the glass, and Sorcha took it, continuing her account of the night's misfortune.

"Thankfully, the king was able to rescue you, and his men defended the inn from the other perpetrators. Once we obtained your father and your things, we flew here."

Thalia was licking her lips, eyeing the jug again.

"Why didn't we just fly here in the first place?"

Sorcha stood evenly and unfazed.

"The height at which dragons fly is dangerous to humans, especially one in ill health like your father. The air is far too thin. That is why you passed out after being taken. When we are in the company of humans, we prefer to travel by land."

Thalia had no clue how to feel. All she knew was that she was still direly thirsty and that her body was permeated by exhaustion.

"My father is well, though, isn't he?"

Sorcha smiled. It always struck Thalia as earnest.

"I applied some of my spells if that is what you are asking. For now, he simply needs rest."

Thalia remained unsettled and tried to climb out of the bed that felt like quicksand. Sorcha came to her side.

"Honey, you also require rest. Your father, he…"

The door of the bedroom banged open, crudely interrupting Sorcha's attempt at reassurance. Thalia melted back into the mattress.

It was King Drake. And his expression was hardened with anguish.

His lips thinned into a line as straight as an arrow. "You may leave us now, Sorcha."

Sorcha gave both Thalia and the king a curtsy before departing. When they were alone, Drake dashed to her bedside, falling to his knees as if to grovel. He grabbed both her hands and held them between his own, his eagerness both disarming and paralyzing.

Thalia felt an urge to reach out and comfort the king. It felt strange wanting to bring peace to the man who'd upended her entire life not two days ago. She resented him for it, despised the way he spoke to her, and yet the pull was still there.

Absently, she raised her hand, feeling it rest on the side of Drake's head. She thought of her own mother doing the same for her a very long time ago. A budding magic stirred there, warm and pleasant.

It scared her, and she yanked her arm back. Drake, in his panicked state, did not seem to notice.

"Did he hurt you?" he demanded, his eyes making haste over her form. "Tell me, what were your injuries?"

Thalia didn't know herself. She gave herself a once over, noticing a gauze wrapped around her forearms, and then a larger bandage tightened around her waist. Beyond the fatigue and concern for her father, she felt perfectly well.

"I look fine to me," she muttered.

"I assure you the dragon that committed such an atrocity is no more. He met his maker by my hands."

He spoke with a brazen dutifulness that Thalia didn't quite understand. With her hands still resting in her lap, and his cupped around them as if summoning secrets from a crystal ball, she shared her disquiet.

"I am not sure I enjoy the idea of a life ending due to me."

She stared at his hands, and the king recoiled, rising valiantly back to his feet. Thalia raised her head to meet his, feeling as if her skull was balancing on a pin.

"Many would kill in your name, my Creation Sorceress," he said in a grave, formidable tone. "This is why we flew you to the castle, you and your ailing father."

Thalia had enough of the declarations. She took her palms from her lap and pressed them against the mattress, shakily attempting to remove herself from the bed.

"I want to wash up. Please help me."

The king aided her with one hand while she gathered her own strength and slowly slid out of the bed. When she placed her feet down on cool, onyx-colored marble, she pointed at a door.

"Is that…"

"Yes," the king replied, unsteadily. "Would you require assistance?"

Thalia told him that she would be fine fending for herself. She sauntered into a bathroom larger than the entire terrain of her village hut.

It was all too much to drink in—the fine, golden trimming, the gleaming copper faucets. The day trickled in through a long window, and she peered out briefly before stripping down.

On the horizon was a sublime mountain that disappeared into the oblivion of mystical fog. Thalia's heart began to race, so she chose to take it all, one step at a time.

She removed her tunic and tights, leaving them pooled on the marble floor. Thalia was stunned by how warm the water was that spurted from the rose-gold faucets. She was used to tepid well water. The witch applied soap instilled with lime and olive oil. She lathered it over the bandages cautiously, not wanting to disrupt the dressing or healing process.

When she was finished, she stepped toward a tall and long cupboard opposite the tub. After wrapping a fluffy towel around her body, she gingerly opened the closet and stood there with a silent gasp.

It was filled to the brim with an assortment of elegant garments, threaded together with the finest linens Thalia had ever laid her eyes on. She sorted through them as if they were rare and delicate jewels.

She chose something that she felt was fitting for her as a peasant woman who was no longer shackled to her destitute past. It was a long-sleeved, embroidered piece with a V-neck collar and mesh sleeves. A mid-drift sash embraced her waist, a bodice holding up her bosom

Thalia dabbed on light mauve to her lips to render them rosy and lively, as well as blush to her pallid cheeks. She felt her spirit rising as she left the room, greeted by a shocked King Drake.

"My goodness," he said, rising from the bed. "You look heavenly, dear Sorceress."

Thalia felt heat rush through her cheeks, and her stomach stirred with that enthralling radiance. But she wasn't going to get caught up in it.

"Drake…My King," she said, bowing her head. "There are a few questions weighing on my mind. I would like to speak about them before we proceed."

"Speak, then," Drake said without hesitation.

He looked so vulnerable and handsome standing there. Thalia turned away to keep from falling under his spell.

"Is it true that you sought me out to keep me from falling into the hands of your enemy?"

"That is correct," he said.

"Then why is it that you assigned Sorcha to be my handmaiden? Is it your intention solely for me to develop my abilities to heal my father, or are you concealing your true motivations?"

She'd turned back to face him, tapping into her keen intuition. But the king did not relinquish, shaking his head slowly.

"I do not require a Creation Sorceress to win the war against my enemy. I summoned Sorcha to teach you how to harness your power into healing properties. It was a choice I made personally for the sake of your father."

Thalia nodded in return, compelled by one final consideration.

"One more thing."

"Speak it."

Thalia did not want to be presumptuous. But she was a woman, and a woman knew naturally when a man was seeking her affection. Not many were apt at keeping it quiet.

But nevertheless, she was reluctant to inquire. And her voice did not shake.

"I can feel something else simmering between us. Something that does not concern your war. Something like heat. Something like an attraction."

A smile that the village witch had never seen so large shone on the king's fatigued face.