Later that night, Eiravyne woke up feeling disoriented, her surroundings a blur as she blinked to clear her vision.
The dim light in her room cast shadows on the walls, and she could just make out the figure of Martha sitting beside her bed.
"Martha," Eiravyne murmured, her voice weak and trembling. "Where's I-Ilkar?"
Martha looked up from her knitting, her face etched with concern and the wisdom of years. "He's been very busy, dear. He left and hasn't come back yet."
Eiravyne's heart sank at the news, and she wiped at her eyes, trying to dispel the lingering fog of sleep and the haunting images from her nightmares.
Her body felt heavy and sticky, drenched in sweat from the tumultuous dreams that had plagued her rest.
"I n-need a fresh dress," she said softly, the discomfort evident in her voice. "I'm soaked through."
