Free Sorrows of Adoration by Kimberly Chapman Page A

arms, pressing a cloth
around my wound as we sped through the city. I looked at him, and
he said, “Don’t fret, we’ll be there soon, and you’ll be all right,
I promise.”
    I nodded and whispered,
“Something pleasant. Tell me something pleasant.” He looked so
worried, I began to wonder if there was something I didn’t know,
that perhaps he suspected the bolt was poisoned. I was afraid and
wondered if the feeling of sickness could be poison and not just
loss of blood after all.
    “Pleasant. I can’t
think of anything,” he said frantically. His usual propensity for
eloquence and poetic words had clearly left him. Then his face
softened, and he said, “I know. I will tell you about the palace
gardens. Oh, Aenna, when you are well I shall take you to the
palace gardens, and I promise you have never seen such a sight! A
stream runs around the hedges and flowerbeds, passing around great
sparkling fountains with majestic sculptures. There are little
footbridges over the stream, and in the summer fish are brought in,
and you can watch them swim by. And the flowers are many and of
every lovely colour you can imagine. Some of them climb on
trellises, where young lovers hide to steal an unseen kiss,
although everyone knows that if a couple goes walking in the
garden, they are seeking to do just that.
    “It was built
generations ago. My ancestor King Rueklin commissioned it for his
beloved daughter, who was injured as a child and could not walk. He
built her this garden that she might be carried out to a different
part every day and enjoy the beauty of it and not have to stay
locked behind dark palace walls. And I shall take you there when
you are well, my Aenna, and perhaps steal a kiss of my own, if you
would allow it.”
    He let go of the cloth
momentarily to lift my right hand, kiss it softly, and then press
it to his cheek where I could feel tears. I deeply moved that this
good man, this Prince, was so adoring of me that he would weep.
    The cart passed under a
great arch, and facing upwards, I could see the pointed iron spikes
of the portcullis directed imposingly towards us. The cart stopped
abruptly, and I tried not to let Kurit see how the sudden jolt had
hurt, but the look on his face proved me unsuccessful. I felt
nauseous again and struggled to calm my stomach, knowing full well
that to be sick would be unbearably painful.
    A litter was brought
from inside the palace. Kurit started to move me, but despite his
efforts to minimize my discomfort, I cried out in pain and lost
consciousness again for a moment. I awoke again on the litter,
afraid to faint again, thinking that if I did I might not wake
up.
    The litter was carried
swiftly through the palace. I wished that I could look around me to
see the splendour of it, but the speed at which I was carried and
my decreasing ability to focus my eyes cast everything into a blur
of walls and strange people pointing and gawking. I imagine we were
quite the spectacle—the Prince returning not in triumph and pride,
but rushing alongside a litter carrying an injured stranger dressed
in rags, bags tied to her feet with strips of torn cloth.
    The rush ended in a
large bedchamber, possibly meant for guests. The men who carried my
litter held it beside the bed while Kurit and some unseen other
moved me over. I made a cry of pain as they moved me, though I did
not wish to upset poor Kurit, who was clearly in full panic by
then. The choice had been to cry out or to lose consciousness
again, and I was dearly afraid of the latter.
    The men bearing the
litter left quickly, and a tall, thin, bald man dressed in long
black robes and carrying a large black satchel entered. Without
question or other hesitation, he began to tend to the wound,
cutting away the tattered, blood-soaked clothing.
    I assumed he was a
healer, and managed to whisper, “I can feel my hand. I can move it
too, but it hurts.”
    He looked at my face
for the first time since entering. “You’re a very brave