Chapter 7
The morning sun filtered through the wide, arched windows of the rehabilitation wing, illuminating the stone walls with warm golden light. Dust motes floated lazily in the air, catching the light as if mocking the slow, grueling pace of Emma’s recovery. She sat on the edge of a padded cot, her fingers gripping the coarse fabric of the blanket as she stared at the simple wooden table in front of her. A small bowl of porridge sat untouched; its steam long gone.
The room was spacious but devoid of personality. The walls were bare save for a tapestry depicting an old battle—knights with gleaming swords charging an unseen enemy. The only other furnishings were a heavy oak wardrobe in the corner, a chair beside her bed, and a basin filled with cool water. It smelled faintly of mint, a concoction Eryndra had brewed to soothe aching muscles.
Emma flexed her hands, her calloused fingers trembling as they brushed against her thighs. Once, these hands had wielded swords with ease, had fought off entire battalions without faltering. Now, they barely had the strength to lift a wooden staff. Her arms ached with the memory of who she used to be.
“Ready?”
The voice came from the doorway, deep and steady, pulling Emma from her thoughts. She looked up to see the man who had been shadowing her since she’d woken in this strange place. He was tall and broad-shouldered, his black hair streaked with silver at the temples. His face was rugged, with a square jaw and a scar slicing across his left cheek. His name was Calder, and he had the unnerving habit of watching Emma as if she were a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve.
Emma exhaled sharply and stood, wobbling slightly before regaining her balance. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” she muttered, reaching for the wooden staff leaning against the wall.
Calder’s lips twitched into a faint smirk. “That’s the spirit.”
He led her down the long corridor, their footsteps echoing in the silence. The hallways of the rehabilitation wing were just as unadorned as her room, though occasional glimpses through the arched windows revealed sprawling courtyards below. The gardens were meticulously maintained, with hedges shaped into intricate patterns and fountains that sparkled in the sunlight. Emma couldn’t help but feel like a caged bird, staring longingly at freedom just out of reach.
They entered the training chamber, a vast room with high ceilings and polished wooden floors. The walls were lined with racks of training weapons—wooden swords, staves, and daggers dulled for safety. The air smelled faintly of sweat and sawdust.
Eryndra was already waiting for them. The silver-haired woman stood near the center of the room; her arms crossed over her chest. She was dressed simply, in a long tunic and fitted trousers, but there was an air of authority about her that made Emma stand a little straighter.
“You’re late,” Eryndra said, her sharp blue eyes flicking to Calder.
“She’s here, isn’t she?” Calder replied, leaning casually against the wall.
Eryndra ignored him and turned her attention to Emma. “Today, we focus on your grip strength. Without it, you’ll never hold a sword again, let alone fight with one.”
Emma frowned, gripping the staff tightly. “I’ve been holding this thing for days.”
“Barely,” Eryndra shot back, striding toward her. She reached out and adjusted Emma’s grip, her touch firm but not unkind. “Your muscles are weak. We rebuild them from the ground up. Patience, Emma.”
Emma bit back a retort and nodded. She followed Eryndra’s instructions, raising the staff above her head, lowering it to her side, and swinging it in deliberate arcs. Each movement sent sharp twinges through her arms, but she gritted her teeth and pushed through.
“Again,” Eryndra said, her tone leaving no room for argument.
Emma’s breaths came faster as she repeated the movements, her body trembling with effort.
“Good,” Eryndra finally said, stepping back. “Take a break.”
Emma sank onto a nearby bench, wiping sweat from her brow. Calder approached, holding out a flask of water.
“You’re tougher than you look,” he said, a hint of admiration in his voice.
Emma snorted, taking the flask. “Gee, thanks.”
Calder chuckled and leaned against the wall. “You’ll be back to swinging swords in no time.”
Eryndra shot him a glare. “Don’t fill her head with false hopes.”
“It’s not false,” Calder said, his tone turning serious. “She has the drive. She just needs time.”
Emma looked between them, sensing the tension. “You two have an interesting dynamic,” she said dryly.
Calder smirked. “You could call it that.” a mischievous glint in his eyes.
Eryndra ignored him, turning back to Emma. “There’s something you should know.”
Emma straightened, her pulse quickening. “What?”
Eryndra hesitated, glancing at Calder. He gave a slight nod, and she exhaled.
“There’s news from the far reaches of the realm,” Eryndra began. “Someone… has resurfaced. We’re not yet certain if they’re a threat or an ally.”
Emma’s heart skipped a beat. “Who?”
Eryndra shook her head. “Just someone.”
“Don’t do that,” Emma snapped, her voice rising. “Don’t give me half-truths. If you know something, tell me.”
“Patience,” Calder said, stepping forward. “We’re not withholding information to hurt you, Emma. We’re protecting you.”
“Protecting me from what?” Emma demanded.
“From the possibility that the person you’re asking about might not be who you remember,” Eryndra said quietly.
Emma’s chest tightened. “You’re talking about Regina,” she said, her voice trembling.
Neither Eryndra nor Calder confirmed or denied it, but their silence was answer enough.
“She’s alive,” Emma said, more to herself than to them. “She’s alive, and you’re keeping her from me.”
Eryndra stepped closer, her expression softening. “Emma, we’re not your enemy. But until we know for certain where her loyalties lie, we can’t risk reuniting you.”
“She’s not a threat,” Emma said firmly. Walking away from them angry.
“You can’t know that” Calder interjected.
Emma’s fists clenched. “You don’t know her.”
“And you don’t know what she’s been through since you were separated,” Eryndra said. “People change, Emma. Sometimes for the worse.”
The words hit Emma like a blow, but she refused to let them see her falter.
“Whatever she’s done, whatever she’s been through, she’s still Regina,” Emma said, her voice steady. “And I’ll prove to you that she’s not your enemy.”
Eryndra studied her for a long moment before nodding. “For now, focus on your recovery. You’ll need your strength for what’s to come.”
Emma swallowed her frustration and nodded.
Later, back in her room, Emma sat by the window, staring out at the gardens. The sky was painted with hues of orange and pink as the sun dipped below the horizon. The room was simple but comfortable, with a sturdy bed, a small desk, and a chest for her belongings. A single candle flickered on the windowsill, casting a soft glow over the room.
She clenched her fists, her determination hardening.
No matter what it took, she would find Regina.
The night air carried a cool breeze, slipping through the slight crack in Emma's window. She leaned her forehead against the glass, her breath fogging it as her thoughts churned. The gardens below, once inviting with their neatly trimmed hedges and soft glow of fireflies, now felt suffocating. It wasn’t freedom—not yet.
Her gaze lifted to the horizon, where faint silhouettes of distant mountains cut jagged edges into the twilight sky. Somewhere beyond those peaks, Regina was alive. Every fiber of her being screamed it. But here, in this fortress disguised as a haven, she was caged, denied answers, and forced to wait.
A knock at her door broke the silence.
“Come in,” she said, her voice tinged with frustrated weariness.
Calder stepped inside, carrying a tray with a bowl of steaming broth and a small loaf of crusty bread. His sharp features softened slightly as he placed the tray on her desk.
“Figured you hadn’t eaten,” he said, his tone casual but his eyes searching her face.
Emma crossed her arms, leaning back against the window frame. “Thanks. Not really hungry, though.”
“You should eat,” Calder said firmly, pulling the chair out from the desk and sitting across from her. “Skipping meals won’t help you get stronger.”
Emma shot him a look. “I didn’t realize you were my nurse now.”
Calder smirked, leaning back in the chair. “I’m a lot of things. Nurse isn’t usually one of them.” His smirk faded, replaced by a more serious expression. “But I’m also not blind. You’re restless, and it’s eating at you.”
“You think?” Emma snapped, pushing off the wall and pacing to the desk. She dragged her fingers through her hair, letting out a frustrated sigh. “I’ve spent my whole life fighting for people, Calder. For my family, for my people, for Regina. And now I’m just… stuck here. Weak. Powerless. And you won’t even tell me what’s going on!”
Calder folded his arms, his voice calm but firm. “You’re not powerless. You’re healing. There’s a difference.”
Emma slammed her palms down on the desk, rattling the tray. “Don’t lecture me about healing. You don’t know what it feels like to be stripped of everything that made you strong!” A slight tremor shaking the bowl.
Calder’s jaw tightened, stared at the bowl but said nothing. Keeping that to himself for a bit, but he said nothing for a moment. Instead, he stood, walking to the window and staring out into the night. The silence stretched, heavy and unyielding, until Emma’s anger simmered into guilt.
“I’m sorry,” she muttered, sinking into the chair he’d vacated. “I didn’t mean to…”
“I do know,” Calder interrupted, his voice quiet but laden with something raw. He turned to face her, the dim light casting shadows over the scar that crossed his cheek. “I know exactly what it feels like to lose everything. My family. My home. My strength. I didn’t think I’d ever recover. But I did, because I stopped fighting the wrong battles.”
Emma frowned, her fingers curling into the blanket draped over her lap. “What do you mean?”
“You’re trying to fight the pain, the weakness,” Calder said, stepping closer. “But that’s not the enemy. The enemy is what comes next. What you’ll face when you’re ready. You need to stop seeing this recovery as a punishment and start seeing it as preparation.”
His words hit harder than Emma wanted to admit. She looked away, her gaze falling to the untouched tray. The broth’s earthy aroma wafted up to her, stirring a faint pang of hunger.
“I hate waiting,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
“I know,” Calder said, his tone softening. “But waiting doesn’t mean doing nothing. It means getting ready.”
The door creaked open again, and both of them turned to see Eryndra stepping inside. Her silver hair gleamed in the faint candlelight, and her piercing blue eyes seemed to see straight through Emma.
“Good,” Eryndra said, nodding toward the tray. “You’re eating.”
Emma’s stomach growled, betraying her, and she shot Eryndra a glare. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t get used to it.”
Eryndra allowed a ghost of a smile to cross her lips before gesturing toward Calder. “Leave us.”
Calder raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”
“Go,” Eryndra repeated, her tone brooking no argument.
With a shrug, Calder left the room, closing the door behind him. Eryndra moved to the desk, her movements precise, almost regal. She pulled a folded parchment from her belt and placed it on the table in front of Emma.
“What’s this?” Emma asked, eyeing the parchment warily.
“A report,” Eryndra said, sitting across from her. “From one of my sources.”
Emma’s heart leapt, but she forced her face to remain neutral. “About Regina?”
Eryndra’s expression was unreadable. “About the person who may or may not have been with the source of the dark force threatening this realm.”
“That’s not an answer,” Emma said, her voice sharp.
“It’s the only one I can give you,” Eryndra replied calmly. “And until I have more, you’ll need to focus on yourself. On your recovery. Read the report when you are sure you want the answer.”
Emma’s fingers itched to rip open the parchment, but she didn’t. Instead, she met Eryndra’s gaze, searching for any hint of deception. The woman was a fortress, her emotions locked away behind an impenetrable wall.
“What aren’t you telling me?” Emma asked, her voice trembling slightly.
Eryndra leaned back in her chair, her expression softening ever so slightly. “There are things you’re not ready to hear, Emma. Not yet. But when the time comes, you’ll have the truth. All of it.”
Emma clenched her fists, frustration bubbling up once more. “I don’t need to be coddled.”
“And I’m not coddling you,” Eryndra said sharply. “I’m protecting you. And her.”
The slip was subtle, but Emma caught it. Her heart raced as she leaned forward, her voice barely above a whisper. “Her? You mean Regina, don’t you?”
Eryndra’s face remained neutral, but the brief flicker of hesitation in her eyes was enough. Emma’s pulse quickened, a spark of hope flaring in her chest.
“She’s alive that's all that matters to me,” Emma said, more to herself than to Eryndra. “She’s alive... but you won't tell me anything about her at all why?”
Eryndra rose to her feet, her gaze steady. “Focus on your recovery, Emma. That’s the only way you’ll be able to help her—or anyone else.”
And with that, she left, leaving Emma alone with the parchment and a thousand questions swirling in her mind.