The Bitter Remedy
Barcas, who had been drawing in the cool air laced with the scent of rain, turned his head and fixed his gaze upon her. A somber shadow flickered across his dawn-still eyes. She wondered what thoughts stirred beyond those ice-lake irises. Was he fretting over his own tangled future, or had he already begun to regret his decision?
Her vow never to wonder again rang hollow as Talia found herself asking once more. So it hadn’t been because he liked Ayla that he’d wanted to marry, had it? She’d known as much. He was the sort of man who could never grow warm toward anyone. In truth, the other person’s identity had probably mattered little. That was why he could play the tender fiancé to Ayla just as easily as he could play the plausible protector to her.
Talia rubbed the corner of her lips where Barcas’s mouth had brushed, erasing the lingering sensation. Talia Roem Guerta was merely one more responsibility among the countless burdens he had to bear. She would not be deceived by kindness tossed her way like alms.
She turned her back on him and pulled the blanket over her head.
At some point she must have drifted off. Her body, taut with tension all day, melted swiftly beneath the potent wine. Face buried in the pillow, limbs slack beneath the soft covers, she floated in a hazy daze. How long had she drifted when a prickling sensation began to gnaw at her knee?
She stirred, discomfort mounting into sharper pain, and forced her heavy eyelids open. Her blurred vision filled with impenetrable darkness. The lingering fog of sleep vanished in an instant. Talia stared into the pitch-black void with eyes wide with terror. The sticky night, devoid of even a single thread of light, pressed against her throat. Gasping for breath, she clutched at her constricting neck as the dull ache in her knee flared into lightning.
She seized her calf with both hands. Beneath her palms the weakened muscles spasmed. Cold sweat streamed down her back as pain like a blade stabbed through her. Biting her lower lip, Talia dug her nails into the twisting muscles of her leg.
The scrape of flint sounded, and a spark of light struck her face. She lifted her head to see a small candle flickering and Barcas’s pale outline. His expression grim, he bent over the bed, studying her bloodless features.
Without thinking, Talia let out a shrill scream. “Don’t touch me!”
She struck his hand away and scrambled toward the foot of the bed, only to be caught. One strong hand pinned her shoulder to the mattress. Barcas reached for her calf, marked with nail crescents. Talia screamed as though scalded with boiling oil.
“No! Don’t touch me!”
“Stay still. I only want to check the wound.”
“No! I said no!”
She thrashed, breath coming in ragged sobs, until he muttered something unintelligible and hauled her upper body against him. He bound her tightly so she could not struggle, then reached for the bell beside the bed and rang it.
Moments later the bedroom door burst open and flustered maids rushed in. Barcas shouted, “Summon the healer at once!”
Chaos erupted. An elderly mage hurried into the bridal chamber and cast a healing spell while maids lit candles throughout the room and burned soothing incense at the bedside. Through it all Barcas held her fast in his arms, unyielding. Talia, face pressed to his steadily beating chest, looked around with frightened eyes. Every nerve stood on edge lest someone lift her skirts to examine her leg. She curled her legs tightly and clutched the hem of her dress like a shield.
After some time the disheveled mage held a bluish glass vial before her face. “Drink this and the pain will subside quickly.”
Talia stared at it through narrowed eyes. If she drank it she would surely lose consciousness. While she slept, someone might lift her skirts. She pressed her lips together and turned her head away.
Long fingers seized her chin and forced her face upward. The mouth of the vial pressed firmly against her lips. Talia clenched her teeth and resisted. Barcas, gazing down with eyes like thin ice, lifted the vial to his own mouth.
Before she could grasp his intent, lips damp with the bitter herbal extract covered hers. Talia’s eyes flew wide. His hand cupped her jaw, thumb pressing her cheek hard enough to part her lips, and his tongue pushed inside. The acrid liquid followed. Talia clutched at his thin shirt as though to tear it. She could not comprehend what was happening. Her narrowed throat worked to swallow, squeezing around his tongue. Tongue met tongue in slow, involuntary friction. A broken moan filled her mouth.
Had he given her poison? Her throat burned. “Haa……”
After an unnaturally long moment their lips parted. Talia stared up at him, the pain in her leg forgotten. Barcas, pupils dilated, tilted the vial again and emptied the remainder into his mouth. Once more their lips met. Talia dug her nails into his forearm. His tongue delved through the damp membrane, slowly pushing the liquid—scented with dense wildflowers—deeper into her throat. Her throat bobbed, drawing him in against her will. Confusion, shame, and an unfamiliar sensation she had never felt before swept over her; her toes curled.
The medicine was already taking effect; the room spun. Warm saliva kept sliding down her esophagus. The liquid pooled on her tongue no longer tasted bitter, yet he continued to explore the narrow, wet space with lingering, sticky movements. Alarmed, she pushed at his chest. The soft flesh yielded slowly as he withdrew.
Talia gasped for breath and looked up at him. Unlike her disheveled state, his expression remained unchanged. That calm face only tangled her already chaotic thoughts further. Had the entire episode been her own delusion? While she wrestled with the suspicion, his thumb brushed her lips. Only at the wet sound did she realize they were slick with moisture.
She buried her face in the blanket. A damp sigh fell over the crown of her head. “……Sleep now.”
His hand cradled the back of her head and pressed her against his chest. She steadied her ragged breathing in the warmth of his heartbeat. Soon the medicine spread through her limbs. As her vision dimmed she clutched his shirt. Don’t touch my legs while I sleep. Whether he heard the mumbled words or not, his palm stroked lightly down her back. Strength drained from her arms and legs; darkness claimed her vision. She fell into sleep as though plummeting.
When she opened her eyes again, sunlight filled the room. Talia, still heavy with sleep, stared at the ceiling until she sensed movement and turned her head sharply. Barcas stood by the window, changing his clothes. Light streaming through the glass slid whitely over his marble-sculpted body. She watched, entranced, until his quiet gaze found her. Talia shrank into her shoulders.
Barcas, his face as impassive as though the events of the previous night had been mere illusion, studied her slowly.