The Last Warrior

The Last Warrior - Part 1

Cynthia hurried along behind the lace-shrouded figure of her queen. The entourage wound its way through hallways, first with simple wooden flooring, then marked by shimmering marble and then carpet. The thick cream pile of the fabric under their feet muffled the steps of the women in the procession. Cynthia noted the detail in a water-lily mosaic on the wall and caught sight of gold shimmering up ahead—was it the ceiling or the hallway gleaming? To Cynthia, each step brought home the fact they were heading towards an imperial presence. Queen Sylvia was summoned to present herself to the emperor upon reaching her age of majority. Cynthia, as the head healer of her country, was expected to accompany her queen on a tour of all the nations comprising the empire, and participate in the cultural exchange that was expected to take place on this trip. Cynthia had resigned herself to the fact that it would take several months, at the least.

She felt the fabric of her rich skirts graze her fingertips. Something was missing. Imperial presence— She looked at her palms and it was then she realised they were not carrying the little wooden chest she should present to the emperor. She remembered placing it on a commode to free her hands for a moment to readjust her hair before leaving her chambers. Fire and ice whirled through her veins and she gasped, holding back a cry of dismay.

The queen turned her veiled head as Cynthia stepped up close behind her. "Your Majesty," Cynthia whispered, clasping and unclasping her hands. "I forgot the gift in my chambers. I'll run to fetch it. Please forgive my carelessness."

Without waiting for her queen to reply, Cynthia turned and fled before any displeasure could be voiced. As she ran through the interminable hallway, her inner thoughts tore her to shreds. Idiot, she thought. Of course, I have to go and ruin everything. I'm not worthy of being Chiryo-shi. I'm hardly fit for my birthright as a princess.

Her chastising thoughts were abruptly cut off as she hurtled into something solid. Reeling from the impact, Cynthia looked up. Her gaze stopped short on whirling lines of black ink covering a well-defined chest. Her eyes trailed upwards and her neck craned before she could make out the face of the man she'd run into. Although his bare torso and its adornment were striking, the deep-set onyx eyes peering down at her over a hooked, beak-like nose trapped her as surely as a fly caught in a spider's web.

The man seemed to waver on his feet for a moment, and her healer's instinct snapped into focus. A second, sweeping glance of his features took in the wilted nature of his long hair, the sallow shade of his olive skin, and the dark shadows under his eyes. Then she noticed the doorway behind him and saw several beds in a neat row; the white linen, crisp and clean, highlighting the austerity of the ward. Healing chambers. They appeared very different from her own ward back home in Oruna.

The man swayed, his tall frame reminding her of a reed in the wind. In spite of herself, she stepped forward, her training taking over to offer support to the man while her confused thoughts hopped from one question to another. But those considerations came to an abrupt stop when his hand touched her shoulder. The contact allowed her to sense a cold blackness invading his body. It oozed through his veins and festered in vital organs. Gasping, she fought not to recoil and tried to push the horror of his ailment from her mind.

Holding herself steady, Cynthia reprimanded through gritted teeth, "You are in no condition to be about. Get to your bed now! There is a reason you are in the infirmary, sir." She steeled her voice, hiding her speculations behind brisk professionalism.

The tall man glared at her but remained silent.

"I cannot allow someone in your condition to walk about," she continued. "You could die!"

His scowl shifted into an indifferent shrug.

Cynthia turned to face him squarely, steadying his arm as she did so. Then, dropping her voice in menace she added, "I have an urgent errand I need to attend to, but I shall return here shortly. If you're still roaming around when I come by here again, I'll personally drag you back to your bed."