Hated by her lineage, Iliya Dalaminai dwells in self isolation, awaiting the day her cousin marries so she might escape the Throne.
Feared by the Gods, Sorein Chakrine's crown is mainly a relic put on display at royal ceremonies to ward off evil.
Wh...
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"Again," a silky female voice chimed. "Massage the fabric through the poultice again and then wrap the wound."
Iliya obeyed, working her fingers into the thick material until it was sodden with pasty herbs and flour, steeped in the potions the Caster had brought from Bentrii. She was certain by the end of the day her fingers would permanently smell of clay, salt, and oats to treat the infections some of the Guards were getting from the toxic sludge.
"Good, now apply it with pressure," she said without looking up from her grinding.
Her instructor, Halavesta, found her moping outside the glass walls of the Infirmary one too many mornings and insisted that if Iliya wanted to help, she would learn how.
The Guard she was tending had to be burned with astral fire to purify the sludge soaked wound on his upper arm and the bandages were meant to soak up the pain. At least, that was what Iliya understood.
Halavesta insisted on speaking in her native tongue when she worked which left Iliya wondering if she truly understood the point of her task.
Still, Denick provided her with conversation between his cat like hisses of discontent. The Guard seemed rather pleased to speak with someone other than Halavesta and the other Caster's for a change.
But as Iliya finished securing the bandages, he seemed relieved.
"You need your rest," Iliya said, smiling. "I'll be back to check on you tomorrow."
Those words had left her lips several times this week. She'd been assisting the Castors for four nights now, standing vigil and looking over the remaining injuries when the Priestesses needed sleep.
Busying herself to forget her intrusive mind.
"Thank you, your Highness," Denick replied, returning the grin. His energy was much improved. "I'll look forward to it."
She nodded, waving behind her as she dipped into the room Jeremy lay in. He wasn't awake, but over the past few nights, she'd come to tell him about the other Guards and a few rumors floating about. He'd regained enough health to speak freely, still sleeping most of his time there.
Ducking into the final room, Rhydian leaned against his bed with arms crossed and a pensive stare. Destry stood across from him, though she couldn't see her mothers face.
"I don't think it's a good idea," Rhydian snapped. His tone implied it wasn't the first time he'd said it. "You don't know what is out there now."
"We don't have another choice," her mother replied. "I don't trust anyone else with these letters."
"What letters?" Iliya asked, still scrubbing clay off her hands with a rough towel.
Destry turned, her eyes lighting as Rhydian seemed to deflate. "Darling, it's good to see you."
