Consciousness did not return all at once. It trickled in—first as a low, relentless ache, then as a smothering awareness of her own weight, the heaviness of bandages, the odd floaty sensation of magic thick in the air.
Something soft and warm pressed against her cheek, the familiar scratch of linen and the faint scent of rose oil.
Lara drifted, half-dreaming, half-aware, until a jolt of pain radiated up her arm and forced her eyes open.
The room was too bright. Light spilled through gauzy curtains, painting the walls with gold and cream.
For a long, blank moment, Lara could only blink, trying to remember where she was. This wasn't the wild, broken forest. This wasn't the makeshift healer's hut in some muddy northern village.
A high, carved ceiling. Faded murals of winged women and constellations. And there—beside her—an ornate chair drawn close to the bed, a blanket tangled in the arms, a shape slumped over in deep, exhausted sleep.
Sarisa.
Lara's breath caught. She studied the scene, blinking hard to bring it into focus: Sarisa's moon-pale hair spilling from a loose braid, dark circles under her eyes, her posture a picture of someone who had been fighting sleep for days but finally lost.
A half-empty mug of cold tea sat precariously balanced on a stack of old novels. A folded paper lay at her elbow—her own handwriting, messy and wry. Bandits gone. Coming home soon. Save me some of those honey cakes. — L
Memories tugged: the fire, the dragon's teeth, the press of blood and mud, voices calling in the dark. A cold wave of nausea shivered down Lara's spine, but she forced herself to breathe.
Every inch of her body hurt. Not just the battered arm, thick with bandages and humming faintly with pain even beneath layers of spell-soaked linen, but her ribs, her back, her very soul.
Yet beneath the agony there was something simpler: she was alive. She had made it back, and Sarisa was here.
She shifted, testing her limbs. Pain barked at her, but she managed to turn her head toward the window.
Beyond the glass, the world looked washed clean by rain—a bright, gentle day, children's laughter echoing distantly in the palace gardens. For a moment, she let herself believe that all was well.
A movement beside her—soft, barely audible. Sarisa shifted, one hand flying out as if to keep Lara from slipping away.
Then her eyes opened, bright and wild, searching Lara's face with a desperation that made Lara's throat ache.
Sarisa straightened, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. "You're awake."
Lara summoned a lopsided smile, or tried to. "Apparently."
Sarisa's relief was palpable—a shuddering breath, her hand moving almost without thought to brush a stray lock of hair from Lara's brow. "How do you feel?"
Lara rolled her eyes, which hurt less than everything else. "Like I picked a fight with a dragon and lost the first round."
A snort, half-laugh, half-sob. "You won, actually. They say you saved the whole village. I thought—" Her voice cracked. She shook her head, angry at herself for the display. "You were asleep for three days. We were worried."
"Three days?" Lara tried to sit up, immediately regretted it as a lance of pain shot through her side. "Gods. Did I miss the honey cakes?"
Sarisa's lips twitched into a smile, relief smoothing some of the tension from her features. "They're saving you an entire plate. Kaelith and Aliyah wanted to sneak in and eat them, but I threatened to set the guards on them."
Lara's eyes widened theatrically. "And did it work?"
"For the most part. But Malvoria bribed them with cinnamon rolls, so you might be down a few by the time you're allowed out of bed."
A companionable silence fell between them, heavy with things unsaid but eased by the steady comfort of having survived.
Lara's gaze traveled to her arm, thickly wrapped, flecked with blood and runes that glowed faintly.
She flexed her fingers—slow, careful. There was movement, pain, but nothing unendurable. "Looks like I get to keep it," she muttered, half to herself.
Sarisa's composure wavered. "The healers said it was close. You lost so much blood, and there was—" She broke off, swallowing hard. "I was afraid you wouldn't wake up."
Lara reached for her, fingers brushing Sarisa's wrist—awkward, shaky, but determined. "I've survived worse. You know me. Stubborn as a mule."
Sarisa laced her fingers with Lara's. "I do know. But I wish you wouldn't always have to prove it."
There was something in Sarisa's eyes—anger, worry, something that might have been love, but Lara was too tired, too raw, to name it.
She turned her head to the window again, trying to piece together time. "What day is it?"
"Morning. You've been out since the healers brought you back from the council chamber. Aliyah's birthday banquet is in two days. She's been asking for you."
A stab of guilt. Lara's voice was barely more than a rasp. "Sorry I missed… everything."
Sarisa squeezed her hand. "You didn't miss anything that matters. Aliyah wants you there for her birthday. That's all she talks about. That and showing you her latest 'dragon-proof' cape."
Lara managed a weak chuckle. "I'll try to stay awake for the unveiling."
They sat in quiet, the kind only possible between people who have nothing to hide and everything left to say.
At last, Sarisa stood, stretching the tension from her limbs, and poured a cup of water from the pitcher at the bedside. She brought it to Lara, steadying her as she drank.
"You should rest," Sarisa said, smoothing the sheets with practiced hands. "Elysia will be by soon to check on you. Malvoria, too, but she'll pretend it's to scold you."
Lara's eyelids fluttered. She wasn't sure if it was the healing magic, the exhaustion, or the nearness of Sarisa that made her so heavy, but she let herself relax, trusting that for once, it was all right to be vulnerable.
As she drifted, she heard Sarisa's voice—gentle, near her ear. "Don't you dare scare us like that again, Lara. I don't think I could bear it."
A promise, a plea. Lara wanted to answer, to say that she would always come back, but her mind was already floating, half-dreaming, full of dragons and honey cakes and a woman with moonlight in her hair who would not let go.
---
The next time she woke, it was dusk. The room was dim, the air sweet with garden roses.
Someone had left a stack of books by her bedside, along with a little painted figurine—Aliyah's work, surely, a tiny dragon with a yellow blaze down its back.
Lara's body still ached, but the pain was softer now—a dull, distant drumbeat instead of the white-hot agony of before.
She shifted, listening to the quiet sounds of the palace: laughter far away, the muffled tread of servants, the clink of plates from the kitchen. She let herself breathe, slow and careful, grateful to be present for it all.
The door creaked, and Sarisa slipped in, a lamp in one hand and a soft smile on her lips. She looked less exhausted, her hair freshly braided, her eyes alert but gentle.
"You're awake again."
Lara nodded, voice scratchy. "Getting there. I smell food. Is that real, or am I dreaming?"
Sarisa set the lamp down, checking the bandages on Lara's arm with careful, practiced fingers.
"It's real. Aliyah wanted to bring you soup, but she spilled it on the stairs. Kaelith tried to 'help' clean up, which somehow involved more soup on the walls. Malvoria said it was a fitting tribute."
Lara snorted. "Sounds like chaos."
"A happy chaos," Sarisa agreed. "They're both desperate to see you. The healers say tomorrow, if you're strong enough."
Lara's throat tightened. "I'll be strong. I have to be."
Sarisa's hands lingered on Lara's wrist, soft and cool. She looked down at their joined hands, a furrow between her brows. "Lara—"
Lara squeezed her fingers. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."
They sat like that for a while, letting the quiet fill the spaces pain had carved in them.
Lara did not know what words would come next, or if there even needed to be any. It was enough, for now, to be alive. To be seen.