Page 12 of Song of the Shadow Prince
“Yes, my lady.” Maeve bowed, took my arm, and gently ushered me back toward the bedroom with the old man trailing behind us.
I peered over my shoulder and glared at Damien, who watched me intently. I flipped him off again. His expression darkened and he gritted his teeth, looking ready to pounce before Gianna placed a calming hand on his forearm. I winked at him before turning back around, ignoring him completely.
As we retraced our steps through the lush, vibrant courtyard, I took a moment to savor the fragrant flowers and towering trees swaying gently in the breeze. The perfumed scent of roses and jasmine was almost overpowering, mingling with the earthy aroma of damp soil. The cobblestones underfoot were slick from the previous night's rain, and the soft trickle of a nearby fountain added to the serene ambiance.
Maeve led me back to the bedroom, its opulence evident in every detail as I gazed at it in the light of day. The large canopy bed was adorned with silk sheets and plush pillows, and heavy drapes framed a window overlooking the courtyard. I sat on the edge of the bed with a huff.
The healer set his bag down and began to examine me with gentle hands. “Let’s see what we have here,” he muttered, his breath smelling faintly of mint and something medicinal.
I glanced back at Maeve, who watched with a mixture of concern and hope. “This isn’t necessary,” I protested, but she shook her head.
“Just let him help you, my lady,” she softly insisted.
The healer placed three fingertips on the pulse of my wrist, his touch light yet firm. I bounced my right leg impatiently, my eyes darting around the room as I waited for his verdict. Thesensation of his cold fingers against my skin sent a shiver up my arm. I had no idea how one could diagnose anything from a pulse, but in this strange situation, I was just along for the ride.
“Dear, if you could stick out your tongue,” he requested gently, and I complied, feeling somewhat ridiculous. He leaned closer, examining me with a furrowed brow and contemplative expression. “Hmm. This is odd,” he mused.
“What is it?” Maeve shrieked, clutching her chest in fear, her eyes wide with panic.
I rolled my eyes and sighed. “Relax.” The tension in the room made my head pound. “I’m as healthy as a horse. I just had a physical at the V.A. like, a month ago. I’m fine.”
The healer’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Her pulse is not… the same.”
I raised a brow, my patience wearing thin. “Pardon?” I deadpanned, feeling a surge of annoyance.
The healer stepped back and rubbed his chin. “I believe you’re right, Maeve. She must have hit her head when she fell overboard.” He turned to the strange lady who stood wringing her hands. “Do you have parchment, ink, and a quill?”
“Yes!” Maeve dashed across the room to fetch the items he requested.
I furrowed my brows, feeling a mix of frustration and disbelief. “Look here, you quack, I’m perfectly healthy! Don’t diagnose me based on some little girl’s assumptions. What are your credentials? Are you even an M.D.?” I challenged, my voice rising with each word.
The healer didn’t look startled or confused. Instead, he nodded as if I’d just confirmed his suspicions. His bushy gray eyebrows bristled. “Oh, dear, this is worse than I predicted.”
Maeve returned, clutching the parchment, ink, and quill. The old man used the nightstand as a writing surface and slid the parchment in place. The scratching of the quill on parchmentwas the only sound in the room, aside from Maeve’s anxious breathing. When he finished, he handed the parchment to Maeve.
His voice was authoritative. “This is a prescription. Get the ingredients and boil them as instructed. Feed it to her in the morning and at night. She should start feeling better in the coming days.”
I laughed derisively, the harsh sound startling the hush of the otherwise quiet room. “You must have gotten your degree online.” Leaning my forearm on my knee, I stared him down. “I’m not consuming anything you prescribe. Not until I see your license to practice medicine!”
He cleared his throat and stood from the stool where he’d been sitting. “If you need anything else, Maeve, send a messenger.”
Maeve rushed to him and bowed, clutching the prescription in tense hands. “Yes, Healer Ilan. Thank you so much. And I apologize for my lady’s behavior,” she said, blushing and bowing slightly. He waved her off and collected his things, then exited the room without another word. The door closed with a soft thud.
“Don’t apologize to that quack!” I grabbed a pillow and flung it at the door, barely missing him as it closed. The pillow hit the wood with a dull thump and fell to the floor.
“Lady Arya!” Maeve scolded, her voice filled with shock and disapproval. Maeve bent to pick up the pillow, her movements quick and precise. “You need to rest, my lady. The healer knows what he’s doing.”
I huffed and crossed my arms over my chest, feeling like a petulant child. “I’m not taking any medieval potion that man conjures up! I believe in Western medicine.” I sniffed primly.
“My lady, you’re really starting to worry me.” Maeve’s voice trembled and her eyes filled with concern.
Just then, the doors creaked open and a middle-aged man strode in, his steps quick and purposeful. He wore a simple, elegant tunic, its deep blue fabric contrasting with his dark brown skin. His eyes widened when they landed on me and he hurried closer. “Darling!” he wailed, wrapping me in a tight embrace.
I tensed and my body went rigid in his arms. His grip was firm, almost desperate, and for a moment, I couldn’t breathe. The musky scent of sandalwood clung to him, bringing a wave of confusion and fierce longing. I feared that if I moved even an inch, he would disappear like a phantom stirred from my memories.
The man pulled away, but he retained his grip on my upper arms as he held me at arm’s length. “Dear, are you alright?” His voice was thick with emotion.
The familiarity of his face sent a jolt through me. “P-Papi?” I murmured, staring at the man before me. He looked exactly like my father—except my father died two years ago. It was impossible for him to be standing here, yet there he was.
