Page 249 of The Mercy of Dawn

“...You’re hungry?”

“Yeah.”

She really wasn't at all.

But movement seemed like it might be the answer to her woes. Maybe her leg would hurt enough that it would distract her from the pain in her head and her chest that just wouldn’t fucking quit.

“I’ll go down and get something for you, just sit—”

Dion sighed as Cyril pushed away from him and took her first few hobbled steps down the side of the bed. Better already than the steps Runa had to guide her through to the bathroom the day before. She skimmed her fingers along the mattress and footboard as she worked a slow path toward her closets.

The queen’s borrowed loungewear was something Cyril would never complain about wearing—hells, she hoped Runa might tell her where she got them from—but the prospect of getting into her own clothing was more exciting than it should have been.

“Just give me a minute to get dressed and we can go down.” Cyril steadied herself on the closet half-door she pulled open—slim pickings with most of her things in Mika’s room now. “Apparently, Wren said I should be up and moving, anyway.”

Dion grumbled something that sounded awfully like a protest, but he sank back into his chair and ran a hand through his hair.

“Yell if you need something,” was the last thing she heard him say before she limped into the bathroom with an armful of clothing.

Outside of her room, the palace brimmed with life.

Not in a good way, either.

It was bright, far too fucking bright, and busy—loud, really.

Cyril should have stayed in bed.

Her leg was in no way ready for that amount of walking either, but like hells she would ever admit defeat to Dion. Even if he watched her with wary eyes the entire time. She just clenched her jaw through the pain and the headache, and the nausea that simmered.

She was just overwhelmed from being cooped up, and it would pass. At least, that's what she told herself.

Lars and Runa looked stunned when she hobbled through the dining room doors with Dion’s help.

“I know, I know.” Her uncle held a hand up in defense when Runa’s surprise morphed into disapproval. “She wanted to come down.”

“I need to sit,” Cyril said quietly, and Dion gave her an unmistakably annoyed look. He shuffled her right into a chair that Lars rushed to pull out from the table.

Nothing improved once she sat.

The ringing that built in her ears neared deafening. She felt like she might vomit at any moment. And her chest? Fuck. Something tethered itself to the middle of her ribs and pulled with all its might on every breath she took. An inexplicable sort of pressure took its place on every exhale, and Cyril was closing in on asking to visit Wren.

Worse didn’t seem like the right direction for things to be going in.

Something had to not be healing right, for her senses to be this out of fucking whack and for—

“Cyr, you need to eat something…”

Dion’s voice cut through the static filling her head, full of concern and so. Fucking. Loud.

She nodded and rubbed at her sternum, hoping it would ease some of the discomfort.

It didn’t.

So, instead of the chicken she was sure would turn her stomach inside out, Cyril reached for the teacup Dion filled for her and brought the sloshing liquid to her lips. The aroma of the tea she’d grown to love was nothing short of putrid, but three sets of eyes watched her expectantly.

So she drank.

It was bitter, but she focused on the warmth of it, fighting that heave that tried to crawl its way up her throat.