Aya surfaced from sleep in shallow pieces, awareness drifting in and out like a tide she could not command. The room smelled faintly of herbs, and firewood burned low in the hearth. Pale light filtered through the tall windows, catching on stone and silver alike.
Her head throbbed as if something inside her skull pressed outward, patient and unmoving.
She shifted - and she felt a sudden onset of pain.
Right then, she felt a hand steadying her shoulder at once.
"Easy," Killan said quietly.
Aya blinked, focusing on him where he sat beside the bed, still dressed in dark riding leathers, cloak discarded over a chair. He looked as though he had not slept at all, with dark circles under his eyes and a heavy expression on his face.
"How long was I out?" she asked.
"Long enough," he replied. "Shorter than I'd like."
She frowned. "I need to get up."
"No," Killan said with a tone of finality.
