Book 17: The Tables Have Turned

Posey

Bright warm morning sunlight dances through the curtains. The frost of the windows melts in real time as I sit up, my back stiff and aching. I fell asleep in the chair by the fireplace by accident, a book on modern apothecary sprawled across my lap, still open to the page Kenna said would have some more up-to-date applications for relieving the aches and pains associated with using my fingers like tools.

Aris is fast asleep in a ray of sunshine, his glass of healing draft spiked water empty and his face, thankfully, looking normal, if not still a little bruised. I rise, my thin nightgown falling down my thighs when my toes touch the floorboards.

Aris’s eyes pop open. He sits up, running his hand over his face, and looks right at me.

“Good morning.” I set the book on the chair. This moment feels slightly odd,