Lightbringer

Chapter 26 Lyra

Lyra

Reaching for the wraps covering my hands, I tug the bandages free until they unravel into my lap.

The wounds look as if they were inflicted weeks, even months ago. Circular and shiny, stretched and raised above the healthy skin that surrounds them. Resisting the urge to scratch at the itching around the edges, I unfurl my palms, holding them out for Eres to inspect.

The healer’s quarters smell like minted leaf and boiled linen.

Clean in the way a blade is clean, sterilized by heat and necessity rather than comfort, but I find the scent strangely comforting anyway.

Eres sits on a stool pulled close to the edge of the cot, his knees almost touching mine.

The sleeves of his usual worn shirt are rolled up to his forearms, revealing skin marked by old burns and thin scars.

His riftlines trail through them, finding their own path.

His hair is damp at the temples, as if he’s already been working for hours.

He holds my hands like they’re something delicate.

The worst of the damage is healed. But the memory of the stakes burying into my hands lives in the twitching of my fingers every time Eres touches the center of my palm.

He runs his thumb across the scarring, careful not to press too hard.

“You’re healing well,” he murmurs. His eyes flick up to mine.

“You shouldn’t be up, Lyra. You need rest.”

I keep my eyes down. “I’m fine.”

Every time I breathe, it feels as if my lungs fill with water.

It was worse alone in the bedroom. I’d been surprised to wake alone at all.

I had pulled myself together and left, awkwardly attempting to find my way to the healer’s quarters and bumping into an exasperated Eres, already on his way back to sit with me until I woke. And now I’m here.

I swallow. My throat is dry despite the warmth. “Well,” I echo. “What does that mean for my casting?”

“It means the tissue isn’t knotted.” His fingers keep traveling over my skin. “You should regain full flexibility. Feeling. The scars might ache in cold weather, but—”

“That doesn’t matter,” I cut in, because the only part that matters to me is the part I’m afraid to ask about. “Will I be able to cast?”

“Have you tried?” I nod. When the silence stretches out, I bite down on the inside of my cheek. I don’t know why I feel so agitated this morning. Why I need this so desperately. But even I can admit that it might be partly because of last night.

“Your palms,” he continues, voice gentler, “are healing. And the nerve endings—” he gives the lightest press, and I feel it, sharp as a pinprick “—are responding. ”

My inhale is shaky. “So… yes?”

“I think you’ll be able to cast luminth again,” he says thoughtfully. “You might even be able to cast now. It's difficult to say with the nightdusk venom still in your veins from the quills.”

Relief threatens to overwhelm me. I swallow back the burning in my throat, push it down. “Thank you.”

That’s all I needed.

Eres is watching me, a frown building between his eyes. “If I were to give you the antidote— just a small dose, to test your luminth…” He hesitates. “You can't use it against anyone here.”

My heartbeat begins to thud. “There's an antidote?”

And then I understand. My heart beats faster still. “You mean Valcor. And… Nythen.”

Even his name on my lips makes me feel like I’m drowning all over again. He nods. “If things were normal… but they’re not, Lyra. We need them.”

I shrug. “Valcor tried to stop it, at least. Nythen… if he doesn’t come near me, I won’t use it.”

Eres’s full lips lift. “If that happens, I hope you will use it. But he's still in the cell, so I wouldn't worry about seeing him just yet.”

He shifts on the stool and reaches behind him to the lowest shelf, glass vials and jars lined up in some form of organised chaos. His fingers hover over several, then choose one small vial sealed with wax. The liquid inside is clear, but it shimmers faintly as he holds it up.

My pulse quickens. “That’s it?”

“It is,” he says ruefully. “Don’t tell anyone I showed you where it is, either.”

He cracks the wax seal with his thumb. “Open.”

When I part my lips, Eres tips the vial, letting a few drops fall onto my tongue. It tastes a little like licking a blade. Warmth spreads down my throat and into my chest, continuing down my arms.

Eres watches my face like he’s examining me for illness. “Any dizziness?”

“No.” I flex my fingers, startled by how much they feel. The scars pull slightly, but I can feel my luminth there, present in a way it hasn't been since the Veilspire. “It’s… it’s like my hands woke up.”

He nods, satisfied. “Good. Give it a minute. Then you can try.”

Try.

“What if it doesn’t work?” I flex them again, pushing down my own impatience.

Eres’s gaze lifts to mine. “Then we’ll try again.”

I wait for a few, impatient minutes until he gives me a nod. Glad the room is empty of patients, I lift my hands slowly and turn my palms upward. “It’s usually close to immediate.”

For a moment, nothing happens. Panic claws at my throat.

Then—

A faint glow blooms in my right palm, and my breath catches. It flickers into a small, glowing light, only the faintest ache accompanying it.

Eres grins at the look on my face. “I’d like to bottle that expression.”

“Of course you would,” I mutter, still concentrating. “Healer.”

But I’m smiling. I push it a little more, calling up the daggers. They slide into my palms, and I wrap my hands around them, feeling the familiar warmth. “I’ve missed these.”

“Not too much.” But Eres is watching my palm, fascination in his eyes. “It’s not so different from erevas, really.”

Light and dark. I close my palms regretfully, letting them slip away and leaving a pleasant tingle behind.

A shaky laugh escapes me. And then I swallow, wiping at my eyes with the heel of my hand. “Thank you.”

His gaze holds mine. “Please don’t kill anyone.”

“I won’t,” I study my hands. “I can’t anyway. The Binding.”

Eres sighs. “I doubt very much that Erevan would see killing Nythen as a betrayal of me, but let’s not test it.”

I bite my cheek again to hide my grin. “There’s some violence inside you, Eres.”

He arches his brow. “You only just noticed?”

He keeps me occupied with stocking supplies and useless, interesting pieces of knowledge until lunchtime. Grateful for the distraction, I sit down opposite him at his workbench, taking the vegetable stew he hands me. “Thank you for distracting me.”

His hand brushes my cheek. “I’m not sure who’s the biggest distraction.”

I’m close to smiling when the door slams open hard enough to rattle the shelves. Cold air sweeps into the room, carrying the scent of rust with it.

“Elspeth?” Eres is on his feet instantly, stool scraping back as I follow, pushing myself upright.

Sera’s partner is tall and broad-shouldered, her leathers torn at the elbows. Her hair is braided tightly into rows, but loose strands cling to her petite, russet-brown face, traced with narrow riftlines that spread out over her damp cheeks. “Eres.” She’s shaking. “She needs—she needs help.”

Her voice breaks. The bite of my meal turns to ash in my mouth.

In her arms she carries a body, cradling it gently. “Please.”

Sera.

Her head lolls, dark hair plastered to her forehead. Blood saturates the front of her leather uniform in a spreading stain, so dark it’s almost black.

Eres’s face goes white. “No,” he breathes, and it’s the first time I’ve ever heard him sound like that. “Put her here, quickly. What happened?”

Elspeth’s jaw clenches as his hands move over her. “Lightbringers were waiting for us,” she says, voice clipped with effort. “We almost didn’t get out. Sera stayed back longer than she should have to hold the line.”

Her hands trace over Sera’s forehead, but they’re shaking. Her breathing is shallow, barely there. Eres grips the torn leather at her midsection and peels it back.

My stomach turns. The blade wound is brutal and deep, driven low through her abdomen and up, the track of it angled in a way that makes my blood run cold.

Elspeth’s voice cracks. “It went through. Hit the spine.”

Eres’s hands freeze for half a heartbeat. Then he presses two fingers against Sera’s throat. “Pulse is weak.”

He shifts to her neck, runs his fingers along the delicate bones.

“It severed,” he says, and his voice sounds distant, disbelieving. “It… severed the spinal column.”

The room goes too still as heavy, running footsteps thunder in the corridor and another figure barrels through the door.

Valcor.

His eyes lock onto the cot, onto Sera’s limp form, and something like a moan tears from him.

“Sera,” he whispers. He crosses the room in three strides and drops to his knees beside the cot, hands hovering over his daughter. Valcor’s gaze snaps up, blazing. “Fix her.”

Eres flinches. “I’m assessing—”

“You are a healer,” Valcor snarls, the words shaking. “This time, you’ll fix her.”

Eres’s words are so soft that my chest aches. “Her spine has been severed, Galus.”

Valcor’s hands curl into fists. “No. No.”

Eres turns his head. I see the gleam in his eyes, the wetness there. “I’ll do what I can.”

But there’s no hope in his voice, and Valcor knows it. His head sinks into his hands. Elspeth backs away, slowly, until her back hits the wall. She slides down, her eyes staring.

Kaelen strides in. Darian follows behind him, and he looks… wrong. Pale. Eyes too bright. His gaze locks on Sera, and his face empties.

For a heartbeat, none of them speak. Darian crosses the room so fast he almost trips. He drops to his knees on the other side of the cot, mirroring Valcor without meaning to. His hand finds Sera’s forearm, fingers wrapping around it. His voice catches. “She’s not—”

Eres’s throat works. “Alive,” he says. “For now.”

Kaelen’s gaze cuts to Eres. “Can you save her?”

Eres doesn’t answer immediately. He looks at Sera’s wound again, then at her face. Her wound again, indecision warring in his eyes. And then he glances at me. The look is so fast no one else notices.

My brows knot. “What is it?”

Valcor’s eyes snap to me. “Get that thing out of here.”

But his voice cracks again.

“Kae,” Eres says sharply, “close the door. No more cold air.”

He obeys without question, shutting the door and leaning against it like a guard. Our eyes meet, and he sweeps his tight gaze over me with careful assessment before returning his attention to Eres. Who turns toward me. “Lyra.”

The room seems to tilt, and my pulse pounds in my ears. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Eres’s eyes are wide, bright with something that looks like fear and hope braided together. “Lightbringers,” he says carefully. “There are stories that your healers can use luminth to create structure. To rebuild.”

Kaelen’s head snaps toward him. “That’s a myth.”

Eres shakes his head once. “Maybe. But you’ve never seen Lightbringer healing, Kaelen. None of us have. And—”

He looks at Sera once more. Swallows. It’s enough.

She won’t survive.

Valcor’s gaze hardens, swinging to me. But he doesn’t order my removal, this time. “And you think the witch can do it?”

I feel every eye in the room on me now. Swallowing, I wipe my damp hands against my leathers.

“I’ve never healed anyone,” I say, voice low. “I’ve never been trained. Lightbringers keep healing as tightly guarded as warcraft.”

And though I spent a significant amount of time in their care, I was rarely conscious.

I can only remember even seeing healing a handful of times.

Eres steps closer to me, just enough that his body blocks some of Valcor’s glare.

“But you have luminth,” he says, meeting my eyes.

“It’s worth a try, Lyra. Nobody will blame you if it doesn’t work. ”

My eyes shift to Sera. And if it did—

Valcor rises abruptly. “No.”

The word is a command, the same tone he used last night in my cell when I was drowning and broken, Nythen demanding answers I couldn’t give.

“You'll not touch her,” he snarls at me. “You will not use Sera as some Lightbringer trick.”

Kaelen’s jaw tightens. “Valcor.”

“She’s a prisoner,” Valcor continues, his voice shaking. “A witch. And you'd hand her my daughter’s spine like an offering?”

Elspeth gets to her feet. Her dark brown eyes assess me quietly. “Her spine is gone. She’s dying. We don’t have time for this.”

Valcor whirls on her. “And if I let her—”

“If we let Lyra try,” Darian cuts in, voice ragged, “Sera might live.”

Eres lifts a hand. “That’s enough. We don’t have time. Elspeth is right. As her healer, we’re trying this. Right now, Sera is bleeding internally and her spinal cord is severed. We have minutes before her heart gives up.”

Silence. Sera’s breath rasps wetly.

Valcor’s chest heaves. His eyes flick down to his daughter, and something in his face collapses. He looks… old.

He swallows hard. “If she dies,” he says hoarsely, eyes locking on me, “it will be on you, witch.”

“If she dies,” Elspeth snaps, “it will be on all of us, for wasting time.”

Valcor flinches as if struck. But Eres turns to me, stepping closer. His voice drops. “Lyra,” he murmurs, “If it doesn’t work, then we’ve lost nothing. But if there’s even a chance…”

My heart pounds so hard it hurts. I look at Sera.

Her face is slack, lashes dark against pale skin. There’s a faint crease between her brows, as if she’s fighting even in unconsciousness.

She's not my blood. But she’s theirs. “I’ll try."

Valcor’s eyes burn. “You try, and you fail, and—”

“And she dies anyway,” I cut him off. “So let me try.”