Page 1 of The Stolen Kingdom

1

Blood soaked Maris’s hands while she fought through the excruciating pain in her broken arm. They had taken refuge in Lasmeer’s modest home in Ophelia, their only sanctuary amidst the chaos. Melvian’s father was gone, a victim of their pursuers, and Maris couldn’t shake the dreadful feeling that they would come for Lasmeer next.

Lasmeer was the only person Maris could trust other than Isen and Melvian. His kindness towards Valda gave her a glimmer of hope that he wasn’t a traitor. She held her breath as they arrived at his doorstep, her mind racing with fear and uncertainty. If Lasmeer had betrayed them, if he laid a hand on Valda…

Isen pounded his open palm against the door while Melvian hurried to assess Valda’s injuries. Maris couldn’t tear her gaze away from Melvian’s face, searching desperately for a flicker of hope or reassurance. But Melvian’s expression remained unreadable, fueling Maris’s growing desperation. She needed to feel Valda’s presence, to know she was still alive. Her anger did not pull away from the fact that she was petrified that the other woman was on the brink of death. She could feel it. The bond flickered in and out, a fragile thread of fear and silence pulling at her.

When Lasmeer answered the door, weariness and confusion etched across his face. Recognition flickered in his eyes as he saw Isen, a genuine smile lighting up his tired features as he pulled him into an embrace—a gesture of goodwill that eased Maris’s apprehension for a moment. But as Lasmeer’s gaze shifted to Valda’s lifeless body, confusion morphed into shock.

“By Ouranos, what happened to her?” Lasmeer exclaimed.

Tears cascaded down Maris’s cheeks. “They betrayed her,” she choked out between sobs. “Arwin... he killed all the soldiers who refused to turn against Valda, and...” She bit her trembling lip, struggling to articulate her anguish. Valda was injured, unresponsive, and Maris’s broken arm had grown cold.

Lasmeer gestured for her silence, his hand moving through the air urgently. “Quickly, come inside! We mustn’t let them know she’s here.”

Isen nodded at Lasmeer, cradling Valda in his arms as he brushed past him into the house. Melvian placed a comforting hand on Maris’s thigh, her voice filled with urgency. “Come, Maris. Let’s get you inside.”

“I’ll tend to the horses. Go,” Lasmeer interjected, already taking charge of Isen’s horse and reaching for Melvian’s.

Maris leaned heavily against Melvian’s shoulder, dismounting from the horse with a mix of desperation and grit. Isen gently laid Valda face down on a long dining table, his brow furrowed with worry as he ran his hands through his mussed hair. Maris took in his disheveled appearance—dirt, blood, and exhaustion were evident in his clothes and untrimmed beard. He bore the scars of a battle she couldn’t comprehend. Had Arwin harmed him? The thought sent a shiver down Maris’s spine, evoking memories of her own suffocation, and her mother’s tragic end.

“Melvian, time is running out,” Isen’s voice boomed, piercing through the small living room. The worry in his tone mirrored Maris’s own.

Melvian approached Maris, cupping her face and grounding her in the present. “I need to attend to Valda, Maris. Can you hold on for a little longer?”

Maris’s focus shifted from Valda to her friend. She had never witnessed the concentration and determination shine through her best friend’s eyes. Melvian had slipped into the important role of a healer and Maris wouldn’t trust anyone else with such a role. She nodded, gently pushing Melvian away without a second thought. “Go.”

Melvian sprang into action, positioning herself near Valda’s flank. Closing her eyes, she moved her hand over Valda’s back, arms, and legs. Maris watched, captivated by the young healer’s intense concentration as she worked her magic. Suddenly, Melvian stopped, opened her eyes, and turned to Isen.

“Punctured lung, three broken ribs.”

A lump formed in Maris’s throat as she hurried to Valda’s side, her trembling hand brushing against Valda’s dark hair for the first time. She noticed, with a pang of dread, Valda’s laborious breathing.

“I will need towels, water, a knife and a makeshift tube,” Melvian announced just as Lasmeer walked inside the home.

“I will fetch them for you,” he said as he turned to another room. “I have a couple of wooden straws that could work.”

“Yes, please,” Melvian replied, nudging Isen with her elbow. The handsome Sealian nodded, reaching behind him to produce a flask.

Maris furrowed her brow, glancing at the metal container and then at Melvian and Isen. “This isn’t the time to be drinking—“

“Maris,” Isen interrupted, his tone firm and commanding. “It’s Sealian water. It will accelerate the healing of your arm. Drink.”

Melvian nodded in agreement, her gaze steady. “But first, I need to align the bones. If I don’t, your arm may heal improperly, and you could lose use of it.” It dawned on Maris then, the reason behind Isen’s slightly battered appearance. Perhaps he carried the flask with him wherever he went. It made sense.

“It’s going to hurt... a lot,” Melvian warned.

Who cared if it was going to hurt or not? Maris wasn’t paying attention to that. She wanted Melvian on Valda; she needed to see a hint of hope that Valda was going to survive this. She had been stabbed in the back! She took a heavy blow when they fell Ouranos knows how many feet! Valda was broken because of her, because she put Maris’s safety before her own. And now she was breathing as if every gasp might be her last.

“I don’t care! Just hurry so you can tend to Valda,” Maris responded, turning to Isen, who promptly opened the flask for her, his hands finding her shoulder and supporting her injured arm. Maris winced and clenched her teeth as Melvian grasped her wrist and elevated her limb.

“When I tell you, drink.”

Maris nodded, placing the flask’s mouth against her lips. Her hand trembled with anticipation, fully aware of the impending pain.

“Take a deep breath,” Melvian instructed.

Maris tightened her grip, following Melvian’s guidance, and looked away.

---