Re: A Kindred Spirit
Cadenza’s eyelids felt too heavy with sleep to open, but a nagging puff of warm air hovering over her right side was about to override her languor. It was soft but consistent, and beyond her control to stop, as much as she wanted it to cease. Why can’t I just will it to stop? That would be so much easier… She furrowed her brow, shutting her eyes tighter. It’s probably just that idiot Bo gawking at me anyway.
She kept her eyes shut tight for several minutes, although the purpose was moot; she clearly would be gaining no further rest that morning. The puffing was growing closer, and soon she felt a hand resting upon her shoulder, shaking her slightly every few minutes.
After several moments of this without end, she finally snapped. “What!? What in the hell do you want!?”
Her eyes shot open to see Peter’s smiling, ferret-like face looming over her. Even with her angry remarks, he grinned at her amiably. “I’m sorry to wake you, milady, but the prince requests an audience with you.”
Cadenza groaned, and out of the corner of her eye glimpsed a rare smile from Hildegard, undoubtedly at the stark and almost humorous contrast between Peter and her attitudes. With much more coaxing and pestering, Peter, along with the help of the timid young soldier, Gentree, from the night before, was able to convince Cadenza to leave the tent and visit Hunter in the medical area.
The woman stalked out in a huff, cursing the whole course of events since her arrival in Medina. There was the problem of her mission from Vivace, the completion of which now seemed improbable, and the matter of a clingy prince who might still charge her for witchcraft, if he was a fool. Coupled with the conflicting thoughts and emotions now swimming in her head about rebellion, and it all made for a rather unpleasant time for the gypsy indeed. She made her way quickly through the central area of the encampment, covered with prints of horse hooves and leather boots. On her left, the tall figure of the medical tent resolved behind the numerous, lesser tents. Taking care not to get her arrows stuck in the fabric, she weaved between the dwellings, dodging the few soldiers who had woken early.
Soon, she arrived at the medical tent, and as she leaned forward to undo the clasps which shut the opening, a nurse emerged from inside.
“He’ll be glad to see you, Miss.”
Cadenza wanted to scoff at that, but she restrained herself. Nodding her head in acknowledgement to the nurse, she stepped inside.
There, laying upon a bed of hay in dwindling candlelight was Hunter, sallow-faced and bruised all over. At the sound of the gypsy’s entrance, he had hefted himself onto his side to see her and cried out in the resulting pain of the exertion to move.
“I do not look too pleasing, do I?”
The woman shrugged. “Hardly matters to me anyway, Prince.”
A faint smile crossed the man’s lips. “Pray tell me, my friend, what ever on Medina did you do to halt the Augustans? It was as singular a maneuver as I have ever had the privilege to see.”
Cadenza shook her head. “No, no, you couldn’t understand it. You’re better off not knowing.” She turned to leave, but could hear Hunter rustling in the hay behind her, trying to stand up.
“You shouldn’t push yourself,” she advised.
“Please, Cadenza,” he pleaded, “be honest with me. You used some form of magic, didn’t you?”