Halfway down the alley, Tiger's paw crunches on a small patch of gravel. The noise instantly alerts the owner of those tiny toes to their presence, and the feet quickly pull completely beneath the gnarly sheath. She halts briefly. At least what, or rather who, she's found is in a better state of being than she originally anticipated.
She crouches down to the edge of the improvised tent. "Hello?"
There's no answer, but she scoots a half-step closer. "I'm not here to hurt you. I would just like to determine if you're in need of assistance."
There's a slight ruffle as the blankets are moved out of the way only enough for an emerald green eye to peek out. It travels from the gold sandals adorning her feet to the silver crown resting upon her head. The gaze lingers there only for a moment before the boy—maybe six or seven at most—scrambles out from behind the quilts and bows his head.
"I'm sorry, Enzana," his terrified voice shakes. "Forgive me. I did not know it was you."
His skin is as smooth and rich as the darkest night sky, though tarnished with the remnants of a light dusting of dirt from the alley. Once brown, his hair is now sun-bleached and matted in small clusters on his head. From terror or malnourishment, or simply his disposition, his hands shake as he holds them palm-up towards her in a respect she's seldom seen here.
She places her hand on his own and gently lowers them. His bright eyes briefly flick up to hers in curiosity.
"That's not necessary," she explains, giving an encouraging smile. "Call me Fiona. Please."
"Fiona," he repeats quietly, testing the word in his mouth. He frowns. "I don't want to get in trouble."
"It'll be our secret," she reassures, knowing that his concern is a legitimate one. She tries to peer into the lean-to, but he's blocking the only opening. "Is anyone with you?"
A sorrowful expression briefly flashes on his face as he shakes his head. "Not right now. My sister's working."
"I see," she replies. The tent is hardly big enough for one person, let alone two—especially one that is old enough to work. "Have you eaten today?"
"She brings food when she comes back," he replies. "She's a good sister."
"I'm sure she is," Fiona softly smiles.
As Fiona looks at him, she wishes she could help him in a substantial way. But as far as she knows, there are no shelters for the homeless—unlike Vatra—and there's no way she could bring him to the castle without serious repercussions for both herself and Nadira, even if it were to only give him a single meal.
So she does the only thing she can do. Fiona takes her small coin purse and holds it towards him. "Take this. It should have enough money to feed you both for at least a week."
As he looks up to her with widened eyes, he quickly shakes his head. "I can't. I'll get in trouble."
"How?"
"They'll think I stole it."
It's true; if he were discovered, he would surely be persecuted of stealing from nobility—a capital offense even here. She digs out a few coins instead. "Then at least take these. It will be winter soon and you'll surely need a tunic."
As soon as he's coerced into accepting them, there's the unmistakable sound of footsteps behind her. Fiona turns quickly. Towering above her is a man sporting a curled lip and scowl; his attire that of a warrior rather than a peasant.
The boy crawls back in his tent, scared, and Tiger rises threateningly to his feet. The man doesn't back away, despite the warning growls.
"You shouldn't encourage the swine, Enzana."
Her jaw tightens and she, too, rises to her feet. "And why should I not help those in need?"
"They're weak," he hisses. "They deserve to die."
"No child deserves to die."
There's a moment where their eyes lock in a silent challenge. She tries not to look away, she truly does, but she's the first to break their gaze. He scoffs and spits on the ground at her feet—an utmost sign of disrespect.
"Katempsy," he snarls, directly in her face, before storming away.
Katempsy.
The word repeats in her head the entire walk home. It is the most insulting word of the Kaelan language—weak of skin and spirit. If Tiger had not been with her, and had she not been Nadira's wife, she's sure he would've asserted his dominance over her right then and there.
Rage—terror fills her at the thought.
She desperately wishes Nadira was here.
Chapter 18
Fiona and Aleesi decided to eat in a secluded room with beautifully crafted windows that enabled them to see the crystal blue river just over a mile away. As soon as she sits in front of her meal, a servant brings her a folded piece of parchment. Unrolling it, she scans the messily written scroll quickly.
"Is that from Nadira?"
Fiona looks up to Aleesi with a slight frown. "Zathura has refused to release Thomas from prison, so Nadira has taken a rather violent route in order to ensure his discharge," Fiona replies, thinking of the repercussions that will be caused from this small war. "She promises to be back as soon as things are settled."
Aleesi purses her lips together in disappointment. "I swear that boy is always getting into trouble. He just doesn't understand how hard he makes it on Nadi."
Fiona demurely takes a bite of the meat pie. The flavor rivals even the best. She takes another bite, dabbing her mouth before she speaks. "This happens often?"
"Not so much anymore, but it's not the first time she's had to start a war to drag him home."
As Fiona pokes around at the remaining food on her plate, a sudden warmth washes over her. The kind of warmth that starts as a dull tingling in her fingertips and expands to an overwhelming full-body heat. She discretely tries to fan herself. Sweat beads on her forehead. "Is it warm in here?"
Aleesi shakes her head. "It must just be the kapucha. It's spicy tonight."
Though she is used to the light and fresh foods of Vatra, she is now accustomed to the heavier and spicier foods of Faraha. The kapucha, a dish she has become familiar with and rather enjoys, wouldn't cause her body heat to fluctuate as much as she's experiencing. She dabs her forehead, trying to maintain her composure.
"May I ask you something, Aleesi?"
"Of course, dear," Aleesi replies, a motherly softness in her voice. "I'll try my best to help."
She's quiet for a moment as she decides how to proceed, but her lack of social skill has her stumped. She settles on just blurting it out. "Who is Kaya?"
Aleesi's fork pauses mid-air. She sits in stunned silence for only a moment before lowering it to her plate. "As much as I'd love to tell you," she begins, "that's really something you should ask Nadira. She'll be able to explain it better than anyone else."
"I see," Fiona politely responds, though she does not. "I'll be sure to do that."
As the meal goes on, her body temperature continues to rise and a dull ache plants itself behind her eyes. She grows increasingly weaker by the moment. She has to perpetually dab at the small sweat beads forming at her temples until, finally, she scoots her chair away from the table.
"If you'll pardon me, Aleesi, I'm beginning to feel quite ill."
"You do look rather pale. Why don't you go lie down?" Aleesi genuinely encourages. "I'll bring you some water."
She shakily stands from her seat. "Thank you…"
Before she can finish the sentiment, her body falls limply to the floor.
Chapter 19
When Nadira gets word of Fiona's illness and subsequent collapse days later, she rides all night and day in order to get back to Faraha. By the time she finally arrives at the gates her skin is caked with desert grime, her hair is as unruly as she feels, and there's a ferocity in her eyes that outdoes even her most angered expression.
Dropping from her horse in front of the castle, she storms inside, brushing past every person that happens to be in her way. She only stops when she reaches their hidden room and sees her mother, complete with red-rimmed eyes and wringing hands, playing sentry by the door.
"Mother,
" she half-whispers, out of breath, as she approaches. "How is she?"
"She's—" Aleesi pauses as her face crumples into distress. It's like her own daughter is lying in there. "She's better than before…but still not so good."
Nadira clamps her jaw tightly shut to stave off her own warring emotions. When she had heard of the arrangement to marry the woman from Vatra—picturesquely beautiful, though younger and slightly strange—she had thought that it would be nothing like this. That it would just be a woman for Nadira to train in their ways of society and, hopefully, be able to tolerate one day.
But instead she got Fiona D’Argues—a beauty beyond words, inside and out. A woman that challenges Nadira in the very best of ways. A woman that, despite being her complete opposite, understands Nadira in ways that not a single person ever has before. To Nadira, she's perfection personified; the person that Nadira never wants to live without.
She's the woman that Nadira loves. Wholeheartedly. Completely. Above and beyond anything else.
Her chin involuntarily quivers. "Should I…?"
"Go on," Aleesi encourages. "She needs you in there."
The heavy wooden door opens as silently as always, but besides a roaring fire in the grate, the sight that greets her is nothing of the ordinary.
Fiona, unconscious, is slightly propped up in the bed—how she would sometimes lie at night when she was in the mood to chat about things before they drifted into sleep—but her skin is as pale as the white fur blankets covering her. The vibrant glow that normally surrounds her is completely missing.
Nadira sits lightly on the bed beside her wife. The hand is paler and more chill than usual when she takes it in her own. Fiona doesn’t move, doesn’t stir.
This is not her Fiona. This is nothing but a shell of the woman she loves.
Nadira silently berates herself. She had wanted to protect Fiona always, from everything. But there's not a single thing she can do now but wait.
For the first time in her life, she begins to sob.
* * *
"Fix her."
"I'm trying my best—"
"Trying isn't good enough," Nadira replies, her voice firm as steel. "Fix her."
The doctor, Lianis if she remembers correctly, was brought in because he was boasted to be the best around. But it's been over three days, and there hasn't been so much of a hint of Fiona awakening any time soon. Her skin is still chilled, though randomly breaks out in sweats, and sometimes her body quakes with tremors that terrify Nadira more than any enemy ever has.
Nadira sits on the edge of the bed and begins to tenderly dab a damp cloth across the slick flesh of Fiona's face. Though that action alone could be considered a weakness on her part—the Amadi waits on no one—she really doesn't care. Lianis is smart enough to say nothing.
"The good news," he starts, "is that leeches are no longer necessary. The contagions in her blood should be sufficiently removed at this juncture."
"So she'll wake up soon?"
"It's hard to tell," he replies. "I've given her a soporific so that she will get the rest she needs to heal. It could be anywhere from one to two more days before she wakes."
Nadira brushes some dampened hair from Fiona's sickly face. "And if she doesn't?"
He shrugs. "Then she doesn't. There's nothing else I can do."
The words coil around her heart and squeeze. A world without Fiona in it is not one she wants to think about.
She listens as he repacks his small medical bag and waits for him to leave the room. He shuts the door a little too loudly and Nadira half-expects Fiona to flinch or reprimand him for being so careless. But of course, like the past day, she is unaware of her surroundings.
Nadira spends the next few minutes gazing upon her, stroking her hand, willing her to awaken. But at this point, it's nothing more than futile and she knows it.
When she finally leaves, she makes sure to shut the door quietly behind her.
* * *
"How is she?"
Nadira brushes Franz off with the wave of her hand. Now is not the time or the place to talk about how ill Fiona still is.
"Bolo?"
He nods. "We got him. He's getting a mouthful from Mother as we speak."
"I'm sure he is," Nadira retorts, knowing he is most likely getting coddled instead. "And Zathura?"
"Surrendered," he answers. "I made sure we got unrestricted access to their southern sea port—ships and all."
She nods her head proudly. "That'll make it a hell of a lot easier to trade with the Greater Kingdoms of the east."
"That's what I was thinking," he replies. They sit in one of the secluded corners of the peristyle away from any prying ears. He looks over to Nadira. "Want to talk about it?"
"No."
His brow lifts. "You sure?"
Nadira says nothing, though her jaw clenches in an effort to stave off her warring emotions.
"Aw, Nadira, c'mon. You know I'm not going to say anything."
"I know that," she replies, absently looking out across the landscape. "I just don't want to talk about it."
He stares at her for a moment.
"You're scared," he finally states.
During the transition between commoner and Amadi, Franz had been one of the few people that she could rely on to hold her secrets; he was the keeper of her fears and the giver of advice. She trusts him more now, after all they've been through, and she's glad he's here. No one else would've been brave enough to call her out on how she really feels.
Nadira slowly nods her head.
"Yeah," she admits quietly. "I am."
"Of what?"
She scoffs. "It would be easier to list what I'm not scared of right now. What if I'm not, I don't know—enough?"
His forehead wrinkles. "Nadira, you've been doing this for years—"
"No," she interrupts, her voice barely a whisper. "I meant…for Fiona."
"Oh."
"I'm in love with her," she admits. It's the first time she's said it out loud. The way it makes her feel, light and free, is enough for her to want to say it a thousand times more, but it's not as if she can walk around professing her love. Not in Faraha anyway.
"Then you'll keep her safe," Franz sincerely replies. "You're good at protecting the people you love, Nadi. I mean, hell, you've started wars to save Bolo and he's not even your favorite brother."
A small smile emerges on her lips. "Who said he wasn't my favorite?"
Franz faux gasps. "Now that was uncalled for."
Her smile is genuine for the first time in days. She gives his shoulder a playful hit. "Thanks, Franz. I needed that."
"It's what I'm here for." He nudges her shoulder. "Now go; she needs you."
Knowing that he understands how to play the public almost as well as she, the offer is readily accepted and she leaves him to take care of any problems that may arise.
Chapter 20
Nadira approaches the bedchamber and slows as her mother steps out. She checks to make sure no one is around before speaking. "Is she awake?"
"No change."
Nadira tilts her head slightly back and exhales heavily through her nose. That's exactly what she didn't want to hear.
"She'll get better," Aleesi reassures. "I can feel it."
Nadira nods, though she isn't sure she believes it. "Thanks, Mother. For staying with her…For everything."
Aleesi's eyes soften and, though she doesn't, almost yanks her daughter into a long-overdue hug.
Instead, she gently squeezes Nadira's arm. "You might rule this country, but you're still my daughter, Nadira. You don't need to thank me for doing what any mother would do. We're family and we stick together."
Nadira's eyes soften and Aleesi understands the expression immediately. It's the closest to an I love you Aleesi will ever get from Nadira in public, regrettably, but for good cause.
"I know you do," Angel softly replies to the unspoken words. "And I assume you feel the same for Fiona?"
Nadira'
s cheeks slightly color. "Mother."
"Okay, okay." Aleesi holds up her hands in mock defense. "But it's good to see you smile."
"I smile," Nadira scowls. "Just not around you 'cause you're always nagging me."
"Oh, hush." Aleesi begins to gather her stuff from the chair by the door. "Now you take care of her tonight. She needs—"
"Henbane if she's in pain," Nadira exasperatedly finishes. "I listen sometimes."
"Sometimes being the key word," Aleesi refutes. As she walks off she calls over her shoulder, "Tell me when she wakes up so I can make something for her to eat."
Nadira barely resists the urge to teasingly roll her eyes. But she was lucky, really, to have a mother that cares so much about not only her own children, but also each of their partners. Her childhood and, subsequently, her family—though they often drove her mad—were rare gems in this nation that she wouldn't trade for the world.
The bedchamber, though the window allows fresh air to waft in, is stale and heavy with the stench of a sickly sweet perfume emitted from only those touched by illness. Nadira stokes the fire to hopefully burn the smell away and to keep Fiona's chills at bay for at least a little while. Aleesi had apparently tried to liven up the room by placing an intricately woven quilt on the bed and a few calla lilies on the side table.
Nadira tiredly plops down in the chair she had previously pulled next to their bed. Unfortunately, it's as close to Fiona as she can get while she sits vigil throughout the night without being scared of accidentally crushing the other woman in her sleep. She stares at the woman briefly before reaching out and taking the pale hand in her own.
"Can you hear me?" Nadira asks, her voice no louder than a whisper, unsure if it's from embarrassment or pending disappointment. There's no answer, of course, and Nadira dryly scoffs. "That was a dumb thing to ask. I'm sorry. I just…I miss you."
Nadira's eyes begin to burn with the sting of pending tears. Whoever, or whatever, was the cause of doing this to Fiona was going to pay.
The Best Deceptions: A Lesbian Medieval Fantasy (Deception Series Book 1) Page 9