A Thread in the Tangle by Sabrina Flynn

Author:Sabrina Flynn [Flynn, Sabrina]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Fantasy, Epic
ISBN: 9781310651601
Publisher: Sabrina Flynn
Published: 2013-10-22T07:00:00+00:00

Twenty

THE GENTLE PATTER of rain sang softly to her ears, easing her from the darkness into the haze in between. The music might have lulled her back to sleep if not for the hushed conversations lingering at the edge. The nymph sighed with contentment and snuggled into warmth. There was no reason to leave the in between. Her lids were heavy and the bed was so very soft, cradling her body in a tender embrace. A calm hand rested on her forehead and she cracked her eyes open with sleepy hope.

“Have a drink, child.” Morigan’s kindly face smiled down at her, but it was not the face she wished to see. Isiilde tried to get up, quickly discovering that she was too weak to lift her head. The motherly healer lifted it for her, pressing a cup to her lips. Smooth liquid slid down her throat, tasting of lemon, spice, and honey.

“Do you know, Isiilde, I have never encountered a child who attracts more trouble than you.”

“At least I keep things interesting.” As she hoped, the healer began to laugh.

“Oh, child, you have no idea.”

“What happened to me, Morigan?” Events were a dream that she could not quite grasp, flitting on the edges of consciousness, just out of reach, but she remembered some things vividly; fire, heat, and fear.

“I’m not sure anyone knows,” Morigan sighed. “The Archlord carried you in. You were cold as snow and just as pale. I’ve never seen him so distraught. Takes a lot to fluster that one, which reminds me that I best get Oenghus and send word to the Archlord. We’ve all been worried about you.” Morigan patted her cheek, and stood, straightening her apron before striding out the door.

Isiilde sighed, gazing ruefully around the private room in the infirmary, which was becoming more familiar to her than she would have liked. She was surprised to see the dark blanket of night through the slats of the shuttered window. It had been just after midday when she and Marsais strolled through the garden.

It wasn’t long before Oenghus ducked through the door. Her looming protector made the room feel cramped and overcrowded.

Isiilde steeled herself for another harsh reprimand, wondering what new punishments she’d have to endure. Surely, he would not take away her strawberries?

“How are you feeling?” He sat on the edge of the bed and felt her forehead.

“Exhausted.”

“Drink up the rest of this then.” He lifted her head, a feather’s weight in his massive hand, and patiently helped her finish Morigan’s herbal mixture. When the cup was empty, Oenghus set it aside, and she untangled her hand from the covers to lay it delicately over one of his.

“Do you know what happened to me, Oen?” It was evident that her question troubled him, because he tugged on a black braid woven into his beard.

“I don’t know,” he grunted. “and neither does Marsais. If you were a horse, I’d say that someone tried to run you to death.”

“I sometimes wonder if you are trying to work me to death, however, I assure you that I was not running,” she said, sullenly.

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