Fly or Fall

Chapter Thirty-Three

The Gresia festival began at dawn with the first light ceremony. Theana Lone had been up for hours when her lady's maid came to dress her for the day. She hadn't slept, too agitated, too restless, too rattled to even consider sleep. The room was dark even as Catriana drew the curtains open. She turned the crystal lights on as Theana sat up in her bed. The light beamed from a dozen crystals embedded in the ceiling. They shone like stars, bright, resplendent, distracting, beautiful. Theana took a moment to stare at them. This was it. The day. She took in a deep breath. All the arrangements were made, the guests invited, the magic requests approved. She had nothing to fuss about. She reminded herself of this until her thundering heart slowed to a raindrop pitter-patter.

"Good morning Catriana," she greeted, moving out of her bed.

"Good morning, miss Theana."

She crossed her room to her desk, plucked her journal and flipped through the pages, running through the checklist she'd run through a thousand times. Her fingers went down all the tick marks, each one calming her a little further. She turned to her lady's maid. Catriana was about her age, a few years older maybe, but she didn't look it. With mousy brown hair, big doll-like eyes and a slender petite figure she looked like a child. She was dressed in a somber grey dress, her hair tied back in a bun and hands gloved in black lace gloves.

"Is my Uncle up yet?" Theana asked.

"Yes," Catriana answered moving for the dressing room. "I'm afraid he's been up for hours, in an awful fit. We had to call his healer an hour ago."

Her fingers clenched around the journal. With a distressed humph she asked, "Why was I not informed?"

Coming back from the dressing room with Theana's dress she said, "He didn't want to bother you the night before the festival."

"You should have called me," Theana insisted, albeit she knew there was no point to it. Her uncle was still the head of the house. His orders were final. She sighed, defeated. "How is he doing now? What did the healer say?"

Catriana looked hesitant to answer. She took a moment laying the dress on the bed before turning back to Theana. Theana didn't need her to say anything. It was written clear as day on her face. "I need to go see him," she declared and before Catriana could stop her she bolted for the door.

He was okay last night, she told herself. Her uncle's health had been deteriorating over the last few years. The healers had predicted he didn't have much time left. He was dying. That was a fact she could not deny. A reality she could not fight or hope to change. But he'd been okay last night. He still had time. He wouldn't die now. Her uncle was too stubborn, too unwilling to bend, he wouldn't let death take him. Not today of all days.

Theana came to his room in the west wing of the house. She knocked more out of habit than courtesy. She was too distraught for courtesy. A croaky voice told her to come in.

Gregon Lone was seated in his bed, blanket pulled to his waist. His skin was ashen but Theana had seen it at worse. His eyes were bruised in an ugly purplish way but they were still stern, still demanding, still his. When he spoke he sounded weak, breathy, his voice scratchy like a broken record but there was something in it. An unyielding force. An austere obduracy. It was still his voice. Still the voice of Gregon Lone, head of the Wolfiah coven. Still the voice of a fighting force. "You should be preparing for the festival," he said.

How could she possibly think about the festival when he was lying ill in bed? The festival could wait, she wanted to tell him, she was more concerned with making sure he was alright. But Theana knew better than to tell him she was worried about him. He was not one for sentimentality. Instead she asked, "Will you attend the festival?"