Nyssa awoke in a very soft bed, with her arm wrapped tightly against her chest and a large bandage lump on her left shoulder. She couldn’t remember anything right away and lay dazed and staring at the beautiful room she was in. It was lit with many soft glowing wicking lanterns, all covered in crystal globes of dizzying designs and hung or placed all over the room. The walls were rough lumber but expertly carved and chinked together.

There was a large bay window at the end of the room, a couch and chaise lounge underneath it and another one opposite her on the other side of her bed. Opposite the door, a large and well burning fireplace, with a lovely writing desk and bookshelf. Both windows were open to the soft breeze and the air gently flapped the light linen drapes which hung at their sides. It must have been early evening. The light outside was hued and fading.

Nyssa could feel her left arm was immobilized. She tried to move it. It ached in the spot it was bound and she felt the shooting pain from her shoulder instantly. She winced and her ordeal came flooding back to her. She sat up and called out, a bit frightened.

In seconds, a smallish girl who looked to be no more than fifteen came into the room and crossed to her bedside. She curtsied.

“Greetings, Queen Nyssa. My mistress will be with you shortly. In the meantime, how can I be of assistance?” she said and quietly waited for an answer.

Nyssa could feel her pain was getting worse the more awake she became. Her arm was truly burning her and she began to panic.

“What has happened? Where are my men, my companions, my guardsman?” she rushed to say and curled in on herself in agony, the sweat beading on her face. She was breathing hard now. The young girl looked worried and bowed again.

“I shall fetch for you my mistress, the healer,” she said and didn’t wait for an answer. She floated across the room and vanished behind the door.

“Father forgive me,” Nyssa whimpered.

She had failed her companions. If they were dead, it was her fault. She should not have run away from them but stayed and fought. Moro, damn him, what happened to him? she wondered. Strong for his age but ready for a battle? She didn’t think so and she slammed her right hand down on the bed in frustration. Tears were streaming down her face, mixing with sweat and she was angry about losing, angry about the pain. What kind of an Orak runs from a fight? Certainly not a queen!

The door to her room opened and an older woman entered. Her hair was white as snow and tied loosely in plaits around the crown and down the sides. She was elegantly dressed in long robes of ice blue and a long belt of silver hung from her slim hips. She had her hands together, hidden in the oversized cuffs of her sleeves. When she was close to Nyssa’s bed, she halted and waited with respect.

“Please,” Nyssa said quietly, trying to hold back her tears. “Tell me what’s happened to my companions?”

The woman smiled and Nyssa thought she could see sympathy in her eyes.

“Peace, Majesty. All but one of thy companions is safe. Your guards are yet here and your advisor too. The driver of your wagon, however, has succumbed to his injuries. Though he delivered your belongings and did bravely to protect you, as was his charge, he died only yesterday, from the extent of his wounds,” she said and lowered her head at the news of Stan’s demise.

Nyssa stared at her. Dead? She said nothing and looked away.

“May I?” the healer asked, now hovering over her and reaching for the bandages. Nyssa nodded and closed her eyes. She wanted to be alone but understood nothing of her situation, so she felt compliance would be more diplomatic.

She felt the healer gently removing the top linen that was holding the gauze down on her wound. She hadn’t seen it herself and wondered what the extent of it was, what was causing the excruciating pain. She opened her eyes to watch, catching a glimpse of the angry red, black, purple and green bruising around the edge. Her entire shoulder and half of her chest were covered as such. What she couldn’t see was the entry wound at her back. The soft centre between the shoulder and her ribs was an obliterated mess of angry red flesh, with a gaping crater in the middle. She gasped when the healer rolled her gently to see to it, fixing them on the linen canopy over where she lay.

The healer replaced some of the gauze and rewrapped the wound after applying a salve that carried a heavy, herbal and tangy musk. After a minute, the pain began to dull, but it did not disappear. It was dull enough to think, though, and that was a huge relief.

“The salve will aid in subduing the discomfort,” she said softly. “Though it might not look it, it is healing well. And quickly,” she added and bowed. Without a further word, she left the room.

Nyssa felt lightheaded and nauseous. The smell of the slave was soothing, but it was strong. She wanted to get up, at least sit up, but with only one hand, she felt too weak. She concentrated on breathing in hopes of not throwing up on herself. She drifted off.

When she opened her eyes again, the sun was streaming through the bay window, leaving dancing shadows on the floor where the leaves, caught in the rays, were fluttering in the wind outside. Nyssa was watching them, mesmerized. The room was warm but not stuffy. The air was so clean . She breathed it in and felt better.

“My Queen?” A tentative voice came from the door. She looked up and saw Moro peaking around the edge. His face was drawn and he looked tired.

“Moro,” she smiled. “You’re all right, then?”

Moro opened the door and entered the rest of the way. He was dressed in his long pants and robes, relaxed fitting and warm. He came up the bed beside her and sat down on the large armchair that was beside the end table.

“And you, my Queen?” he asked gently. She could see his concern.

“I am…mending,” she said and tried to smile. “The Healer said I am mending well and quickly,” she added, trying to sound reassuring.

Moro brightened at that, sitting back in the chair and folding his hands in his lap more comfortably.

“Well, now. That is excellent news, my dear, excellent news,” he said. They were silent for a while. Nyssa still felt a little slow-moving, a little out of sorts.

“Stan?” she said quietly. Moro’s eyes fell a little and a frown creased his mouth at the corners.

“He has fallen, my Queen,” he replied. “We tried to save him, but they swarmed the wagon. The Bough saved him, initially, but he was already mortally wounded. I am so sorry.”

Moro bowed his head with respect to her. Nyssa felt the tears well and let them fall. She hadn’t known Stan long, but he was one of hers. A defender and a friend.

“Where is Jara?” she asked him.

“He has taken a hunting party to find the leader, my Queen.” Nyssa considered that and liked the idea.

“What do we know of the attackers?” she said, changing the subject to change her mood.

Moro lifted his head and hesitated. He looked her over, as if he was concerned to over-tire her. She glanced at him, one eyebrow questioning and he nodded.

“Nothing much, unfortunately, My Queen. The Bough chased after them, but they scattered. When they caught them up, the enemies attacked and fought them to their death. Several took their own lives,” he said and seemed quite surprised himself.

“Were any Bough hurt?” she asked softly. He shook his head.

“The leader?” She asked pointedly now.

“He escaped, my Queen,” Moro said apologetically. “After he shot you, Chen and Dorn tried to ride him down, but he ran and jumped off the bluff at the southern edge of the valley and into the rapids. It’s likely he’s dead, but Jara hasn’t given up. When he caught up to you here and secured us, he made his next plans. He’s taken a hunting party to scour the river’s edge and has been gone ever since. Dorn and Chen remain and guard you in turn, my Queen. They were injured themselves but not severely. They are here: following Jara’s orders to protect you, though the Bough have you well protected themselves. Not a natural force of nature could affect you here. You are well and safe,” he added reassuringly.

It occurred to Nyssa she knew nothing after being shot. She remembered the burn of the bolt hitting her shoulder and falling forward on Roan. She blacked out after that.

“How long have we been here, Moro?” she asked. Moro rubbed his hands together.

“Four days, Majesty,” he replied simply. She widened her eyes in surprise. She’d been unconscious for four days?

“Of course, the king and queen are anxious to meet you, but they are insistent on that event occurring at your discretion,” he said a little more happily.

“Four days,” she said again, more to herself. She must look like pig in a pen and probably smelled like one also. She said as much to Moro, who brightened at the idea of positive improvement.

“I can call for your handmaiden, oh, yes. The Bough have assigned you one. She will prepare a bath of some sort and perhaps arrange your bed to be more…receiving,” he was saying, but she waved him down.

“A bath would be lovely and some assistance to the privy. We’ll start there,” she said and patted his knee. “Come see me when I am resettled and we’ll talk about meeting our royal hosts.”

Moro nodded and immediately left to fetch her maid.

Her maid, Magdara was her name, was the fifteen-year-old girl who had helped her the first time. Nyssa was happy she remembered her. Painfully shy but highly capable, she assisted Nyssa in removing her rumpled bedclothes and partaking in a very refreshing sponge bath. Nyssa’s legs were wobbly but aching and she took her time walking about the room, one hand on Magdara’s shoulder until they felt strong again. Dressed in fresh clothes and with newly washed hair, Nyssa was repositioned upright in the bed with masses of pillows behind her. She was very comfortable indeed until Magdara insisted on wrapping her arm up again. She protested at this, but Magdara only shook her head and kept wrapping. The healer had been in when she was fully undressed for her bath and replaced all her bandages this time. She had hummed and nodded and repeated her pleasure with her healing progress.

“The arm in free movement pulls on the wound,” Magdara said and she kept up with the wrapping.

It was full evening and Nyssa was quite hungry. She asked Magdara if she could eat and if Moro could join her. Her petite maid curtsied and shimmied out of the room, taking an enormous armload of linen with her. Minutes later, Moro returned. He smiled from ear to ear to see her refreshed; in fact, there was a tear in one corner.

“Better!” he exclaimed and moved smoothly to her bedside. He knelt by her side and kissed her hand. “Handsome and healthy as it should be.” Patting her hand, he got back up and resumed his place in the chair.

“I must confess to you, my Queen,” he said and his face fell again. This time she was alarmed to see a trace of fear in his expression.

“Moro, what is it?” she asked quickly. He looked at her, but it seemed he didn’t want to.

“I…I have not yet written your brother, my regent, to warn him or advise him of the recent events, least of all your near-death experience,” he said and she thought he would hit himself. “I just didn’t know what to say! I didn’t want to alarm him and I did not have a prognosis of your recovery to tell him until only yesterday. Jara has not returned, so I had nothing to tell him of our attackers, I...my Queen, I beg your forgiveness for my weakness at this extreme time. I just didn’t know what to say!”

Moro sat quietly for a moment, rubbing his hands.

“Moro,” she said gently, “I am not angry with you. In fact, I am glad that you have not advised the regent,” she said. “Patrick would have sent the army, all of it probably, and that would have seriously confused our mission here. Don’t you think?” she asked him.

He agreed.

“We don’t have anything close to enough facts to do anything right now. You did well,” she added and patted his hand. He smiled weakly at her and began to rise.

“If I had died, however, I would expect you to send word, posthaste,” she added and he halted in mid-sit. “But I did not die and I will re-assume the duties of communication with my brother, as usual.” Moro nodded weakly.

“Now then, you tell me I have been out of sorts for four days and that Jara has left to hunt down this assassin and his men,” she said, starting from the top. Moro cleared his throat and nodded. “Chen and Dorn are recovered and in full fighting shape,” she added and Moro added a side-to-side head bob. “What?” she asked him.

“Yes, Chen and Dorn are recovered. Minor sword wounds, I’m told and all patched up, but aside from guarding your door, the Bough take security detail now. Should an enemy enter here, it is to their leadership we would need to look,” he said and swallowed. Nyssa considered his words. She had to agree. It was how she would expect a house guest to act.

“Of course,” she added to Moro’s relief.

“Is it late now,” she asked, eyeing the window that had grown dark. The door opened again and a young man with a large, covered tray came in. He set it on the long table near the window, bowed and left. Moro rose immediately and uncovered the tray. He began building a plate and answered her as he brought it back.

“It is near dinner-time but not quite evening,” Moro replied and handed her the plate. It was piled with steaming bread and warm spiced beans. Her mouth watered as she took it and nearly forgot he was there after her first bite.

“I think we can reduce the formality of the visit, due to the circumstances, but we should try to receive the royal hosts as soon as possible,” Moro continued, now returning with a plate for himself.

She nodded to him, her mouth too full to reply. She drank the drink he offered her and set it down.

“Is tonight too soon?” she asked, and he halted in mid-bite to stare at her.

“Are you up to it, my Queen?” he asked surprised. Nyssa shrugged her good shoulder.

“If Magdara can make me presentable. Maybe I can hide under one of my robes and she can do up my hair so I can wear my crown. I think so,” she replied and shoved another bite into her mouth. Moro chewed while he considered it and swallowed.

“Alright then, after we finish, I’ll send for the maid and you and I can prepare for the formalities,” he said. She agreed and smiled.

Magdara was a wonder with hair and did a beautiful plaiting job that pulled all but one long and hefty braid up around her head. Her small crown nestled neatly in the braids and Nyssa had chosen one of her more ornate robes to wear over top of her bed clothes. She couldn’t put her injured arm through one side, but Magdara pinned it discreetly and it was no longer an issue. Nyssa wanted to sit on her chaise to receive them, or at least stand when they came in, but Moro explained, this wouldn’t be the formal greeting between kingdoms. Simply, an introduction of people. The king and queen of Bough were concerned after her and the bigger, formal ceremony in the throne room could wait.

Nyssa, therefore, was repositioned upon her mountainous bed and tried her best to look regal and not still in constant pain. When the door opened, Moro was standing beside her but out of the way so as not to block their view and he bowed low.

The king and queen of Bough were regal, ethereal and beautiful. Both of them, light skinned and fair-haired, both of them with an air of ancient wisdom and calming confidence. King Baro, whom Nyssa had met only briefly at her coronation, had deep and very dark blue eyes, which were a startling contrast to his fair skin and hair. His lips were full and he was tall but not bulky, with broad shoulders and long fingers. He smiled gently when their eyes met. Wordlessly, he swung behind him and took the hand of his wife to move her to stand in front of him. Much shorter, Queen Keerie was the example of beauty and grace. Her eyes were as light as Baro’s were dark and her features were fine and perfect. Nyssa felt her throat tighten slightly. She expected grace from the Bough, but the pair before her was humbling perfection. She was starting to doubt her decision to meet them only half prepared.

King Baro bowed his head deeply and Queen Keerie curtsied a short, respectable dip.

“Your Majesty, Queen Nyssa. We are so very pleased that you are recovering. We have been so dreadfully worried for you,” Queen Keerie began and rose up to stand straight again. Nyssa saw genuine concern on her face. She didn’t realize that she had held her hand out to her, until the queen moved to take it.

“Your Majesties, I am in your debt,” she began.

King Baro moved closer to the bed also. “This attack is felt by both our people. You are a daughter of Bough anywhere you go in the world; we will aid you in finding who is behind it,” he added firmly. She smiled at him and back to Keerie, who was still holding her hand.

“You are feeling better though, Sister?” Keerie interjected. She was worried and Nyssa was grateful she was there. She nodded.

“I am grateful to your very competent healer,” Nyssa began, “though I am afraid I have not yet learned her name.”

“Naya,” Keerie smiled at her. “Naya is my niece. She is a healer and a guardian of my family. She is honoured to assist you,” she said.

“Naya,” Nyssa repeated, “it is I who am honoured.”

Nyssa requested they all sit in the chairs she had asked to be provided and they did so, making her feel a little more comfortable. As Moro said it would be, it was only lightly formal and the conversation circled around next steps and expectations. Nyssa was informed that an official welcoming of her to the Bough Wood was what would usually take place, but the royal couple was concerned because it was a ceremony meant to welcome an innocent, or juvenile, and not a fully accredited queen. Keerie especially was worried about the potential insult to Nyssa if she was asked to partake in it while not wearing her crown and without the Bough using any of her titles. Nyssa looked to Moro for insight, but he was unsure himself. To him, she was his overlord and queen. The decision would have to be hers to have the authority that her Orak witnesses should follow her decision.

Nyssa made the decision easily. In all the time it took to travel there, before the violence, she had been contemplating her approach to her duty here. She had referred to the treaty and it was very clear;

Any offspring of the ruling royal Orak’Thune, between the ages of twelve and eighteen, are to be welcomed by the Bough and indoctrinated into its culture for a time of no less than one year. During this time, the Bough pledge that the child will learn of the ancient ways of his ancestors, the need for understanding of nature and the earth that sustains him and how the Bough and Orak shall continue their existence through shared understanding and brotherhood.

Nyssa knew she had come very close to violating the treaty by not agreeing to come until she was already nearly eighteen, but Baro and Keerie were very fond of her father and mother; they had accepted her delay after his death without hesitation. But that was then and this was now. She didn’t doubt the Bough would not treat her as a child, but she was in their world now and essentially, she felt it as if it were a need to put away her crown, just this once, if she were really going to participate and learn anything.

As a sign of her agreement, Nyssa reached up and removed her crown. Keerie was wide-eyed and Baro still as an oak.

“I am here to learn and to hear the Bough and all that they have to teach me. I accept, not as queen, but as Nyssa, daughter of Kara who was a daughter of Bough herself and Madras, a king who honoured his brothers.”

Keerie stood and curtsied deeply with subdued joy and Baro nodded proudly.

“Welcome, Nyssa,” Baro said and leaned forward to grasp both her hands.