C. Bryant - Broken

Octavion stood frozen like a statue, staring at nothing. He tightened his jaw and swallowed hard. “May I put my shirt back on now?”

Gregor shook his head, gently exploring Octavion’s ribs. “Not yet, son.”

He winced, but remained quiet.

Once Gregor seemed satisfied that they were indeed not broken, he gave his consent for Octavion to replace his tunic, but not before chastising him for letting the wound on his chest go without stitches.

“I’ve had worse wounds than this and they have healed without your handywork,” Octavion said.

Kira cleared her throat. “Gregor, would you please clean his wounds and put something on them? I don’t want them infected.”

Octavion protested, but she held up her crippled hand to remind him she called the shots this time. He groaned, then reluctantly allowed Gregor to put two stitches in the deepest of the cuts and clean the other wounds. The salve would have to wait until Octavion could return to his lair-he insisted on using his own mixture.

“Your turn, my love,” Octavion teased.

She’d been deep in her own thoughts and his words startled her. She was, however, grateful for the change in his mood.

Octavion sat on one of the sofas and motioned for her to sit next to him.

She halfheartedly moved to his side.

“I’ve had this happen while hunting before and so has Luka. I can put it in if you prefer.” He held out his hand.

Kira cringed. “I don’t want it done at all. It hurts .”

“I will be gentle.” He wiggled his fingers in the air, coaxing her to put her hand in his.

She reluctantly gave in. It was the first time she’d really taken a good look at her hand after hitting him. The swelling was far worse than she’d imagined and it throbbed with each beat of her heart.

He gently took the end of her finger with his thumb and index finger. “Take a deep breath,” he instructed, but half way through filling her lungs with air he pulled hard and fast on her finger, slipping it back into the socket with a snap. It happened so fast she didn’t have time to react.

He grinned. “Better?”

She pulled her hand away and cradled it back against her body. “I hate you.” She couldn’t think of anything else to say. As much as it hurt when he pulled it back into place, she had to admit it did feel better. She wasn’t about to let him know that, though. She was too busy trying to see his face through the stars that had returned to her eyes.

“You will get over it,” he said and then he flashed those stupid dimples. He knew exactly how to get to her.

Gregor, who still stood a few feet away with his hands on his hips, let out a huge sigh, grabbed his brown leather bag and moved toward the door. “I should take up residence in the castle with how often you two get injured.” Then he walked out of view.

“I believe I upset him. Perhaps I should have let him set your finger after all.”

“I don’t think so.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Was your father angry with you?”

“He did not approve, but he understood. He is only concerned for her safety.” He adjusted his shirt, cringing as it brushed against his skin. He looked away.

“You know better than anyone what infection can do to a person. Maybe you should take care of those before we go upstairs.”

“I will tend to them later.” He stood and offered his hand, his expression grave. “As for now. . your friend awaits.”

Kira’s stomach clenched into knots. As they neared the top of the stairs, she could feel those same knots twisting and turning until they threatened to push her stomach right up into her throat. What if she couldn’t reunite their spirits? Or what if something went wrong in the process and Altaria was left in limbo, lost forever? And then there was the king-why did she feel like she was about to go before a firing squad?

The stairs leading to the king’s royal chambers were right before the door that led to Octavion’s room. The stairs curved upward until they entered a large room with a double set of doors at the opposite end. They were twice as tall as her and wide enough to drive a truck through. The wrought iron handles had a massive chain wound through them and heavy padlock as big as her hand.

“How does your father get out if the lock is on this side?” she asked.

Octavion raised one eyebrow and smirked.

“Oh.”

Octavion took a large skeleton key from his pocket and slipped it into the lock.

Kira put her hand over his, stopping him. “Wouldn’t it be safer for us to leap to the other side? I don’t want someone else to get in.”

“It can be painful to go through a wall or door, Kira. The roof of my cabin is nothing compared to a thick wooden door or stone walls.”

She looked at him and smiled. “How do you think Luka got me out of your lair and into the village? Yeah, it hurt, but I think I can handle it.”

He returned the key to his pocket and gently pulled her into his arms.

“Ready?”

“I think so.” She’d always been surprised by the difference when traveling with Octavion. This time was no different. It was as if his love protected her from the effects. She felt no pain, just a slight pressure on her chest and back, something she experienced all the time anyway.

When she opened her eyes on the other side of the door, she was taken aback. She’d expected to be in the kings sleeping chambers with Lydia in clear view. Instead, a long dark hallway stretched out in front of them. At the other end stood a tall window with thick red drapes open about two inches. The sliver of daylight provided just enough light to silhouette the benches and tables lining the walls. Tiny particles of dust danced around in the hazy beam.

“I apologize for the condition of my father’s quarters. No one has been in here to clean for quite some time.” His voice was barely a whisper.

It reminded her of haunted mansions she’d seen portrayed in movies. As they slowly made their way down the hall she thought about the sorrow his father had endured. The loss of not only his two brides, but also both his daughters-one turned evil and the other lying lifeless and alone. With the amount of dust on the wooden tables flanking the benches, it wouldn’t surprise her to know this place hadn’t been cleaned since before Octavion left Xantara with his sister.

On every table stood a large ceramic vase, each filled with the brittle remains of what were once fresh cut flowers. Their petals lay scattered on the tables and floor. The slight breeze they created as they passed caused them to dance around, leaving little skid marks in the dust.

She counted six doors-three on each side. In between each one hung a large painting. With the lack of light, she couldn’t make out any detail, but most appeared to be landscapes of the surrounding mountains and cliffs.

As they neared the last door, her heart began to race. Altaria seemed just as nervous as she was. Kira and Octavion had been walking side by side, not touching. But now she found herself needing his support. She took hold of his hand with her uninjured one. He gave it a gentle squeeze.

“Last chance to back out,” he teased, obviously trying to lighten the mood.

She tried to fill her lungs, but the dusty air caught in her nose and throat. As the urge to sneeze slowly crept into her sinuses, she put her throbbing hand up under her nose to control it. It came anyway-all the way from her toes. If there were any ghosts sleeping in these rooms, they were awake now.

Octavion chuckled. “I guess knocking is of no use. You have already announced our presence.”

A sudden warmth rushed to her cheeks. “Sorry.”

As Octavion reached for the door latch she felt every muscle in her body tense. She was having second thoughts, but only because she feared what she would see and how she would react. The image in her mind revealed a ghostly version of a girl she once knew with dark circles under her eyes and hollow cheeks. She tried to replace it with Lydia’s crooked smile and beautiful green eyes. She needed to save that image in her mind and remember Lydia as she used to be.