Chapter 18 Anastasius
Claeg collapsed forward, his eyes rolling back. I caught him just before his head crashed against the stone. His body was dead weight in my arms, but I clutched him to my chest like my prized possession. The sight of his neglected body made me want to slay my father where he landed before me, a smug look on his face. As if sensing my rage, Rohit appeared at my side, placing a hand on my shoulder to brace me. Father couldn't be Challenged. Not yet. Not before he finished teaching me the ways of magic. Specifically, the spells to heal. He promised he would after the Choosing, when I had earned it.
I tensed, keeping my chin high in preparation for his outrage at Claeg having succeeded in his trial. I knew my father wouldn't be pleased with how it had been achieved, but it was his loss for not specifying how to ascend the mesa, and he knew it. Still, I didn't have the strength in me to gloat. Not when Claeg was vulnerable in my arms. The need to take him away, to protect him, was stronger than my wrath. For now.
Father growled low before addressing the draconis that had gathered for the remarks on the trial’s results. I drowned him out, all my attention on all the wounds on Claeg’s body. His hands . . . they were beyond raw. I could see bone peaking out from the shredded muscle. The smell of rot assaulted my nose. The infection had worsened, likely setting into his blood. I bristled with rage, my heart slamming against my ears, begging me to release my rage on my father. But I needed him. Now more than ever. Without his touch of healing magic, Claeg may succumb to the wounds.
“Stas . . .” Rohit murmured to me, and I blinked. I was snarling. Luckily, Father had left and the others were paying me little regard in favor of congratulating Janus and Oriana. I looked at my friend; his eyes were filled with sympathy.
“We will take him to my chambers,” I said, pulling on the magic he had restored to me with the necklace. I murmured the words for the spell, and within a moment the three of us were transported there. We brought him over to the bed, laying him down gently on his stomach to reveal his neck. I sucked in a breath. The wound oozed thick, yellow drainage.
Rohit stripped Claeg of his clothes, tossing the flimsy material to the side. With the full extent of Claeg’s injuries on display, my heart cried. I jumped into action, hurrying over to my shelf of potions and instinctively grabbing the one for clotting and blood loss—a metallic-smelling salve. As I smeared it on the wounds, I took in his appearance. The rejected Circulus man was paler than normal, sweat beading on his forehead. His lips were cracked, and blood stained the hair around his nape. The smell coming from him was familiar—one I had experienced before, when my father refused to use the magic to heal me. The scent was acrid, so potent it left a bitter taste in my mouth.
“The infection is bad,” Rohit murmured. “He needs your father’s magic, Stas.” Ro placed a hand on my forearm as I rubbed the salve into what was left of Claeg’s palms.
I nodded, frustration building between my shoulder blades, a ghost of pain. I took a step away from the bed, letting Rohit take over. “By all the gods, I hate him for this,” I hissed. “He knows he has me under his control. I can’t fight him, Ro, and I can’t protect those that mean the most to me. First Ercan—” My body trembled at the thought of my mentor, my friend. I should tell him about his son. I cringed, pacing the room. He has the right to know his son is here and dying. I walked to the door, praying that it wasn’t too late.
“Go. I will take care of your Selected. No harm will come to him,” Rohit replied with a wave of his hand, where he wore a ring that matched the one on my necklace. It contained magic, too, although not much. Not that it would help us much now, not without the key to healing which Hen had entrusted to my father before he betrayed her. Father kept a tight lock on who was given magic and the knowledge on how to access it. Ercan wasn't considered important enough, but I’ve taught him everything I’ve learned. He knew full well how to use magic but didn’t dare reveal that fact in front of anyone outside our small circle.
I nodded my thanks before testing the door, unsurprised to find Calian guarding it. I glared, daring him to stop me from seeking help for Claeg. He bared his teeth but didn’t stand in my way when I pushed past him. My heart pounded with every step as I darted through the hallways leading to the infirmary. Thyia could convince my father to help.
Luckily, most of the draconis were still celebrating the Selected who had succeeded in completing the first trial on the plateau. Although I doubted anyone celebrated Claeg. The thought irked me, but I brushed it away for now. Once he was my Chosen and Odon was no longer De Vita, things would change around here: when I was De Vita, the clan would listen to me. Hopefully. Right now, I was just the crown prince, the heir whose curse was considered a blessing.
When I reached the infirmary, my heart jolted. Father spoke from within in a heated tone. I grimaced, not having expected to meet him so soon, but didn’t turn around. I had to convince him to help. Securing healing for Claeg was worth the confrontation bound to come anyway. Better it be sooner, and establish what little authority I could, than later. I pushed open the door, the smell of the sickly familiar to my nose.
“My son!” Odon boomed the moment I entered. I swallowed the thick lump in my throat and met his eyes.
“Father.” I noted that he stood with Thyia. They were huddled in the corner behind the healer’s desk, which was covered in varying sizes of potion bottles and tonics. Behind them there were shelves with more ingredients not unlike the ones I so frequently used upon myself back in my room, the area just less cluttered. I quickly scanned the room, finding no new patients, but I didn’t breathe easily until I locked eyes with Ercan. He was up, walking among the others, handing out cups of water and fresh blankets. He gave me a bright smile, lighting up like the dawn. Gone was the death that had hovered around him, replaced by strength. But I couldn’t show my relief without revealing it to my father, so I just nodded. He seemed to comprehend my intention and went back to his task as if we hadn’t just exchanged an entire conversation with one look. I’m okay, he said. I’ve been looking after them for you.
“Come join us. I was just discussing a theory of mine with Thyia.” Father waved me over, his eyes suspiciously excited. I cautiously walked over, each step pounding in time with my heart. “Anastasius, my boy.” He ushered me closer, clamping a strong arm around my shoulders. And just like that, I was completely under his control. Small. “Have you noticed anything unusual about your Selected?” He gripped me tightly, hissing in my ear. I forced myself to not tremble at the implied threat.
I swallowed my request, anxiety pulling at my gut. Pushing down the fear, I urged my heart to remain calm. He hummed.
“No, Father,” I murmured, bowing my head slightly in submission despite the hatred that flared within me in doing so. I could practically hear Ercan’s protests. Father turned, dismissing me with his back, but I couldn’t let that be the end of things. Claeg still needed his healing magic. By the gods, I hated being reliant on him, and he knew it. “Father, Eleos is in need of healing magic. I fear he will not survive without it,” I stressed.
He pursed his lips, frowning, before murmuring to Thyia, the words quiet but still intelligible. “Continue seeing to it that he lives; I won’t waste magic on the Circulus traitor.” My heart sank. Telling Thyia this wouldn’t help him anymore than telling me to fuck off. Anything Thyia could do, I had already done and would continue to do. I bit my lip, barely containing a growl.
“Father, please. He is my Selected; do you not care for his well-being?”
“It is no fault of mine that you choose someone so weak. You are lucky I don’t Save him now. Instead, I will humor you until he fails, but not a moment longer. Mark my words: Eleos,” he spat, “will be Saved along with your pet.” He jerked his head over to where Ercan crouched next to Theo who was playing in the corner with his blanket.
My heart squeezed, my fists balling at my sides in barely-contained rage. I nodded and left, feeling Ercan’s eyes on me the entire way. It wasn’t a surprise when he caught up to me in the hallway not far from the infirmary. I kept walking, not in the mood to stop and chat even though I had told myself I would tell him about Claeg. The will to do that wavered after speaking with my father. Besides, I knew everything he was going to say. I needed to push my father more, stand up to him—embody De Vita. He wouldn’t even care for the threat to his wings; he just wanted me to stand up for myself.
“Prince Anastasius,” Ercan said firmly, gripping my forearm when I reached my room. I turned to him and folded my arms over my chest, giving him a glower that he didn’t deserve. “Do you need my help?” His question caught me off-guard, and I startled, my brows rising to my hairline. My eyes darted to my room, my heart suddenly jumping with fear at the thought of Ercan learning of his son’s presence. He deserves to know, my logical mind screamed. When I didn’t respond immediately, Ercan's brows furrowed, and he pushed past me. “What is going on?”
“Wait, Ercan!” I protested weakly, but he was already striding into my room. I rushed in after him, desperate to pull him away from the pain I knew he would find, but his eyes were already on his unconscious son. His body went unnaturally still, the only movement being a twitch in his fingers.
“Claeg…” I grasped Ercan’s shoulder. “My son.” His voice faltered as he took a few steps before his knees gave out next to the bed. Rohit gave me a querying look, and I shrugged, sighing. It was too late now. This was bound to happen; it was just unfortunate it had to be this way. “My poor boy.” Ercan took one of Claeg’s wrists, careful to not touch his palms. My friend’s shoulders caved, and a sob wracked through his body. None of the anger I had expected was evident now, perhaps overshadowed by shock. He pressed a tender kiss to Claeg’s fingers. “What happened?” Ercan didn’t bother turning to face me with the question. Still, I grimaced.
“His Circles were broken,” I offered quietly, my heart clenching with pain for my friend.
“I can see that!” Ercan snapped. I wanted to shrivel up and die at that moment. Ercan withdrew from Claeg and stood, turning to face me.
“He hasn’t spoken much about . . . how it happened,” I confessed. To be honest, I hadn’t thought about asking how his Circles were broken. It had never mattered to me. Ercan marched up to me so that his eyes were level with mine. I refused to look into them, though, and hated myself for being a coward. A blind coward. “I found him with Enid.” The admission came out softly, but it still hit my friend like a blow. He flinched as if struck, and his body began to shake. I looked up at him.
“Did he . . .?” Ercan began.
“It was peaceful. Beautiful, really,” I assured him. Ercan sucked in a sharp breath and nodded. His face had gone blank. I knew what he was thinking, though. Claeg had taken his mate from him and now his friend, and I had knowingly appointed him as my Selected. And by my father’s threats, Claeg would be the reason Ercan’s wings were finally taken.
“I need to go,” Ercan whispered, pushing past me.
“Wait, Ercan!” I gripped his forearm, and he stiffened at my touch but didn’t pull away. “I’m sorry,” I murmured.
“Why? Because you weren't there for Enid? Because you Selected my son and didn’t tell me? Or because you got caught?” His voice was level but tired.
“Because I hurt you,” I answered. For a moment there was silence, and then he nodded.
“Do you need my help, Prince Anastasius?” he asked. My eyes dropped to where his ring finger should have been, and I conjured magic with a twist of my fingers to summon a new ring. When I held it out to him, he flinched but took the crystal and pocketed it. Finally, I shook my head. There was nothing more to be done for Claeg. “Then I shall take my leave,” he said, and when he pulled from my grasp, I let him go.
Claeg slept fitfully beside me. It seemed his night terrors didn't recede even with the magic I used to keep him asleep. He often panted or tossed and turned in his slumber. I glanced at him. His forehead was slick with sweat again, his body flushed with blood. My hand warmed despite his shivering.
After placing a towel beneath his head, I began moping a cloth over his brow, allowing the moisture to soak into his hair. Slowly, I released his locks from its weaves. His hair was so long and soft. Despite his sickness, the faint scent of citrus still clung to him. I ran my hand through the waves, admiring the way the silver captured and released the light. Claeg was… beautiful.
Once the hair was fully unbraided, I scrubbed some cleansing lavender into his scalp. I was careful to avoid mixing the soap into the wound on his neck, and after a few minutes of soaking, I rinsed the product out with room temperature water. When his hair was mostly dry, I began weaving it into braids like mine. Over and over I twisted his hair, feeling his forehead every so often. The fever raged in full force, his body burning through energy from the constant shivering.
I wiped sweat from my brow again and again, ignoring the signs that my body needed rest. Rest could wait.
After completing the last section of hair, I summoned some mashed food into Claeg’s stomach with a twist of magic. Just simple foods—bananas, rice, and eggs. My stomach grumbled at the thought of food, but there wasn’t time. I needed to clean Claeg’s wounds and body and change his clothes and bedding. Soon, it would be time for his bladder and bowels to be emptied again. To spare his dignity, I had been using magic to summon the waste out prior to his body expelling it naturally then disposing it into the ether.
“You care for him,” Thyia observed from the doorframe. My head whipped up to see my mentor carrying fresh dressings, tonics, salves, and sheets. I nodded and accepted the offerings. “Do you need my help?” I shook my head. She sighed. “Let me know if you need anything.” Then she returned to her patients.
And I continued to care for Claeg throughout the blur of days and nights.
I sat beside the bed, resting my head in my hands for a moment. My stomach grumbled without the long-forgotten ache. The sensation was unique, the reminder of my body’s hunger without the accompanying desire to eat. When was the last time I had eaten? I wasn’t sure. While Claeg lay suffering, food wasn’t appealing.
A week went by, and Claeg slowly improved. Rohit had been called away on patrols, so it had been my duty to watch over Claeg. Ercan avoided me.
I kept Claeg asleep throughout the grueling process of regenerating his palms and healing his body. Every day I reapplied the salves and used a little magic to feed and wash his body. It was an intimate process, teaching me each of his subtle flaws along with his plentiful perfections. I had memorized the paths of each wound and could picture how they would look once scarred. They told a story of tragedy. Perhaps one day Claeg would see it as his path toward growth. At least, I hoped.
A knock at the door had me jerking my head up. I half expected it to be Ercan, angry and demanding. But the familiar aura of my other friend washed over me—a small comfort. I murmured something unintelligible, my throat parched. The door burst open, Rohit appearing with a platter of food and drinks in his hands. He glanced up at me, taking in my soiled clothes and matted hair, and uttered something foul. “By the gods, Stas! You look wretched.” He shook his head with disapproval. “You need to take care of yourself, Stas. Have you eaten anything? Bathed? Slept?” I shook my head to each of his prompts, and he sighed loudly. “Damnit, Stas!” He placed the tray of fruits, sourdough breads and strong-smelling cheeses before me. “Here, eat!” He thrust an orange into my face, and I blinked at it before slowly grabbing it from his fist and peeling the fruit. He stared me down with livid eyes until I finished the orange. Immediately, he pushed a slice of jellied toast into my hands. I took it and chewed silently. I found it all bland, the smell unappealing, but I knew Rohit wouldn’t be satisfied until I had eaten my fill.
I sat in silence broken only by my consumption of food, Rohit glaring down at me with his arms crossed. Energy hummed in my veins as my body put to use the first meal since the trial. My stomach gurgled, presumably in a contented manor, but I couldn’t be sure.
“Has Ercan been by?” Rohit asked, and I glumly shook my head with a sigh. He gave me a grim smile. “He’ll come around,” he said dully.
“Any news?” I asked, eager to change the subject. Rohit narrowed his eyes and his lips thinned. “Rohit?” I pressed.
“We returned with more Circulus,” Rohit sighed, and my heart fell. Every time a patrol returned with some of the draconis, it was a tragedy. Every captured draconis was another slave. Another soul weighing upon my conscience.
“How many?” I whispered.
“Seven,” Rohit answered, his voice heavy with regret. He hated that he was a part of their collection, but until I was De Vita, he had orders to follow. If he didn’t . . . I shuddered. Those who disobeyed Odon ended up Saved.
“Fuck.” There were so many.
“Odon is sending me back out on patrol.” Rohit’s shoulders slumped in defeat, and I ached for my friend. He twisted his hair between his fingers.
“When?” I asked between mouthfuls.
“Now,” he answered between his teeth, his frustration clear. Neither of us could protest my father’s orders without raising his suspicions higher. I raised an eyebrow. Him returning only to be sent out again was already unusual, but my father was desperate to find Hen before the magic she left behind ran out or she fell into Circulus' hands. I prayed that she had given up her quest for revenge on her brother and found peace somewhere safe. I doubted it based on her final words to me.
“Promise me you will take care of yourself, too, Stas,” Rohit urged. I mumbled an assent with a half-hearted shrug. He glared at me, seeing right through my poor attempt to appease him. His palm cupped my cheek, and he pressed a kiss to my forehead. “I’ll be back,” he whispered, lips lingering against my skin. My body relaxed into his touch, guilt clawing at my stomach for indulging in the innocent action of my friend. When he left me a moment later, I swallowed the lump in my throat, turning back to my Selected.