Darvinin groaned as he forced himself to sit up. He was in an unfamiliar bed -- alone -- and there was sun coming in through the windows, bright enough to sear his eyes and worsen his headache. His eyes and throat were dry, his lungs scratchy, and his head pounding, but after the last few months he was used to that.
The room's single door cracked open, and Mistra leaned in. "You're awake?"
"Back from the dead, more like."
"Best get your money back from the cleric," Mistra advised. "You don't look raised, just reanimated. And poorly at that."
Darvinin squeezed his eyes shut.
"I'll get you something to drink," said Mistra, and disappeared again.
Darvinin just sat there, trying to catch up with what had happened. Thoughts that hadn't been anywhere in evidence last night were coming to him now. Shanna isn't supposed to be here, alone or with friends. Mistra's supposed to be guarding the king. And they've all obviously come looking for me, so of course they found me like this. I've been like this since it happened, maybe before. Maybe since Janbridge. Maybe since Tiatha was killed. He considered that. Maybe still.
Mistra returned with a pewter mug, and Darvinin drank it without bothering to taste it first. It was mostly water, lightly flavored with juice from some sort of citrus fruit. He drank the whole thing in three quick gulps, then set the cup aside.
"Better?" asked Mistra.
"Better." His voice sounded better, anyway. "What... What prompted all this?"
Mistra shook her head. "Later for that. I need you at least halfway back to yourself, first." She rose from the edge of the bed, and Darvinin forced himself to his feet as well.
I fear that's about the best you're going to get, he thought, as he followed her out into the common room.