CHAPTER 3 | Herbs and Ointments

"Do you really not know?"

"No, I don't... just tell me," her brain was beginning to feel like mush, and she felt an unpleasant prickling around her lacerations, but her pride refused her the right to show any discomfort.

"I would be glad to," he smirked, "but where would the fun in that be?"

She opened her mouth to speak again, but all that came out was a bloody cough. His expression promptly fell as he turned to Lyra with worry-struck eyes.

"It would seem that my identity should be the least of your concerns presently," he demurred before alighting his steed. "The poison must be more potent than I anticipated, are you feeling sick?" he asked quickly before lifting her from the horse. She cringed as her feet hit the ground and her legs nearly gave out. She would've fallen if it weren't for his support.

"Just a bit," she winced. She could feel the blood she'd coughed up earlier drying onto her lips and staining them a few shades darker.

"Can you walk?"

"Hardly," she mumbled, ashamed of her dependence.

"Let's get you inside."

He assisted her with an arm helping to steady her left side. The people that passed them bowed as they went by, but not without perturbed expressions. A few of them offered to help, but the male by Lyra's side politely declined. He escorted her through the expansive palace, and despite its opulence, Lyra could hardly focus on her surroundings as her body ached and throbbed.

"You'll be alright," he assured her, "just take it slow, It'd be a shame if you passed out now."

Lyra nodded in strained silence as she struggled to keep upright, even with his aid.

Eventually, the two came to a large oak door. The man at her side knocked on the wood and the door opened to reveal a small woman. At that point, the man was virtually carrying Lyra, and at the sight of her body, the woman in the door gasped softly. Lyra was still covered in blood and sweat and her infections had begun to spread. She was struggling to both breathe and move.

"Please get her on the bed," she fretted as she readied it with haste. The man laid Lyra upon the surface and she couldn't help but sigh in relief.

Lyra took a moment to look around the room. It was fairly small, but it was filled to the brim with medicines, ointments, bandages, and everything else of the sort. The woman hurried around gathering the supplies she needed, then met Lyra by the side of her bed.

"What happened to her?" The healer squeaked.

"She was attacked by one of the creatures that have been appearing in the forests," The man said from the doorway, "are you up to the challenge Rita?"

*

"I'm nearly done cleaning the wounds, is there anything you'd like me to do for you?"

"I'm fine," her voice was barely above a whisper. "but do you have anything for the pain?"

"You could probably use something for your fever, too." The woman nodded as she searched through her bag.

As she washed the gashes across her body, Lyra kept her eyes locked on the man by the door. They'd been in the room for some time now, and Lyra was surprised that he had stayed in there with her.

She didn't want to admit it, but the stranger's presence in the room was making her feel far safer than she'd felt in a long while. Every time Rita cleaned a wound, she winced at the feeling of alcohol on her open skin. She supposed that she should've been more off-put by the situation than she was, but it had been so long since anyone had seen fit to help her. These people seemed different. Though, Lyra had to remind herself that looks could be deceiving.

The healer, Rita, was gathering the missed bandages from near her bedside when the man in the doorway came to join her. "Do you need some help," he whispered as he moved to her side.

"If it isn't too much trouble."

"Nothing is too much trouble when it comes to you," the man teased sarcastically. They were clearly good friends.

"Oh my, what a way with words you have princeling," the healer parried in reply.

The prince, Lyra thought. It echoed around in her brain until her ears began to ring

"So you're a member of the royal family then… Prince Sirius," Lyra uttered from the bed, a sickly lilt laced through her voice.

"You've caught me," the prince admitted playfully as he stood. He threw up his hands in surrender, but took another look at Lyra's injured body and frowned. "How long will the treatment last?"

"For now she seems okay, but I'd like to keep an eye on her wounds for the next week. Could she stay in one of the empty rooms in the east quarter?"

"That should be alright…" he trailed off as if to think, "yes, yes she can stay. Just... don't tell my father."

"Splendid," Rita smiled, clasping her hands together before gathering the remaining bandages.

Lyra's mind reeled, "Stay here? At the palace?"

"Yes… unless you wish to leave," the prince smiled a bit at the last part. Ridiculing the latter option. Lyra thought about the stinking trash heap she'd come from and cringed.

"Well, Your Majesty, I am not so much a fool to reject your offer, so…" she hesitated, struggling to voice her gratitude, "thank you." She weakly slipped off the bed and attempted to force her body into a stiff bow.

"There's no need to bow, you may rise," he chuckled.

"Well then," Rita interrupted, "it'll be a pain to remove and replace the bandages so soon, but you can't stay here in that state," she gestured towards the mess that was Lyra, "I'll help you to your room and bathe you there."

Lyra looked back at the bed she had been laying on, and winced at the imprint of grime she'd left upon it, "ah… yes, I think it'd be nice to finally bathe," she breathed.

*

The castle was nothing short of absolutely grand, and now that Lyra was no longer a heaving mess of bloody agony she could observe it in all its glory. It was more magnificent than anything she'd ever seen, the marble floors, the gilded chandeliers, the inlaid woodworks, and the enormous windows that opened up to reveal the sprawling kingdom that surrounded it.

People were walking about in fine dress, and though they remained civil in her presence, she couldn't help but notice their judging stares and none-too-happy expressions. She couldn't blame them, though, she stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the abundant frippery.

"Ah, sorry about this crowd, but it seems our King is entertaining guests at the moment," Rita sighed.

"Well, that's alright with me, anyway, there's hardly anyone in the hall," Lyra finally found her voice. Though, it was somewhat rough from the day's events, "but I do stick out miserably."

"You?" The healer giggled. "Not at all," she jested. "But… perhaps I can fix you up once we get to the room."

*

Before she knew it, Rita had led her into her quarters. It was much larger than the girl had expected, and the washroom alone was likely more than triple the size of her shack. Rita was quick to undress Lyra, who flushed at being laid bare, but had no time to voice her embarrassment as she was just as swiftly pulled into the bath.

The warm water caressed Lyra's skin and the girl moaned a bit at the comfort it brought. Any awkwardness was pushed aside by the succor of the bath, and as Rita scrubbed all the mess from Lyra's hair, she began to observe the healer's face.

She was young, maybe nineteen, definitely around Lyra's age, and she was unmistakably gorgeous. She had long, straight, black hair that was tied up in a dark red-orange cloth. She was slender and flat-chested, but her face made up for her less than 'well-endowed' chest. Her smile was bright and her lips were full. Her dark skin was impeccably smooth, and not a single wrinkle laid upon it. But her eyes were the most intriguing thing about her. They were gray, but not entirely. In the light, Lyra noticed that they shone with skyey shimmer. Lyra had never seen a girl of her complexion with such pale eyes before, but they were absolutely stunning.

"I'm just about finished now," Rita said as she rinsed the last of the soap from Lyra's body and hair, "let's get you bandaged up, then I'll get you something to wear."

*

"Here," Rita handed a soft robe to her, "these should fit you," she handed them to Lyra who wrapped them around her body. Rita was right, it was a perfect fit.

The robe was a deep emerald green and it sported golden embroidery on its edges and around the chest and shoulders. Lyra figured the garb must've belonged to the healer by the way it would've paired perfectly against her dark, rich skin. The design was of a beautiful woman with long, flowing hair accompanied by two spirits; one on each side of her body. The embroidery suggested to Lyra that the woman was a goddess of some sort. But she could not shake off the odd feeling of far-off familiarity as she admired the handiwork.