In the middle of the night, in the deepest darkness, the streets were filled with merchants as in so many other years.
The city was overly illuminated, and Sorina could not sleep. The remorse of having sent her sons to their deaths returned in the form of nightmares, yet another night. Her misfortunes pursued her in an endless nocturnal cycle of tears, jolts, and brief faints. That night was no different. When she could no longer cry, she left her chambers.
Her body staggered through the hallways, with no clear direction, as if looking for something. Her mind wandered between the realm of dreams and that of the living, heavy, slow, unable to anchor itself completely. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw it: more and more lights were being lit in the main hall. The palace should have been asleep. In silence and plunged into a respectful gloom.
She stopped, from a distance, she observed the scene with strangeness. At those hours, no one should have been waiting for her. She descended the stairs bit by bit, leaning on the handrail. As she went down, she distinguished her knights in position, tense and alert. The maidservants were lined up, motionless, awaiting orders. Before them stood a colossal knight, covered in the king's colors.
— How timely — said the knight without raising his voice.
Sorina moved forward without haste or hurry. Around her, everyone shuddered at the sight of her approaching. The marchioness walked with a strength that did not come from the body, but from the will. But her breath began to fail her when she saw what the knight had behind him. Two bodies of young males.
The knight scanned her from head to toe and clicked his tongue, making no effort to hide his contempt. He did not greet or bow. He simply lifted the load and threw it at her feet.
The first body fell with a dull thud. The second fell on top. Sorina did not scream. She couldn't. The thought was immediate, brutal, definitive: they are dead. The king's punishment has arrived. Her knees gave way, although she did not quite fall. Then the eldest son moved.
With effort, with a stifled groan, he sat up just enough to cover the little one with his arm. With his body hunched instinctively, learned through blows. He did not look at his mother, he feared seeing her face. He fixed his eyes on the floor, as if still waiting for the next impact.
— My work is finished — said the knight as he turned around. — I have merely returned what is no longer of use.
The palace doors closed behind him. The sound echoed in the hall like a dull blow. Sorina was slow to react. It took so long that she struggled to breathe. She was slow to see the blood, the bruises, the torn skin, the split lips. She was slow to recognize the faces under the filth. Then she fell to her knees.
— Sorina — My sons… — her voice broke. — My sons… ―
She hurt herself falling, but she didn't care. She threw herself upon them and covered them in a clumsy embrace, too strong, desperate, as if the contact were the only thing keeping them in this world. She wept uncontrollably, the cry of someone who asks for nothing, who only witnesses a miracle they do not understand. The servants could not help but react.
Tears fell down the cheeks of the other women, two weeks of hearing the marchioness cry at night seemed devastating even to the knights who, in their own way, were also moved.
Sorina was slow to pull away. Feeling them there, warm, alive, brought her a peace so deep it almost hurt. When she finally regained her strength, she pulled back just enough to look at them. With trembling hands, she caressed their faces damaged skin, bloody, dry, full of tears mixed with grime. Both boys wept in unison with their mother. When the younger one looked up and met Sorina's eyes, he broke.
— Sorina — Amisair… — she sobbed, her heart on the verge of breaking.
— Amisair — Mother… I'm sorry, mother… I'm sorry… I didn't… I didn't know… what… I was… doing… — said the boy, crying uncontrollably.
Sorina raised her head for a moment. She locked eyes with the house steward. There was no need to say anything, the palace sprang into motion like a living organism. Each person knew what to do and where to go.
— Sorina — Hot water. — She ordered.
The maids were quick to move. Among them, the most veteran ones, at a single glance from Claudia, began giving orders to the other maids and girls. They took paths throughout the palace, waking every stable hand and apprentice. The apprentices were the first to go running for wood, while the others made the preparations.
Sorina called two knights who were on guard near the door and ordered them to increase surveillance throughout the palace. Then she sent one of the lads to deliver a notice to the Healers' Guild, she sent the boy with a clear message. Salvia, the guild master, would have to come first thing in the morning.
While the maids gave the newcomers clean water to drink, four large, weathered servants received orders on how to handle and act. With extreme care, they lifted the two boys under the watchful eye of the marchioness. Their gait was slow, but without rest. In the bathroom where the preparations were being made, the maids moved at a frenetic speed carrying gauze, while the younger servants helped with ladles and pots of hot water.
The bath was ready. The maids most experienced in medicine washed their hands with meticulous care and began to give precise orders to the servants. The stone floor was covered with thick cloths to prevent slipping. Cauldrons of hot water were steaming to one side, too heavy to move without help. The air smelled of medicinal herbs and ointments.
The four service men entered first, two held Alistar and two held Amisair. They were not dragging themselves, but they could not walk on their own either. Each movement required a greater effort than the last, the servants gripped them tighter as they passed through the door, making the boys' arms and shoulders ache even more—a small but stabbing pain added to the torment.
— Here. — Indicated one of the women.
Claudia approached Sorina with a furrowed brow and a low voice.
— Claudia — My Lady… this will be harder than you imagine. You may wait outside if you prefer. — It was not an empty piece of advice, she knew that every second would be a martyrdom.
Sorina swallowed hard, containing her trembling, and for a moment she hesitated, but then she nodded. She knew she had to be there.
The palace healers were already ready. With gauze, bandages, bowls, and small knives to cut cloth if necessary. Sorina entered last, breathing deeply, preparing herself to endure the pain she was about to witness.The men placed the boys in the center of the room and adjusted their grip when their legs faltered. Holding them like that was not easy. Their bodies were tense, aching, and sweaty. The dead weight was beginning to be felt in the servants' shoulders.
— Do not let go of them. — Said one of the healers, looking seriously at the servants. — If they fall, they will not get up on their own. ―
They started with the shirts. The fabrics would not give, hardened by dried blood and filth. When one of the women pulled at the first piece, Alistar let out a low sound. Amisair doubled over, but the men held him firmer.
— Sorina — Continue. — She ordered when one of the women hesitated. — Even if it hurts. ―
The clothes were pulled off in jerks, cutting where necessary. Every time a piece of cloth separated from the skin or a wound was reopened, both groaned, though they tried to remain silent. The fresh blood that ran down their torsos and dripped to the floor was wiped away before it could even accumulate.
The gauze soaked in warm water cleaned slowly, pressing where necessary, removing embedded dirt. There was no unnecessary gentleness, but there was compassion. The healers worked fast, aware that every second was an eternal torture.
— Why don't we use magic? — asked a young maid recently promoted to assistant.
— Miss… if we use magic now, the body will close the wound exactly as it is. The dirt will remain inside. They won't die today, but I assure you they will agonize. — Replied the head of the healers.
Amisair breathed with difficulty, his eyes closed and his jaw trembling as he tried to remain standing. Each time the healers pressed on his back, his body reacted with involuntary spasms. The lash marks crossed his entire skin, open purple lines that overlapped one another. Where the cuts ended, the bruises began deep and dark, clear signs that he had been repeatedly beaten.
His hands hung rigid at his sides. His nails were black, damaged to the root. When they tried to reset and splint the dislocated fingers, Amisair screamed with all his might. It was not a human or contained scream, but a howl that sounded like torture. His legs gave way, and the servants had to hold him with more force so he wouldn't collapse, wrenching a muffled groan from him as they did so.
Alistar was in worse shape than he appeared. His posture was unnatural, his dislocated right shoulder forced him to lean his body, straining his chest and sides, which were already covered in overlapping bruises. Every time they moved him, pain shot through his entire torso, leaving him breathless.
His right ear was mangled. The earring had been torn out without mercy, ripping the flesh. The skin was swollen, poorly closed, and still sensitive to any contact. When they began to clean it, Alistar gritted his teeth so hard that one of the men thought they would shatter. He did not scream. Not because it didn't hurt, but because he did not allow himself to.
Holding them up was beginning to take its toll. Sweat ran down the servants' foreheads. They adjusted their grip or shifted their weight from one leg to the other, but no one complained. The exhaustion was evident.
— Not much longer now. — Said the head of the healers, words that relieved more than one person.
When they reached the undergarments, the atmosphere changed. These were the bodies of nobles, adults, broken, held by men already exhausted. There was no time for hesitation. Sorina stepped forward.
— Sorina — I'll do it. — She said, rolling up her sleeves.
She placed herself right in front of them and, as soon as the garments were removed, she covered them without saying a word. She did not look, nor did she allow anyone to look more than was necessary. The women finished cleaning under the cloths, placing new gauze and quick bandages without ceremony. When they were finally dressed in clean clothes, their bodies seemed to lose what little strength they had left. The men held them more firmly so they wouldn't collapse.
The silence was heavy. There were no words, no thanks. Only irregular breathing and the sound of water dripping from the used bowls. Sorina watched them standing there, supported by others, unable to hold themselves up. Any word would have been too much.
Both boys were covered in gauze and bandages when Doina, their sister, was finally able to enter. They helped them sit down while they finished wrapping their feet.
— Doina — Can I apply a bit of magic? ―
— Don't trouble yourself, Miss, they have wounds all over their bodies. Closing the skin doesn't help as much as you think. Save your mana. — The head of the healers clarified.
The boys shuddered upon seeing her. They felt unworthy of such care and esteem, but they could neither say nor do anything.
The servants took them to the kitchen, just as Sorina had ordered. Not to the noble dining hall, nor to a private room. To the kitchen, where the servants ate.
They sat them on the long wooden bench, the same one the servants used during their breaks. Amisair and Alistar sat side by side, supported for a few seconds longer than necessary, until the men made sure they would not collapse. Then they stepped back, staying close, in case help was needed again.
The head cook observed the scene in silence. She knew what she was seeing: punished bodies, empty, weakened.
— Slowly. — she warned her assistants. — If they eat too much or too fast, they will hurt themselves. They have gone too long without eating.
There were no refined dishes or silver cutlery. The soup was hot, reheated and steaming. Something unthinkable for nobles, accustomed to eating food lukewarm or cold. This was not a ceremonial meal. It was about survival.
Sorina took a piece of bread with her hands and broke it directly over the bowl. She soaked it in the soup and mixed it, indifferent to the stares or the rules. It was a common gesture, unbefitting of the nobility. She stood beside Amisair. Standing there, he barely looked up. And with great care, she brought the spoon to his mouth. Amisair jolted upon tasting it. He burned himself—not much, but enough to snap his lips shut and struggle for breath.
Sorina said nothing. She simply took another spoonful and this time blew on it slowly, patiently, until it cooled a bit. Then she brought it close again. Amisair opened his mouth, being obedient and humiliated at the same time. Grateful, on the other hand.
On the other side, Doina did the same with Alistar. She repeated the gesture, but he turned his face away, refusing. Doina furrowed her brow and gave him a small tap with her fingers on one of the bruises on his thigh—not hard, but just enough to hurt.
— Doina — Eat. — she told him. — Don't be a fool. ―
Alistar gritted his teeth but eventually gave in. He opened his mouth and swallowed slowly. They ate like that, spoonful by spoonful. Without speaking and without haste. They had seconds, and gradually the warmth ran through their bodies like something almost unknown. The kitchen was silent, save for the slight sound of spoons and irregular breathing.
Sorina and Doina remained standing the entire time. They did not sit, they attended to them, demonstrating their transformed selves. When they finished, Doina broke the silence.
— Doina — We should sleep together, like when we were little. ―
Sorina did not respond immediately. She stood staring at her sons, sitting together on a servants' bench, eating soup as if it were the only thing anchoring them to the world.
— Sorina — Go to Doina's room the others are cold. — She said as she handed the empty bowl to a cook.
The men carried them to Doina's room. They didn't even try to make them climb the stairs. They couldn't, between the bandages and the wounds, every movement, every step exhausted them more than ever, their legs barely responded. They carried them directly, one by one, with care.
Alistar gritted his teeth when they lifted him. The shoulder had been reset, but the body had not yet accepted it. Amisair hung between the servants' arms, exhausted, breathing poorly.
The room was just as Doina had left it: the bed unmade, the blankets half-fallen. The men laid them carefully on the mattress. They didn't just lie down, they were laid down. Face down, so the bandages on their backs wouldn't shift. Every adjustment wrenched tense breaths, small muffled groans. When they were sure they would move no more, the servants withdrew without a word.
Doina stayed for a moment, watching the scene.
— Mother… — She said in a low voice. — How did we use to sleep when we were little? ―
— Sorina — You and Alistar slept on the sides, and Amisair in the middle. He was always cold. ―
When the boys were already settled, Doina went to change behind the dressing screen. She put on a long nightgown and returned without haste. It was she who took the blankets and covered them carefully, adjusting them just enough not to press on the bandages or cause unnecessary pain.
Amisair opened his mouth to say something. The voice would not come out.
— Doina — Don't talk, try to sleep. —
She began to sing a lullaby, softly, one of those old songs sung without thinking, learned before knowing how to read. Amisair did not want to sleep. It was evident in the rigidity of his body, in his forced breathing. Even so, he was the first to give in. Exhaustion won out. His breathing became slow, irregular, heavy. Alistar turned his head slightly. He tried to say something.
— Doina — Not another word. — she said without much harshness, but allowing no reply. — Go to sleep. —
Alistar clenched his jaw and turned away so as not to see his sister, his resistance lasted little. His body, exhausted, gave way. He closed his eyes. Doina kept singing until both were asleep.
Sorina said goodbye to Doina from the doorway. She left in silence, leaving her sons asleep and her daughter keeping watch. In the room, only the breathing of the boys remained, and a lullaby that faded little by little.
Sorina closed the door carefully. As soon as the latch clicked into place, her legs failed her. There was no warning, they simply gave out. She fell to the floor on her knees, without even the strength to try to hold herself up.
The impact knocked the wind out of her. It was then that she realized her knees were already bleeding. The fabric of her dress was stained, dark and stiff, as if her body had kept functioning without permission. Two maids came immediately. They helped her up, one on each side. Sorina offered no resistance. She lacked the necessary strength, so they helped her reach her room.
The steward closed the door behind them and sat her on the bed. Without unnecessary words, she cleaned her knees, removed the dried blood, and bandaged them with firm hands. Sorina stared at a fixed point, as if the room were not entirely real.
— Sorina — I don't believe it… — She murmured. — They've come back, my sons have come back, haven't they? I haven't imagined it… —
— Claudia — They have returned, my Lady. — the steward replied without hesitation. — They are alive. —
Sorina nodded slowly, as if the sentence needed to settle in layers.
— Sorina — They are here… Truly. It is not a dream. —
— Claudia — It is not. —
A few seconds passed in silence. Then the steward spoke again. — There is a letter from the King for you.
Sorina closed her eyes, taking a moment to respond.
— Sorina — The King can wait. —
There was no reply. The steward bowed slightly and left, leaving her alone. Sorina undressed slowly and lay down. Her body was exhausted, but her mind kept racing. She stared at the ceiling for a long time.
(— Sorina — My… God..., those two boys, the ones who appeared in my life barely a few weeks ago… they have spoken to me of You. Of You, their God. With a passion I didn't know existed. With such love… with such strength… You gave up Your own Son. My King, the King of all the world. How could You be capable of such an atrocity for me? ... Tolmas asked me for a son and You give one?... How can anyone even conceive that? And You have already given me everything. You have returned them to me. And I only asked You once. Why do You grant me so much… when I am such a bad mother? Why…? I never cared for them, I always left them with the wet nurses… and yet You return them to me as if they were that prodigal son. What must I do to make it up to You? Where are You? …Where?… Can I embrace You? I can't take it anymore… it hurts to know You have done all this for me… I am not worthy even of Your gaze, but even so, You have returned them to me. Knowing You was enough, but this... this... Thank You… Thank You… Thank You so much… My God… thank You so much… —)
For the first time in two weeks, Sorina fell asleep without crying. For the first time in two weeks, she slept for more than two hours straight.