Air Awakens - Kova Elise (книги регистрация онлайн бесплатно txt) 📗
Vhalla had heard stories of one’s life flashing before one’s eyes in the moments before death, but all she saw was the round moon overhead, staring down at her. As the wind whipped around her body she began to twist in the empty space. The celestial body departed her field of vision as she spun head over heels. It was replaced by the ground rushing to meet her.
She was going to die.
She opened her mouth to scream but the force of the wind pulled her voice from her, flooding her lungs.
She tried to turn herself to fall toward a nearby balcony, a landing, or even a decorative molding. Her body slammed against the castle wall, succeeding only in knocking all the air from her lungs with a cry of agony. Then she was falling again. Her small frame smashed against an arch before tumbling back into the night sky. She searched for a stone that would catch her, but every attempt tossed her back to her death.
Her vision blurred and blood smeared her hands. She held out her arms, the ground was close now. She could only see the sky above but she knew it had to be over soon. Vhalla groped at the empty air, clinging to nothing but the wind slipping through her fingers.
An explosion rang out through her—and she sat upright, jolted awake.
Vhalla instantly regretted opening her eyes. The world looked hazy, both too bright and too dark; the colors twisted, and her eyes had trouble focusing. She turned quickly, retching over the side of the bed. Hot bile splattered on the vaguely familiar floor. The process of vomiting caused her abdomen to object to the tightening spasms, and she let out an agonizing cry as she fell back onto the bed in a heap.
Her entire body felt wrong. It felt as though someone stole her soul from her old body and placed it in a different one. Nothing matched up, nothing obliged in the way it should, and everything worked in ways it shouldn’t. Her brain felt scrambled, and under the fingers clutching her abdomen she felt the sickening angles of broken ribs. She likely shouldn’t be lying on her side but it hurt if she moved, and it hurt if she didn’t. So she only endured her current position over risking any change.
Through the sliver of light between her eyelids, Vhalla tried to orient herself. The first indication she should panic was the window; it was three times larger than anything she had ever seen before in the apprentices’ and servants’ halls. When her eyes found the dragon molding around the top of the room, Vhalla tried to scramble out of bed, making unreasonable demands of a broken body.
Muffled voices and quick steps approached on the other side of the door before it burst open for two figures frantically approaching her. The older man she recognized instantly—the Minister of Sorcery. But the woman, she was a surprise. Vhalla blinked at the fuzzy shapes of the people.
“Larel?” Even her own voice sounded strange to Vhalla’s ears, and she struggled not to retch again. The dark-haired woman departed quickly from the room. Vhalla grimaced. The woman should be ashamed her role in Vhalla’s current state. If it wasn’t for Larel thrusting that book in her hands, she would have never met the prince.
“Don’t talk,” the minister demanded sternly. Vhalla cracked her eyes open against her better judgment. His hand ran between her forehead and her shoulder. Vhalla did not have the strength or will to fight against his touch as she would have wanted.
The minister rolled her onto her back, and Vhalla’s body objected painfully. With a scream she tried to push him away. This man, his world of magic, and all the sorcerers within were nothing but pain.
“Vhalla.” She stilled at the sound of her name in his mouth. “You need to believe me now. I am here to help you.” The minister’s voice was gentle, more than it had any right to be.
“You have to get down—and keep down—some bone regrowth this time.”
This time? Vhalla was so confused and so tired, she closed her eyes. Sleep was much easier she realized. All this could go away if she closed her eyes and pretended to no longer exist.
“No, Vhalla stay here.”
“How...?” She could barely manage one syllable words, but he seemed to understand.
“I said don’t talk.” He shot her a cold gray glare. “Prince Aldrik brought you here after you awakened.”
She shook her head. Awakened?
Vhalla heard a commotion behind him and struggled to open her eyes again. Larel had returned, apparently not ashamed in the slightest, with a bucket and mop. It was actually Vhalla who felt shamed when the woman began to clean up her spew that puddled on the floor.
“Larel, the blue vial,” Minister Victor demanded. She nodded obediently and scampered from the room. Vhalla permitted herself darkness again. “No, Vhalla, you have to stay awake now.” The man shook her shoulders slightly, where only a small touch sent waves of pain down to her toes. She whimpered in protest. “Vhalla.” His voice was sharp—demanding, and the stern tone reminded her just enough of another man’s voice that she wanted to throw up all over again.
But it did the trick, and Vhalla obliged him, opening her eyes slightly. She had tunnel vision and didn’t even see the female sorcerer passing the vial to the man silently. He turned and slipped his arm under Vhalla’s shoulders, propping her up. Vhalla shook her head violently, remembering the last time she sat. Her brain only rattled around in her skull, threatening to make the blackness at the edge of her eyes all-consuming.
“Stop, stop, stop,” the minister ordered, holding her close to him with one arm and pressing the vial to her mouth with the other. She didn’t want to drink, she wanted to sleep. However, his insistence yielded her eventual surrender, and Vhalla gulped down the syrupy liquid with a small cough. It flowed through her like fire and she heard someone screaming as the minister threw the vial to the floor with a shattering noise and took her in his full embrace. It wasn’t until she was cognizant of thrashing against the firm arms holding her that she realized the screaming was coming from her own mouth.
The agonizing cries gave way to eventual sobs as the burning slowly passed and she went limp, relying entirely on the support of the man whom she wanted to hate. Vhalla cast aside all decency and she simply wept against his chest. Somewhere he was talking; she could hear and feel it.
“—too susceptible to magic now. We tried—help you be more comfortable. But your—magical passages are too—and broken to—handle any more being—on you.” She hated magic, her original opinion was reaffirmed anew as her mind began to level from the potion. “Vhalla -ten, you had two broken ribs - - left side and the right side of your -cage was shattered. Your hands are a wreck. Your left shoulder was shattered, and your right was dislocated. Your spine was all out of alignment, and your hips were fractured along with one of your legs.” Vhalla laughed into his chest with an insane rasp.
“You will be fine,” he assured her gently. Now he was the insane one. “But since we are healing almost exclusively with non-magical clerical potions and salves, it’ll take some time.” The Western woman had shifted Vhalla’s pillows so she could sit in a more upright position and the man gently returned her to them, taking a green bottle. “This one is next; it shouldn’t hurt.”
True to his word the chalky liquid went through her cracked lips and caused no immediate discernible change in her overall state.
“Water,” she rasped softly and he nodded. He poured a small cup from a clay pitcher on the bedside table. The minister brought this to her lips also and held it there so she could take a few long gulps.
“This is not how I wanted to meet you next. Believe me, Vhalla,” he started, placing the cup back and taking a third strangely shaped vial from the silent woman. “I wanted to give you time to come to terms with what is happening. I have seen people run if forced, and I thought you would benefit from distance. When I found out the prince had taken an interest in you, I felt I had little to worry about.”
