6 Chapter 6 – Awakening Sensation
“Convenient answer,” he muttered. “But it’s not enough.”
“I remember coming here as a child,” he said. “Before the war. Before the fire.”
The man uncorked it, sniffed. “Faint traces of moonleaf. Possibly duskroot. But nothing toxic, sire.”
“I hate this chair,” he admitted.
He didn’t stop her.
“You,” Cyr said, pointing at his legs. “Explain this.”
Cyr stared at the message, then at her.
Not imagined. Not phantom.
“I want an analysis of this,” he said, handing over a sealed vial of his nightly tonic.
He simply closed his eyes, letting it wash over him like snowmelt in spring.
Moments later, Eileen arrived, expression as calm as ever.
She handed him the thermos she’d brought.
Flex.
She nodded once.
He rested his hands in his lap.
No reaction.
Cyr wheeled slowly, his hands steady on the rims. Eileen walked beside him, matching
his pace.
Cyr dismissed him with a wave, then leaned back in his chair.
She stopped.
“I *will* find out what you’ve done.”
The aurora spilled ribbons of emerald and gold across the sky as they strolled the
parapets.
“Don’t lie to me.”
“And you?” he asked. “Did you survive too?”
And for the first time, he wanted to chase it away.
“I want tests run on this tea,” Cyr said. “Full compound analysis.”
She didn’t answer.
“And now I sit in stone halls, drinking mystery tea made by a mute who bleeds like clockwork.”
When he opened them, she was watching him.
He swallowed.
She knelt beside it, adjusting one of the support bars.
She didn’t flinch.
“I also hate how calm you are,” he added. “Like none of this touches you.”
The next morning, Cyr summoned the head physician.
His right foot twitched.
He didn’t smile.
Cyr stared at the page.
Cyr narrowed his eyes. “Nothing illegal?”
“Not charity,” he clarified. “Experiment. I want results.”
She paused.
“Dismissed.”
He gripped the armrests of his chair, heart hammering.
She only raised an eyebrow and wrote on the notepad she carried: *Exercises. Consistency. Your will.*
Cyr blinked.
She didn’t move away.
“No grief?” he asked. “No fear? No rage?”
They sat together in the silence, watching auroras dance above snow-laced battlements.
“She’s no common servant,” he whispered.
He didn’t interrupt.
She glanced at him.
“And until then,” he added, “you’re getting more access. Greenhouse. Archives. Whatever you need.”
She offered a scarf. He waved it away.
Still silence.
“Could a common servant brew it?”
“I killed people, Eileen. Good ones. By choosing to survive.”
Real.
Later that night, he caught her humming.
She turned to leave.
“Is it the tea?” he demanded. “What did you put in it?”
Her fingers stilled on the last strap.
He exhaled a shaky breath and slammed the bell cord.
O
Chapter 6 – Awakening Sensation
He looked down at his hands-steadier than ever.
“Strange,” he said. “The cold doesn’t bite as hard tonight.”
She paused.
Then, louder: “But I think your voice is even more dangerous.”
He accepted it, then frowned. “You made this before I even asked.”
“I felt something” he snapped. “Right foot. And a pulse behind my knee.”
The fire had died down, but something was different. His legs… throbbed. Not with pain-but with *feeling*.
No protest.
She turned away.
“Unlikely,” the physician said. “Whatever it is-it’s expertly balanced.”
But as she reached the door, he asked, “Why *me*?”
And for the first time in months… he *wanted* to stand.
She tilted her head.
“Stay,” he said. “Just until the lights fade.”
“Wait.”
Cyr’s hand brushed against hers on the railing.
But as a man.
Cyr jolted awake.
He said, very quietly, “You have a beautiful silence.”
She looked up at him, something flickering behind her eyes.
“Tonight,” he said, “walk with me again. I want fresh air.”
She handed him a fresh tonic, then began checking his braces.
They paused at the north watchtower.
Then handed it back.
“My brother used to chase snowfoxes across the roof tiles. Mother laughed like the world would never change.”
Then signed: *Because you survived when no one else did.*
She wrote: *Only when I care if they live.*
The man hesitated. “Not without training.”
“Do you always anticipate what men want before they say it?”
Just a breath of sound, barely audible. A tune without lyrics, soft and familiar.
She stepped back and bowed slightly.
She walked to the tray, examined the cup, then signed: *Same as before.*
“Finally, some honesty.”
“They’re gone now. Everyone. And I’m the only broken thing left standing.”
She signed: *Too much of all three.*
But he thought—just maybe-he saw pain flicker behind those unreadable eyes.
Not as a prince.
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