Tavern of Witchita

8 | To a Rest

Her shoes once again clank within every step of the stair staircase. Narra's gaze focuses on the flight of steps.

The dungeon is as dark and cold as ever but it will get warmer as she draws near the torch-riddled room where the queen's cell lies.

‘She'll be delighted to hear the news’ – Narra thinks, a smile on her face as she walks.

Though the queen simply leaving the dungeon won't fix everything in regards to their family ties, it's still a good thing.

After three and a half strangely long days of Narra and Norman's visit, and sixteen years of the queen's imprisonment, she will finally be on the surface again and be reunited with her sons. Maybe Horns will smile more often along with his brothers.

As she reaches the final step and touches the cold cobblestone floor, the soft beam of torches illuminate and bring warmth to her surrounding. Just a few more steps to go until she relays the news to the queen.

As her sight reaches the cell the queen resides in, her hopes fall to the floor in disarray. A feeling of dread owns her, twists her stomach as Narra sprints towards the woman on the ground.

“You're highness!”

Kneeling to the ground, she pulls the queen's limp body to her lap, wrapping the spare blue blanket she was to deliver around the sickly queen.

Narra's eyebrows furrow with panic.

The queen's eyes are half-open, her hands are cold as she looks as if she holds no amount of energy to even sit. She breathes very narrowly.

*Not now. Not when she finally can be released.*

“Are you okay?” Narra questions with concern and the queen moves her mouth to speak. Her voice is rasp and soft.

“No, not at all, to be honest.” The queen whispers lightheartedly.

How long has it been since she's acquired this disease?

Did the servants who deliver her food know? If so did they have to ignore such a thing?

Narra grits her teeth in annoyance, not to the queen, but to the servants who are way too cowardly to even treat their queen right.

“Hang on, we'll get you to medical help as quickly as possible,” Narra tells the queen, who merely nods in response. Putting the queen's arm over her shoulder, Narra pushes herself to stand up along with the addition of weight.

“We? As in Narra and Norman, correct?” The queen asks, her sentence faltering midway.

The increase of gasping in her speech is noticeable. This is bad.

Narra limps to the staircase along with the added weight, sweat dripping off her forehead in tiredness.
This is no time for rest. She needs to go faster.

Narra speaks back to the queen.

“Please don't talk too much. And it's not just us…”

“Your sons too,”

Her majesty's eyes widen in surprise, yet she smiles .

“Doctors take too long,” The queen jokes lightheartedly.

Grunting at the sight of a rising step, Narra breathes in and forces herself up along with the queen. She lets out another response. If only the queen can just stay quiet she'd save her breath.

“No, they won't, not with the king's orders.”

Her weak smile stays and her eyes drift close as the lady feels the life being drained out of her. She feels tired, very tired. In an attempt to gather her remaining thoughts, she takes the strength to talk.