Lydia the Siren's Arc

Chapter 28 of 37

Morning came, and Lydia could not lift her head. Her arms felt heavy. Her legs would not hold her when she tried to stand. She sank back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling stars Bastion had painted there. "I'm weak," she said. "Not tired. Weak. Something is wrong." Bastion set a hand on her forehead. He frowned. "You went into the grove twice. Those woods take something from a person." He looked toward the window, where the crystal forest sat past the tree line. Its faint ring carried on the still air. "It saps the strength. Rest will bring it back." Lydia wanted to believe him. But the weakness felt older than the grove. It felt like the pond in her cavern, when she went days without feeding and her body began to fail. She knew that hollow feeling. She had healed herself a hundred times by feeding. Now she had no way to feed at all. "I'll fix it," Bastion said. He pulled on his cloak. "A neighbor down the road keeps a pot going. Hearty stuff. It puts strength back in tired men. I'll bring you some." He crouched by the bed and touched her cheek. "Don't go anywhere." "I couldn't if I wanted to," she said. He gave her a small smile and left. She lay alone and listened to the far ring of the crystal. Once a call like that had pulled at her blood. Now it was only a sound. She felt less than the woman she was learning to be. Less than the beast she had buried. Something in between, and fading. Bastion returned near dark. He carried a covered bowl close to his chest to keep the heat. The smell filled the cabin, meat and root and pepper. He sat on the edge of the bed and lifted her against the pillows. "Slow," he said. He fed her from the spoon the way he had taught her to eat, one careful bite at a time. She swallowed. The stew was warm and good. She finished the bowl. Her stomach was full. She felt it press against her ribs, heavy and satisfied. But her arms stayed weak. Her legs stayed weak. The food filled her, and nothing more. Bastion watched her face. "Better?" "Full," she said. "Not stronger." He set the bowl down. "Give it the night." Lydia nodded, but she knew. A woman ate to fill her belly. She had eaten, and her belly was full, and her body had taken nothing from it. Whatever had kept her strong all her life had run on something else. Blood. Fear. The scream and the feeding. That well was sealed now, and no stew could reach it. Something gnawed under her ribs, past the fullness. Not hunger. She knew hunger. This was quieter and worse, and she could not name it. She lay in the dark and felt her strength keep draining while the crystal rang on, far away.