Private Tales There Are Worse Poisons That Exist

[Aerium]

He saw her fading before her body gave way. Aerium was quick to envelop her into his arms, to catch her as her eyes fluttered closed. Her body had taken on too much stress. All he wanted was to ask her who had done this to her, where he could direct his anger and rage that someone would cause her harm.

But he pressed his lips to the top of her head again.

This side of Rhagos, there were not a lot of places Aerium was familiar with.

"Hang in there, Daylily." Saffia, but he did not want to lose the name he had given her.

He supposed there was always Thea's home. A cousin of his mother's, one she didn't like but Aerium was close with as she was the one to mind him some nights when he was a boy. Thea didn't like being in the lovely areas of the city and preferred the outskirts, the ability to be close to the city's borders and escape Rhagos when she needed to.

The last time he saw her was when his mother called Thea a witch for marrying a man that was not native to this region.

"Just dream of cupcakes and tea, Daylily. I will get you somewhere where you can rest without worry." With some maneuvering, he cradled her up against him, one hand at her back and the other scooping behind her knees. He carried her some distance, reaching his 'Aunt's' home.

 

[Saffia]

Saffia slept for hours, lost in the heavy, dreamless void of exhaustion. Her body, battered and drained, had given in completely, sinking into the unfamiliar warmth of a soft bed. The world outside moved on without her, the quiet crackle of a dying fire the only sound to mark the passage of time.

Then, a shift in the silence.

Her breath caught as consciousness pulled her back, her senses sluggish at first, wrapped in the haze of sleep. But then—awareness. A strange bed. A strange room. Those men...

Her eyes flew open.

Saffia shot upright, her heart hammering against her ribs as panic clawed its way through her chest. The dimly lit room swayed around her, the scent of herbs and smoke thick in the air. She didn’t recognise the walls, the old wooden beams overhead, the soft blankets tangled around her legs.

Where was she?

Her breath quickened, her fingers fisting the sheets as she scanned the shadows, searching for a threat, for an escape. Pain flared sharp and deep in her ribs, a searing reminder of the wounds hidden beneath fresh bandages. Someone had tended to her. Someone had brought her here.

She tried to push herself up, but her limbs felt weak, her head light with the remnants of exhaustion. The panic only worsened.

She had to get out. Now.