Everything was hot. It was burning and aching deep inside her chest and stomach all the way to her skin. Everything hurts. A molten sensation centered on her back and between her shoulders, spilling all over her veins.
'Don't worry, it will all be over soon,' a baritone voice soothed her, 'just a bit more. You have to leave.'
'It hurts', Astraea thinks screaming, it hurts. 'Make it stop. I don't want this, take it away.'
'You won't be the same but now you will be safe,' the voice keeps saying. She could hear them repeating the same words: 'I'm sorry'. 'It will be alright', 'I'm so sorry', 'It will all be over.'
Similarly she felt her own mouth move her own words over and over. But what were the words?
Who was she calling out to?
Was there someone?
'…I NEED YOU… PLEASE!'
Astraea doesn't know how long she keeps screaming. It was all she could do before a cool sensation brushes the apples of her cheeks and her tightly furrowed brow drenched in perspiration. She cannot hear, she cannot see, her eyes shut tightly and refusing to open. It was like she had forgotten how to open them.
That cool sensation never left her, embracing her steady while brushing her face and spine over and over before the burning finally stopped. The pain finally left. It was finally over.
Astraea cannot now remember. She cannot think nor can she move and open her eyes, slumber taking over quickly with the exhaustion. The last sensation she feels is the warmth from that cool touch.
The first thing Astraea notices when her consciousness returns were the faint smell of warm cinnamon and leather. It was a very strange smell, but it was so comforting almost like an old friend. How could a scent smell so nice? She could bury herself inside it and breathe it for the rest of her life.
The second thing she notices is the voice beside her asking, "Is she dead?"
Astraea decided that was a very good moment to open her eyes and glare at the new stranger who jumped up and yelped at the sudden movement.
"She is not," she heard Cyrene say with a deadpanned tone that made her snort softly. The woman did have a sense of humor!
"Indeed I am not," Astraea groans out, feeling her bones pop and her body warm as she looked at the young boy who had fallen on his rump on the floor, "You boy. Who are you?"
The young man looks at her up and down like a frightened animal of prey, yellow irises narrowed in distrust, "I'm Lemon."
"Lemon??"
"My parents had a strange sense of humor," the boy says sardonically that almost made her laugh out loud had it not been for her strange circumstance. Beside her Cyrene snorts softly.
She gives him a raised eyebrow, "Well you do have lovely eyes if I do say so."
The boy's eyes darken making her feel a strong sense of smug satisfaction in her veins. Then she takes in her surroundings, "Now please tell me where the hell am I? What is all this? Coran…"
Then it all floods her instantly. The hunter, Coran spiking her tea, Aileen's stupidly smug expression.
She then takes in the black walls painted with tapestries, the four-poster bed decorated with a soft veil that had been put up to ease access, the deep brown wood of the pillars of the said bed and the brown floors. On the dresser nearby a white ornate vase stood filled with hyacinths, the ceramic container depicting a monster being sliced open by the blade of a stick figure with wings. Lovely.
Her chest and stomach felt as if they were filled with lead. 'Why did he do that?'
There were many things that Astraea could never understand but she could not fathom what possessed the old inventor to drug her and send her off somewhere completely away from Earnest. And judging from the design of the room and its tapestry this was not a Brilanthian home.
She rose from the sheets wanting to stretch the last dregs of sleep off her body until she winced heavily as a sharp needle like sensation pricked between her shoulder blades and travelled down her spine and burned throughout. Her back itself felt sticky and stiff as if someone slaved a strange mixture of honey onto her back. Cyrene is at her side in a flash, face tight with worry.
She felt a slight drop of panic, "Can someone tell me what happened? What happened to my back?" she looks at Cyrene who seems to pale a bit, "Cyrene, can you please?"
She really didn't want to put her trust in the other, her gut conflicted whether to place her vulnerability in the hands of someone she barely knew. Yet something in her mind begged her to take the comfort. Besides, she was the only familiar thing she had in the strange new setting she had been thrown into.
'What I wouldn't give to be back at home and pretend this never happened,' she thinks.
Cyrene, albeit a little hesitant gave a small nod before looking at the boy on the floor, Lemon, who's expression suddenly morphed into something akin to pity. He sits up, legs crossed comfortably on the floor as if he were going to tell a long tale, "Well, you arrived here two days ago along with Miss Cyrene under the instructions of Mr. Berggren and Miss Ruyle to keep you both safe. Our Mistress believes that she could have your problems solved in a fortnight give or take."
Astraea felt even more confused, "Did Coran ever leave a message? Maybe even an explanation as to why did he drug my mother-trodden tea?! What the hell is this place eve?"
She feels the sheets rustle as Cyrene adjusts herself, "While you were unconscious Berggren sent us here, the place he talked about where we would find solutions to our problems."
"But…" Astraea felt a pang of betrayal lodge in her gut, "why didn't he just tell us?"
She looked between Lemon and Cyrene, the former being the one to speak up next, "The coven of the Silver Lion has been covert for decades. Revealing its location is risky business; not even your friend would be allowed to utter its name."
"The what?"
Lemon huffs in irritation, "The Silver Lion! Do you not know about the greatest coven that ever established since the great civil war?"
Astraea blinks slowly, feeling her world slip from underneath in a false vertigo-like sensation. There was no such place or organization called Silver Lion, in fact Astraea knew many places in Earnest itself and Earnest was not a very large city despite the wide perimeter the walls surrounded. She looked at Cyrene with slightly red eyes.
"Where. Are. We?" she grits out with an icy stare, forgoing common kindness.
The taller woman presses her lips together tightly, "Outside of Jericho. The South of Dawnmore. In Little Yullard."
South of Dawnmore…in Little Yullard…outside of Jericho…
Astraea wanted to scream.
"WE'RE OUTSIDE OF JERICHO?!"
"…yes."
Astraea didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Panic floods her veins, her breath shortening as she tried to process what was happening.
"We're outside of Jericho," she whispers horrified.
Two pairs of eyes looked at her in concern, which seemed reasonable enough as Astraea felt herself spiral, stomach sinking and heart turning into marble. It felt as if she had been dunked in a pool of ice that burned as much as it froze.
Jericho. Outside Jericho; they were outside the wall.
"She's freaking out," Lemon comments offhandedly, eyeing her as if she were a spooked horse. Somehow this managed to anger her out of her panicked stupor,
"I am NOT freaking out!"
"Well, you sure don't look calm."
"I AM COMPLETELY CALM!"
"You're sweaty and pale." Astraea wanted to strangle him.
Taking a deep breath subconsciously gripping the sheets of the bed she began speaking again in the calmest manner she could muster, "It's perfectly reasonable for someone in my position. Just yesterday I was minding my own business and going back home until a behemoth of a woman lands in my yard bleeding out on my grass until I dragged her into my house, which I do not regret, and treated her wounds only to find out this ridiculously attractive woman was an escapee from a mother-trodden prison camp and a hunter then barged into my house, broke my door and stabbed my arm and tried to kill us while mumbling how I should have been dead. Now on top of all that I managed to teleport us to the city and took shelter from Coran, the one man I thought as a friend, only for him to drug me and haul me off somewhere AND RIGHT OUTSIDE THE BLOODY WALLS IN A PLACE I DON'T KNOW!!"
Cyrene and Lemon stared at her warily as she took heavy breaths, feeling the energy drain out of her body. Her back throbbed, her palms were sweating, and a nauseating chill burned in her throat and gut as she stared at the wall.
'I want things to be back to normal again.'
Oh how badly she wanted to strangle something!
That was the moment Lemon decided to speak up once more, "Ah, you probably should not move for a bit."
"I beg your pardon?" Astraea says roughly, voice heavily colored with annoyance she didn't bother to hide now. She wanted the other two to know how angry she was.
Lemon gives an apologetic gesture with his hands, "Well your back was bleeding which is not normal so suggest its better you sit still until Healer Hafsah–"
"MY BACK WAS BLEEDING?"
Both parties looked like they immediately regretted many things. Astraea felt her temples throb with a newfound pressure of many questions threatening to burst out of her head.
"My…back…why was it bleeding? Were we attacked?" she asks worriedly, panic welling up inside at the thought of Cyrene being to defend them while they were being attacked. Her mind immediately recalls the strange hunter who came to attack Cyrene and herself back in Evergreen, the vicious precision of his attacks and how they barely managed to get out unscathed. Did she have injuries like her?
Cyrene stretches out an unsure hand before retracting it, eyes filled with that odd look again, "No, we weren't attacked."
'Little mercies,' Astraea thinks gratefully, "Then what happened?"
Lemon speaks up this time with an exasperated look in his face aimed at Cyrene which Astraea absently noticed, "It's your own body's doing. But we don't know that for sure, that's why I ask you to sit still till the Healer arrives, woman."
Suddenly the tone the boy spoke in really irritated her. Perhaps it was because of the raging emotions she was feeling that made her more sensitive to unnecessary detail. Or maybe the boy seemed to know which nerve to press.
Astraea frowns, "That's no way to talk to your elders, boy."
"I'm not a boy!" cries Lemon.
"I don't think so. How old are you anyway? Ten?" Astraea replies with one eyebrow rose skeptically.
"How dare you! I'm twelve!"
"Mm, only a little hafling is what you are. Not even in the cusp of manhood yet, that's certain."
"You–!"
A new voice interrupts, "What in the world is all this screaming?"
All three heads turn to see a figure standing in the doorway with a valise clutched on their hand. It was a woman of lithe stature and coffee colored skin staring at them with a disapproving stare that made them shrink their skin like little children caught misbehaving. She walked in with a thud to her step and plopped herself on the edge of the bed, shooing Cyrene off while gently placing her valise on the bedside table. Astraea could feel the authority radiating off her glance as she looked at her head to toe in scrutiny.
She takes Astraea's wrist and promptly inspects her pulse. Her brow furrows, "You seem to be clear. Strong pulse, good blood flow. Occasional migraines, eh?"
Astraea felt awed and slightly terrified at the accuracy of her analysis, "Ah, well um – yes?"
"And what fool decided you should sit up in bed at all? In fact…" the woman began muttering something under her breath angrily. Suddenly she twisted Astraea by the shoulders and shoved her onto the bedding face first. Astraea felt her ears burn in shame with anger bubbling in her once more.
"What the hell are you doing!?"
"I'm trying to inspect your wounds. You're too loud and stubborn like a mule stuck in the mud," the woman, Hafsah, says coolly before speaking sharply at Lemon, "Get out. You're not needed."
"Yes, yes, I'm leaving. I'd rather spare my eyes," the boy says mockingly before skittering away as Astraea managed to fling a wooden figurine on the bedside table at him. Hafsah gives Cyrene an expectant look as if trying to tell her she was not needed as well, to which the woman responds with a cold stubborn look. The healer scoffs.
"What's one more fool to accompany the other? Just do me a favor and don't touch anything."
Before Astraea could protest the healer aims a stern look, "Stay. Still."
Burying her protests and her shame she lies pliantly, feeling the other open the back of her clothes and cold fingers assessing whatever the damage was present on her body. The quiet of the room felt too uncomfortable for her skin.
She then felt a rush of cool mana rushed into her bloodstream, prodding and knitting what was foreign or broken in her body. As she did this, from the corner of her eye she notices the healer had a somber look on her face.
Soon the feeling was gone, body no longer felt tight under its husk. Hafsah then wipes a cool cloth across her back before redressing her and efficiently ending her examination.
"Woah," Astraea exclaims softly, her body feeling much lighter than before. In fact it felt…right in a strange sort of way. Beside her Cyrene seemed relieved and curious all the same.
"Why are you so surprised? Have you never seen a healer before?" Hafsah says in an amused tone. Astraea was surprised to see the slight twinkle in her brown eyes.
Regardless she felt like an excited child, eager and endlessly curious, "Well not like you! I have never seen such a method of healing before. In fact it was something one could only expect from a Gifted. It's truly amazing!"
The woman looks at her for a moment before breaking a small grin, "You are welcome to learn."
Astraea's lips pulled to a genuine smile, "Could I? That would be so useful." She could heal herself or Cyrene if something ever happened or should the situation call for. Perhaps even help her back when she bent over her notes till the late of night when she worked.
Beside her Cyrene didn't look as ecstatic; her eyes seemed suddenly sour as she looked at the Healer who looked back her with a clandestine smirk. Just then Lemon barged in loudly with a box in his arms.
"Oi, are you decent?"
And just like that Astraea felt all the peace in her body evaporate, "You again."
Hafsah interjects, "Have you brought some things for our guests? The Lordship would want to see her as soon as possible."
"Yes, yes I brought everything. Trinkets and fabrics and all the pretty things you all enjoy so much," the boy drones with a roll of his eyes.
Astraea could feel an oncoming headache. "Are you always this irritating?"
"When the company needs me to be," he fires cheekily. She felt the mad urge to burst out laughing.
Hafash stands, grabbing her valise and gave a curt nod to the two guests, "Well, I will be off. I expect to see both of you in the hall with the Lordship, they have been waiting for your awakening," she looks at Lemon, "leave those and come along. There's still work to be done."
The boy grunts with an exasperated look while complaining loudly about wages and child labor while he walked away with her leaving Cyrene and Astraea alone once more in the room. An unusual tension settled in the room.
Astraea decides to gingerly get up and examine the box Lemon had brought which was filled with colorful fabrics and chitons of expensive looking material that she had never seen before. They were simple and silky smooth with detailed embroidery along with a few jewelry. She feels wary and excited all at once. She then looks up at Cyrene who seemed to be in deep thought.
"Um.." she starts, unsure what to say, "you…you said you weren't hurt right?"
Cyrene looks up at her which made Astraea feel nervous for some reason. Perhaps it was the strength that she had over her, or maybe the intensity of her gaze that equally unnerved and intrigued her whenever those red eyes focused on her. It made her feel like she was wearing a second layer of skin – but it wasn't so bad.
"No," the woman replies coolly, "I wasn't hurt. Coran managed to bring us safely beyond the walls and bring us here. I…I don't think he meant anything bad."
Astraea scoffs, "Of course he doesn't. But it doesn't give him the right to just knock me out like that and drop me off somewhere to some strange place with people I know nothing about!" she doesn't notice how Cyrene winces slightly at the address.
She sighs heavily, "Never mind, how would you know anyway? I barely know you at all." Then she thinks to herself for a moment, "do you have any family you want to return to?"
Cyrene had a lost look on her stoic face, "…no."
"Ah," Astraea feels like berating herself for asking such a thing, "well then, why don't we get dressed? The lord of the place is waiting for us after all, might as well not keep them waiting."
With that the two of them dressed into their given clothes, Astraea was beginning to feel quite smitten with her silken red and gold robes. It made her feel rather lovely; she couldn't remember the last time she wore something so exquisite or expensive. From her side Cyrene had donned a pure black chiton instead, simple and brings out her wan complexion making it seem more inhumane in a beautifully haunting way.
As they walked out of their rooms, they went through a long winding corridor before reaching an open roof great hall with the pale sky looming over them. At the center was a large divan up a short three step stairway which was elegantly crafted with lacquered cinnabar colored wood lined with gold and white sheets, sitting upon it was a rather tall woman with a stern set face and caramel skin. She reclined lazily on the divan with her eyes closed in a serene expression while another woman sat nearby on the staircase, eyes intently focused on her looming.
She could be considered beautiful in a handsome sort of way with the sharp line of her jaw and her hawkish nose, her eyelids were painted in a royal blue, similar to the woman working on her mini loom, with black painted lips and black lines marking on the cheekbones either side her face; her hair was shaved on either side while the rest of the black locks were gathered in a high ponytail. On her forehead was an insignia of a black circle surrounded with a curved line on each side. Both women sported these markings on their face.
Upon hearing the sound of their footsteps her eyes opened and her lips stretched to a catlike smile, "Ah, hello. Feeling better?"
Astraea smiles politely, "Very much, thank you my Lord."
"Wonderful," she says delighted, "you seem to spot exactly who I was. Care to share me the secret?"
Astraea says, "Who else would have the right to sit on an expensive divan in the center of a structure? Your stance alone tells me you are someone of high authority." 'And the healer very much told me who I was to expect in the Hall obviously,' she thinks with a sweat drop. No one needs to know that.
The woman claps, "My, I haven't met a bright one like you in a while. Well observed."
"Ah, I am just a humble author, there is nothing special to of note."
"Humble author you say? That was not what I was told," she gives a grin, "I am indeed the Lord of this household and the Silver Lion. I am Akila, but you may call me Paprika. We aren't strangers as of now," she says this with a playful wink. Beside her Astraea can feel Cyrene's deadpanned expression.
She bows politely with Cyrene following the suite, "We are very honored to have met you my Lo- uh Paprika. I have to thank you for providing me and my friend asylum from the Hunters."
"Oh, that wasn't a hunter of any means," Paprika interrupts with a raised brow, "that was something more dangerous than that. Didn't your old man tell you?"
Astraea feels worried, "What do you mean? Who was that then?"
'How does she know what happened? Did Coran already brief her about it? How far do his connections even go?' Astraea doesn't know what to make of it.
"That was a Jaeger sweetheart," Paprika says with a somber face, "a well-trained Gifted soldier who had come for the kill."
Astraea feels all the blood drain from her face.