Page 240 of The Mercy of Dawn

“Yesterday? When did…”

“You’ve been out for a good day and a half,” Mikael clarified, coming to rest on his forearms against the back of the armchair at her bedside. That addressed half of her confusion at least.

“...And my leg?”

It ached something fierce, but so did the rest of her damn body.

A hesitant glance bounced between Mikael and his mother before he fumbled out, “Broken, badly.”

Runa glared at him before adding, “Wren knit everything back together though. She said it’ll be uncomfortable for a bit, but you should…”

Cyril didn’t even catch half of it, too busy staring down at the outline of her legs beneath the plush duvet.

Broken.

Another thing that should not have been in the realm of possibility.

Maybe her mind was doing her a favor by not remembering that.

“...Cyril?”

She blinked at Runa. “Sorry. What?”

“It would be good to get up and move around, even a bit.” The queen smiled at her in that warm, motherly way of hers. “Maybe just a trip to the bathroom and back? I’ll help you.”

Cyril definitely had needs that needed tending to, like the aching bladder she had paid little heed to in the grand scheme of things that ached.

“I would appreciate that,” she said quietly, and Runa was already up and helping to pull back Cyril’s duvet.

But Mikael was there too, and things felt suddenly crowded.

“I can take her,” he said, trying to sidestep his mother, but she swatted at him and shooed him away.

“Sometimes, Mikael”—Runa helped Cyril to turn and ease her legs off the side of the bed—“it’s a little more dignifying to have another woman help you with these sorts of things.”

Cyril realized then that she was not wearing clothes that belonged to her. Nevermind the mottled bruises and pinkish-red scars that peppered her bare legs and the bandage wrapped around her thigh, she had expected those.

But the shirt and shorts were softer than anything she had, and they were…blue? A dark, midnight blue, she was certain she owned nothing of the like.

She ran her fingers along the neatly stitched hem of the shorts.

“Whose clothes are these?” Cyril asked, cutting right through the bickering that continued between the two people who both blocked her path to the bathroom she needed to use with increasing urgency.

“Ah, those are mine. I didn’t want to go rifling through your things while Mikael got you cleaned up. Not quite a perfect fit, with how much wider and shorter I am than you, but…” Runa shrugged. “Good enough for our purposes. Now let’s get you up.”

Mikael gave her a tight smile as he settled on the foot of her bed. Apparently he accepted defeat in the battle over who would take Cyril to the bathroom like she was a gods damned child.

She didn’t have it in her to care at this point.

Cyril planted her hands on the edge of the mattress, took a slow, grounding breath, and anchored her feet onto the floor. She dug her toes into the plush carpet that lined either side of her bed and didn’t even try to stem the slew of hoarse profanities that left her lips as she pushed herself upright.

Truthfully, if Runa hadn’t been there to catch her around the waist, Cyril would have dropped right back to the mattress, likely wet herself, and tried to pretend the day never happened. But Runa held her steady as every fiber of muscle and joint in her body screamed in protest.

“Now give me this”—Runa pulled Cyril’s arm across her shoulder, tucking herself like a brace against Cyril’s side—“and we’ll go slowly.”

Cyril didn’t even need to look to know Mikael was already up and within arm’s reach as Runa nudged her into those first few uneasy steps. That steadying, reassuring presence of his permeated the air around her and, while it certainly didn’t make walking any easier, it gave her the confidence she wouldn’t take out Runa if her legs gave way.

Her feet had just grazed the cool, moonstone tile of the bathroom floor when Runa snipped, “Privacy, Mika.” and closed the door behind them.