Astra gasped and pushed herself up before the ropes pulled her back down. She heaved, and barely turned her head before her breakfast came back up. Gods, she hated throwing up. Gods, gods, what had Helleva shown her?
"Give her some space," someone ordered.
Astra gulped down breath after breath and then moved her fingers one by one, counting them as she went before straining upward to look at them. Her fingers were a bit crooked perhaps, but definitely not broken. Not mangled. The sight of Tybalt's broken hands flashed across her memory. She cringed.
"I told you she would live," someone said snidely.
Slowly, the room came into focus. She was still in the physician's room. Her eyes darted around the room, finally spotting the man himself, along with Pascal and the four guards, huddled against the wall near the door.
"How are you doing?" the physician asked. He came closer, hands reaching out... to touch her, she realized.
"Don't touch me," she snapped, pressing herself into the chair, away from his hands. They were pale, wrinkled, and a bit stubby, nothing like the tanned, smooth hands of the Ice Queen, but all Astra could see were her hands reaching for her fingers. Her wrist. Her arm.
Snap. Crackle. Then her screams. No, Tybalt's screams. Just a dream. A nightmare. A memory from the spirit world. Just a memory. She breathed again, "Don't touch me."
She wasn't sure what she would've done if he'd touched her, but thankfully the physician drew his hands away. He asked, "How do you feel?"
Astra didn't answer. The horrible feeling of unnatural magic pulsing against her was back, and she struggled in vain against the bonds to see her arms.
"You didn't lose control this time," the physician continued, "which is a good sign that your body is no longer rejecting the zynthe. I think we'll be able to continue with a third injection soon. Perhaps in—"
A third injection, by the gods. "Why?" she rasped.
The physician paused. "What do you mean?"
"Why? What is the purpose of these experiments?" She scrutinized the stout doctor, his tiny spectacles over his large brown eyes. Then she looked at Pascal, his arms folded over his chest. The Captain of the Wraith Guard. Zynthe killed mortals; there was no exception. Unless... She asked, "Are you trying to find the perfect concentration of zynthe to use on wraiths?" Everyone knew wraiths weren't mortal. At least, not entirely. There was no agreed upon consensus on the origin of wraiths, that much had been clear when she'd idly flipped through that book on their history from the abandoned library. What could be agreed upon, however, was that the source of their power came from the Seam. The same source of the zynthe.
The physician chuckled. "I think you're a bit disoriented." He gestured toward the Captain. "Take her to her rooms."
To her surprise, Pascal didn't balk at the order. Instead, he nodded at the guards next to her. Astra didn't resist as they untied the bonds securing her before roughly pulling her up and pushing her ahead to walk.
As they moved outside the room, she brought up her arms to inspect them. Like she'd expected, the veins had darkened in color again. She pulled down her sleeves and tried to breathe. Phantom pain zipped along her limbs, like the Ice Queen was still breaking them.
It frustrated her that what little information she had gained was essentially useless or had no clear answers. The physician hadn't denied that he was trying to find the perfect zynthe concentration to use on wraiths. But if that was indeed what he was planning to use it on... why? The wraiths were weak; few inherited tangible, useful amounts of power, leaving most of the population susceptible to capture and easy to control. Why risk making the wraiths more powerful?
"Captain?" Astra asked when they had walked several minutes in silence. Pascal turned to look at her. "Where did you send Luria?"
He smirked. "Why didn't you ask three days ago?"
"I didn't wonder three days ago." She hadn't particularly cared three days ago.
"Leave us," he said, still looking at her. Astra didn't need to turn to know that the four guards flanking them from behind had turned to leave. The thought of escape once again floated to the surface of her mind when they were left alone, but she didn't act upon it, pressing her hands to the sides of her body instead. Another perfect opportunity to escape, and yet she has no intention of taking it. When had that happened? Astra ignored her own question.
"A secret for the favor you request," Pascal said, bringing back the game they had played. "Make it a good one. Something worthy of what you want to know."
She considered carefully, then said, "I was a child soldier in the Pelosian armies during the Pelosian-Iveian War."
Pascal turned his head in thought, perhaps the only surprise he would allow himself to show. He explained, "Selected wraiths from the army are sent to reinforce the borders."
A cold feeling sank within her. The border skirmishes that the king had mentioned earlier. Surely they were worse than he'd suggested during the peace conference.
The Captain didn't offer up any other information, and Astra didn't press. When they arrived at her suite in the west tower, he said, "You have free reign of the castle until the ball tomorrow night."
She looked up at Pascal's face, searching for signs of a lie, but his expression seemed genuine.
Pascal must've caught the surprise on her because he said, "Now that everyone's aware of the arrival of the ambassadors, it would be rude to shut such distinguished guests inside their rooms against their will." Pascal gave her a crooked smile as he opened the door for her, motioning her in. "Regardless, you shouldn't question His Majesty's generosity."
She replied automatically, "Of course." But her thoughts snagged on the Captain's emphasis on free reign. There must be guards watching her moves. She knew how these things worked. Perhaps the king, and in extension Pascal, sought to see what she did when her guard was down.
They'd be disappointed then. Four years of being a Varalian agent had taught her to make sure her guard was never down.
"Thank you," she added, giving a small, pained smile to Pascal before she shut herself into her suite. There was no lock on her side of the door, and she pressed herself against the door, holding it closed on the off chance Pascal came back in, and waited until she was sure he had gone away. Then, she sat down in the seat under the window and continued her vigil. She curled and uncurled her fingers, then curled them again, silently testing the bonds of her magic. The ice shifted and moved underneath her skin, like a living creature of its own. Control, she thought to herself. There were plenty of wraiths afraid of their own power. She would not be one of them. She would not be one of them.
It didn't stop the irrational fear from rising up inside her, but Astra shoved it back, back, until she could pretend she was completely in control. She wouldn't break down in here. She was trapped in here. Trapped.
You're fine, she insisted. Breathe.
She counted off an hour before she allowed herself to leave, when she wasn't sure if she could hold back the panic and fear any longer.
She checked herself—the spear-turned-earclip was snuggled in the base of the elaborate braid her maid had done that morning, and her two remaining throwing knives were still carefully tucked inside her sleeves, the sharp blades lying flat against her skin.
It was a strange feeling—walking the hallways without an armed guard at her back. Yes, there were still guards patrolling the hallways, but they weren't there for her.
Or were they? Astra eyed one of them in the hallway that connected the west tower to the main castle. If they weren't there for her and the other wraiths, silver whistles wouldn't be hanging from their necks, shining against their black uniforms for all to see.
The magic inside her throbbed almost painfully as Astra made her way through the palace. One of her hands spasmed before she grabbed it with her other hand. The windowless hallway made her feel suffocated... she gripped her hands together tightly, forcing herself to stay calm and took a slow, deep breath, holding it for a full minute before letting it out just as slowly.
She just needed a moment. An escape. Somewhere the guards and the magic and the agonizing pressure couldn't get to her.
Astra nearly stumbled out into the royal gardens and simply stood outside the doors, basking in the sun for a few minutes, trying to stop herself from gasping. There were no guards outside in the garden, and she didn't bother to question it. She slumped against the wall of the castle and pressed a hand to her chest, trying to breathe.
Don't panic. Don't panic. You're fine.
She wasn't fine. She was— she was—
She wiped the sweat on her palms off on the dress she was wearing, but her hands stayed clammy and cold, shaking uncontrollably.
Gods, she hated it when this happened, when the fear sliced through her for no godsdamned reason and the memories flashed through her mind, too fast for them to make much sense, but too slow all the same. She didn't want the regrets or the agony or the terror. She hated the nausea and dizziness that wracked her body. She let her eyes water with tears, but she didn't let them drop.
When the fear had dulled and the need to cry had receded, sleep called to her. Astra pushed back against it and got up instead to explore. The nightmares could wait.
The late afternoon sunlight danced across the canopies of thick trees and bushes. Fire lilies, the national flower of Auxerre, decorated the sides of the cobblestone paths. Seeing that there was a world outside with life flourishing... it helped her breathe more evenly, and it was easier to control the palpitations that were still beating on inside her.
Songbirds sang from their perches in alder trees. Fire lilies emitted red and gold bulbs of light. Clustered around the base of alder trees trunks were orange Aerisian stars.
Various benches—tastefully overgrown with faintly glowing gold vines—were scattered throughout the garden. The entire expanse was either dotted with plants native to Auxerre, or fire-colored variations. It was a beautiful design, but Astra suddenly found herself longing for other flowers—ones that sang of ice and stars.
She wandered deeper into the garden, letting the feeling of solace fall over her. She'd made the right choice in coming here; the nature and the calm had soothed the burn of magic and trepidation in her veins. Her worried thoughts and fears scattered like snowflakes on a windy night.
Astra was lightly running her fingers over a flower petal when she heard someone else's footsteps.