The Dawn of the End

by Kristen Ashley

  “There’s no bloody point to it.”

  “How about you let me be the bloody nurse and you be the bloody patient?”

  “How about you be bloody somewhere else and leave me bloody be?”

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  “Yes, since I requested it, one could take from that I’d bloody like it.”

  “Well, we can’t always have what we like.”

  “Don’t I know that?”

  At these loud words emanating from the open door to Alfie’s room, I looked to True, True looked to me, and we both hurried our steps to and through the door.

  There we saw Alfie’s nurse was at the side of the bed, a bed where the sheets were bunched at his hips, his long legs bared, and the nurse was maneuvering them, bending one at the knee, then pushing it up to straight toward the ceiling.

  What on earth?

  “Let me alone!” Alfie demanded, his voice just as loud, but thickening oddly.

  “I…oh!” she cried, set his leg down carefully, this right before she jumped away from his bed.

  They both noticed us at the same time, the nurse whirling our way, her cheeks blooming a deep pink, Alfie scowling down his body at us, both his hands darting to cover his groin.

  Oh.

  “This is fucking joke,” Alfie growled.

  I swiftly looked away, lifted my hand toward the nurse and suggested, “How about we let these men have a chat?”

  She rushed to me, beyond me, and out the door.

  I glanced at True, who looked in danger of bursting with laughter, something that heartened me greatly, for I had had a few chuckles from him since we lost his mother, but not laughter, before I ducked my head and left the room, closing the door behind me.

  The nurse was pacing the hall, and I realized, embarrassingly (as there had been a number of them), in the days that had passed since the incident, I had not learned her name.

  She was one of three who attended Alfie, the only one he didn’t seem to be able to abide.

  And now I was understanding why.

  “I’m very sorry, I have not ever asked your name,” I said to her.

  “Bronagh,” she choked out, still pacing, but she interrupted this to dip an awkward curtsy, only to take up pacing again.

  I studied her a moment before noting, “I would assume, as you were given this duty, attending a personage as important as Sir Alfie, that you’ve had some amount of experience in your profession.”

  “I-I studied at the Go’Da. In the Dome City. I-I did advanced studies in the healing arts. And I,” she swallowed…hard, “I’ve been at the Royal Service Infirmary for five years.”

  “So I would assume,” I gestured to the door, “that has happened before. No?”

  She ceased moving, her eyes floated to the door and she stared at it, not answering.

  In fact, she stared at it seeming of a sudden caught in a daze.

  “Bronagh,” I prompted.

  She started and looked to me.

  “I fear, my queen, that I must ask to be released from my duties attending Sir Alfie.”

  I felt my brows inch together. “So, this has never happened before?”

  “Not with…not with…”

  She was unable to finish that.

  “Not with?” I urged her to go on.

  “A, uh…well, erm, not with…it isn’t…that is to say…”

  After what we just saw, I was worried Alfie would demand True leave his room, king or not, and do it quickly, so I needed this conversation to carry on, even more quickly.

  “You can speak freely with me,” I informed her.

  Her eyes, huge in her face, a pretty face, with freckles, and they were pretty eyes, a warm brown, came to me.

  “He’s very handsome,” she breathed.

  I found myself yet again pressing my lips together, this time for a much different purpose.

  I released them to agree, “Yes, he is.”

  “I have never really…that is, with any other patient I have not—”

  “Been attracted to them?” I inquired.

  Her cheeks reddened again.

  I moved closer to her and said softly, “It is not a surprise you’d be attracted to an attractive man.”

  “It isn’t appropriate I go on attending him if I have, erm…feelings. That is to say, these types of feelings.”

  It was me who was trying not to burst with laughter at her emphasis every time she said the word “feelings.”

  But I still managed to speak softly when I queried, “In your experience, has that happened with another patient before, Bronagh?”

  She waved her hand in front of her face. “It is a natural reaction, for men, in some instances. And also natural for them to have their own feelings for the nurses attending them, and thus, such happens. It isn’t real. It’s something else. Simply physical. Or gratitude they are confusing with something different.”

  “Is this real, what you feel?”

  Her face remained red, but her eyes flashed. “He’s most irritating.”

  He probably was.

  True tended not to be irritating, ever.

  Mars, however, could be irritating often, and I’d noticed that this trait only served to make him more interesting to the gender not his own (though, whenever he was being irritating to me, I just found it irritating).

  That said, it was a vast understatement that Alfie was currently not in the best of moods.

  But of his three nurses, one of which was much older than him, the other was of the same age as Bronagh and also quite lovely, it was only Bronagh who he seemed to be irritating to, not simply being irritable.

  I took a moment to consider this situation.

  I then made a decision and shared it honestly.

  “Alfie is important to me. I cannot say I know him well. He is a man who is reserved. I can tell you, what I know of him is a privilege and he’s very important to my husband for a number of reasons, some of them quite personal, as they are good friends. So, what I will say next, you must understand, you are free to do what you wish, for I’m acting from a place of selfishness. But I feel you are the best person in this realm to attend Sir Alfie.”

  “It isn’t appropriate,” she whispered.

  “I must say, right now, what has befallen Alfie, I do not care. He is a man of action. He does not see a life ahead of him worth living if he cannot carry on just so.”

  Stark fear struck her expression and her gaze this time shot to the door.

  Right then.

  With that, I knew I had made the correct decision.

  Her attention came back to me when I carried on speaking.

  “Therefore, he must be shown life is worth living for any number of reasons, including pretty fair-haired nurses with lovely brown eyes and beguiling freckles he finds most irritating because he, too, finds her attractive but he feels he can’t do anything about it.”

  She blushed again.

  I grinned at her.

  Bronagh did not grin.

  “He does not like me,” she shared miserably. “He’s always fighting me.”

  “He does not fight his other nurses.”

  Those brown eyes again grew round. “He doesn’t?”

  I shook my head. “I cannot say he jokes with them, for he does not. But he also doesn’t fight them, curse at them or act stubborn around them.”

  “Oh,” she breathed, yet again looking toward the door.

  “What were you doing with his legs?” I asked. “For his other nurses have not done that to him.”

  She turned to me. “It is not common practice…yet. But my professor at the Go’Da, with injuries like Sir Alfie, with much evidence he is quite correct, including my work with other such patients, contends that exercising muscles a patient cannot use will keep them, if not strong, then supple, movable, toned.” She shook her head. “If this is not done, they become stiff, the knee difficult to bend, and in the end, the muscle wastes away.”

&nbs
p; “Then you must carry on.”

  “He has feeling there.”

  I stared at her, my heart flipping in my chest.

  “In his hips. Even his legs. I have touched his hips and he…he…winces. Not from pain. From me touching…”

  “I understand,” I murmured when she trailed off and did not carry on.

  She then carried on.

  “As the swelling has gone down, I’ve even noticed him flex the muscles in his thighs.”

  “By the gods,” I breathed.

  She shook her head swiftly. “Do not hold hope. Please, Your Grace. It would be foolhardy. His injury was severe. But it was low on his back. I do not think he will ever walk again. But I’ve known men who have had such injuries who regain some mobility in their legs. Control of certain functions. Important ones, my queen, for life and dignity. And he…he…there is some small hope, for he has those.”

  “Then you must carry on,” I urged.

  “The patient must help,” she told me.

  I twitched my shoulders. “Leave that to me. True and me.”

  More likely True, Wallace, Luther, Bram and Florian and maybe me.

  But we’d see to that.

  Absolutely.

  “It is not to his benefit if I cause him distress,” she advised.

  “The kind of distress you will cause him, Bronagh, might be the only thing that keeps him alive.”

  She let go a gust of shocked breath.

  “Please,” I whispered. “It might take much from you, and I do not know how it will end, but please. For my husband. For Alfie. Please, do not give up on him.”

  It took her a moment to reply.

  But I felt my shoulders slump in relief when she said, “I will do that for you, my queen, and my king and…and…” her eyes brightened, “for Sir Alfie.”

  I nodded to her and smiled. “Thank you.”

  “It is my calling.”

  I hoped it would be much more than that.

  “Regardless, thank you.”

  Her gaze drifted to the door and she mumbled, “I hear he doesn’t shout at his king.”

  “He shouts at nobody but fair-haired maids with beguiling freckles.”

  She could not hide the hope as her eyes turned to me.

  And I could not stop my smile.

  The door opened and we both jumped from it like we were doing something we felt guilty about.

  True closed the door behind him and trained an evaluating gaze to Bronagh then to me before he said to Bronagh, “I think he needs a rest from…whatever it was you were doing.”

  She bobbed a curtsy and replied, “Of course, Your Grace.”

  “We don’t curtsy in this castle any longer, Bronagh,” True, apparently having asked after her name (so very True), reminded her.

  “Right.” She bobbed again and muttered on another blush, “Gads.”

  True shot her an understanding grin before he turned to me.

  “I’m sorry, love,” he murmured, taking my elbow. “Alfie isn’t up for more company.”

  “Of course,” I murmured in return.

  We started moving away.

  When we were some distance from Alfie’s room, True shared, “He wants me to sack Bronagh.”

  “Of course he does. He’s determined to let this beat him, and I don’t blame him. I could not imagine. What I could imagine is that I’d likely be the same. However, she’s the only one of all of us who has the skills to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

  “He barely knows her, Farah, and what he knows he shares he does not like.”

  “Hmm,” I hummed.

  “I’m sure you can understand that was humiliating for him, sweetling,” he muttered.

  “I’m sure the quick glance I saw was impressive, il mia vita,” I returned. “And Bronagh undoubtedly felt the same way.”

  A short, sharp bark of laughter erupted from my husband.

  “He is a man without the use of his legs, but he’s still very clearly very much a man, and Bronagh did not miss this,” I went on.

  True let my elbow go only to slide an arm around my waist.

  Though he did his speaking.

  “You’re being entirely inappropriate, my queen.”

  “Bronagh agreed, though I talked her out of that.”

  True stopped us both from walking and looked down at me.

  “Pardon?”

  “Let’s see how this plays out, shall we?” I suggested.

  “Farah—”

  I curled into him, lifting my hand that was free of the sling to touch the tips of my fingers to his lips.

  “He must be shown every reason to carry on with life. Even if it’s bickering with a pretty nurse.”

  True wrapped his fingers around my wrist and pulled it down to hold my hand to the base of his throat.

  “I worry this is a faulty play,” he said gently.

  “I fear in this instance, caro, we all, but mostly Alfie, have nothing left to lose.”

  Although he did not like the reasons behind it, my husband saw the wisdom of this, I knew it when he bent to kiss my forehead.

  I would wish for the feel of his lips to mine.

  But for now, I would take that.

  He then turned me to his side, our arms still around each other.

  And as such, we walked to his study.

  “You must understand, our hands were tied,” the Go’Doan priest said sharply.

  “I understand no such thing,” Ophelia returned.

  “I am sorry what befell your lieutenant,” the priest replied, fashioning his features into a semblance of the emotion he was purporting, something which was not lost on anyone at that table, specifically my husband, who I could feel anger emanating from.

  True was not irritable.

  He was also not quick to anger.

  But this priest, called G’Aron, was a foolish choice for the Go’Doan to send to attend this particular summit.

  Mars and Silence had left some days ago, after Mercy’s funeral, after the executions.

  However, he had left his mother, the relict Queen Elpis behind to sit in his stead.

  Cassius had left his lieutenant, Severus.

  Aramus, his man, Tintagel.

  Serena also sat that table, looking both miles away and wishing to be anywhere but there, what she had been now for days, if I saw her at all (for most of the time, she was not in the castle, whereabouts unknown and unreported, though it wasn’t my business anyway).

  With Ophelia were her lieutenants Lucinda, Julia and Agnes.

  King Noctorno of Hawkvale and Apollo of Lunwyn sat with us as well.

  And the Go’Doan had sent two Go’En, their high priests.

  G’Aron, who I assessed to be perhaps in his fifth decade on this earth (late into it). A man who was prideful and had clearly been given the directive to deny all responsibility, try to convince everyone the Go’Doan had nothing to do with this Rising and create as much distance as possible between the two.

  And G’Ry, an elderly man, my guess being in his seventh or even eighth decade of life, who was quiet, watchful, often grunted unintelligibly when Aron said things I was coming to understand he didn’t agree with, but who mostly looked confused as to why he was even there.

  They weren’t taking this seriously.

  Then again, it was not their lands under attack.

  Last, at the table was another priest, his name G’Liam. He was a man who arrived with Ophelia, not the contingent from the Dome City.

  And he made it clear he looked upon Aron with great distaste, not simply the things he said, but whoever Aron was in the order of their faith.

  Wilmer, I was not surprised to learn, had opted out of attending this meeting.

  “But I will again assert the actions of these fanatics have nothing to do with the Dome City,” Aron concluded.

  “You knew from the moment G’Dor murdered King Ares this was an issue and you did not breathe a word to anyone, anywhere,” Ophelia retorted.
/>   I did not look at Elpis.

  But Aron shot a vicious glare at Liam that promised reprisal, for Liam had shared this information with the Nadirii queen.

  “If even a hair is harmed on his head, the Nadirii will ride through the Dome City and lay waste to your gold and white,” Ophelia spat.

  I felt True’s attention shift from keen to critical at this assertion, along with my own and that of everyone at the table.

  A Nadirii dropping the gauntlet for a Go’Doan priest?

  Only then did my eyes shift to Elpis, who was staring at Ophelia.

  She felt my gaze, looked to me and appeared astonished for a moment that she held it.

  This was not a surprise. I had been cold to her after my own mother’s death.

  But now, much had been lost.

  It was not time to nurse grudges and nurture rifts.

  It was time to hold all that was dear as close as you could get it.

  She was once like a second mother to me.

  Losing my own as I did and all that came before, I did not know if we would get that back.

  I just knew I no longer intended to nurse grudges and nurture rifts.

  Her face softened as she read these were my thoughts before she raised her brows.

  I bit my lip.

  She tipped her chin nary an inch to share I should pull myself together.

  I did just that and stopped biting my lip.

  “We do not hang those who transgress in Go’Doan,” Aron returned.

  Oh no.

  “We also do not slaughter them publicly,” he went on.

  True’s attention was no longer acute.

  It was infuriated.

  I caught myself from reaching my hand out to take his.

  But when I thought True would speak, instead, Noctorno did.

  “I would caution you to remember that tragic events have very recently passed and there are those at this table who have suffered much because of them. There is no one here who believes the people true to your faith are behind them. That is not the issue. The issue is stopping those who are perpetrating these acts from doing anything further.”

  “Right now, for the Go’Doan,” Aron retorted, his attention turning to True, “the issue is that we’ve received alarming reports that violence is freely being practiced against our priests here in Wodell as well as our followers in this realm. From children throwing stones at priests to our temple being burned to the ground in Ramsay. Thus, I must repeat my request that you send soldiers, as soon as can be arranged, to guard our sacred sites and keep safe the men who speak our faith but also tend to your ill and educate your children.”