Within These Tangled Tales

Chapter Fifty-Two

—Fields of Basan, Medyulana—

This was getting ridiculous. He should be dead. There was no reason he should still be alive. Not a single one. Why then, was fate determined to let him live when he would much rather the opposite? It was downright cruel. Others who clung so desperately to life couldn't get as lucky as he did.

Raler experimentally wiggled his toes that were tucked beneath a soft, thin blanket. So far, so good, at least. If he was going to live through such painful shit, at the very least he would do so without becoming paralyzed. After his toes, Raler flexed the muscles in his legs, his arms, his torso. He stretched his fingers, his shoulders, his neck. Everything moved as it was supposed to.

Yet, despite this reassurance, Raler kept his eyes shut. Wherever he was, it was remarkably comfortable. A plush bed, soft covers, pillows he could sink into. His rank afforded him no small amount of comfort in Tregaar. He had little money of his own, but the Path took care of its followers, and he had wanted for very little. But even his own bed in Tregaar couldn't compare to the comfort he was surrounded in now. Raler inhaled deeply, intending to drift back off into sleep so he could enjoy this luxury for just a little longer, but then, he realized what the familiar scent filling his lungs was. Roses. Tentatively, his eyes opened.

His surroundings were far more modest than what his comfort had suggested. He had thought the Path had spirited him away somewhere to tend to his wounds. He had expected one of the rooms in the Palace of the Stormborn perhaps. Instead, his eyes opened to find a small, somewhat cramped room that housed a small twin bed, an overflowing desk of books, shelves nearby in a similar state, countless plush animals, an open closet that was sparsely filled with a few modest outfits, and a comfy, oversized chair wedged into the corner beside the bed. Light from the window was lessened by the somewhat thick curtains that hung there, billowing gently in the breeze. Rhenna lay curled up on that chair, the light from the window playing across her face as she snored softly in her sleep.

Raler's gaze swept her quickly, sharp red eyes searching for any serious injuries he should be worried about. But her mother was one of the best healers the worlds had ever known. So, he was unsurprised to find all injuries she had sustained in her fight against Eivør gone, vanished as though the barbarian queen had never touched her.

A relieved breath escaped him that he dared not acknowledge. The last thing he remembered was Kellaran coming to their rescue. Yet, even still, Raler wasn't certain how they had both managed to survive. He wasn't one to question the Creator's will, but it had been a close call. Rhenna was young. She didn't deserve to die yet, and that was as far as his concern went.

She whimpered in her sleep, her brow furrowing as she began to twitch. The chair was close enough that he could touch her if he wanted. He had reached out before he could think to stop himself, his fingers curling around hers, her left arm draped over the edge of the chair. She calmed at his touch, her features relaxing once more. The moment she fell back into slumber, he retracted his arm, trying to ignore the way his stomach twisted uncomfortably at the sight of her curled up at his side, obviously concerned about his recovery.

Such a silly, stupid girl.

Turning away from her, he stretched again. His broken bones had been healed, but his muscles were still sore, several deep bruises still decorating different parts of his body. So, the elf queen had taken care of only some of his injures. He snorted quietly. Figures. She likely didn't care to help a Silencer like him because of his connection to the Creator. He wondered if she would have even bothered to heal what little she had if Rhenna hadn't asked.