31. Salve
T he sound of glass exploding against the inside of Kael’s chamber doors made Aisling flinch. Raif remained stoic, stone-faced; he was accustomed to such outbursts by now. Werryn slipped out into the hall, cracking open one door just long enough for Aisling to hear Kael bellowing at him from deep inside the darkened room. Werryn’s irritated expression deadened when he saw Aisling.
“What in His name is she doing here?” He recoiled as though she were a feral animal they’d brought in from the forest. Aisling’s temper flared, but she remained silent. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of reacting. Lyre stepped forward then, ushering Werryn away despite his sputtering protests .
“I don’t like this, Ash,” Rodney muttered. Briar didn’t, either. He’d balked at the top of the spiral stairs, then several times as the group wound their way down through the labyrinth of passageways to Kael’s chambers. She had to bribe him with so many treats the bag was now nearly empty.
Aisling waved him off. “Does he know I’m here?” She knew the answer, but she asked anyway. She was stalling for time. Trying to build up the nerve to breach those heavy doors and face the Unseelie King. She’d been sure, so sure, that she’d never see him again. And if she did, she thought it would likely be from the sharp end of his sword. Still a possibility, she reminded herself.
“No.” Raif gestured then to a young female who had been waiting there in the corridor. Dressed in a plain shift of soft gray, her youthful face was framed by golden ringlets. She looked too innocent, too pure to be buried underground here. Her smile was kind as she produced a small glass jar and held it out to Aisling.
“The salve,” she explained.
“Elasha is an apothecarist,” Raif said. “She developed the formulation after the second onset of Kael’s affliction. That was the worst instance of it, but this is not far off.”
Aisling stood before the arched doors and took several seconds to quietly brace herself against what she imagined waited on the other side. Holding her breath, she pushed one open just wide enough to slip through, then closed it softly behind her back.
Kael’s chamber was almost pitch-dark, lit only by a single glowing candle on the dresser. The air was heavy and stale and smelled sickly sweet from days’ worth of food left to sour untouched on the table. Aisling stayed pressed against the door, surveying the mess and allowing her eyes a moment to adjust. When a dish shattered against the wood just inches above her left shoulder, she nearly turned and fled, but her feet kept her rooted to the spot. Her heart wouldn’t let her run this time.
“I told you to get out!” Kael shouted from where he stood facing away, hunched, supporting his weight against the mantle of a cold fireplace.
“It’s me,” she said cautiously. “It’s Aisling.”
His entire body stiffened when she said her name.
“Leave,” he said, voice low. Though this time he spoke barely above a whisper, his gravelly tone was threatening. Aisling’s pulse was loud as thunder in her ears as she took step after cautious step towards him.
“Raif brought me back.” Broken glass crunched beneath her feet, louder than both of their voices.
“Get out,” Kael growled again. “Now.”
Slowly, slowly, she made her way across the room until she was standing behind him. He kept his back to her, hand still gripping the mantle. His silver-white hair hung limp and tangled, its usual iridescence dull. His shoulders were rounded as he struggled to remain standing and they trembled slightly beneath his tunic, though from exhaustion, pain, or anger, she couldn’t tell. The pair remained this way for several minutes, the silence only stirred by his ragged, uneven breaths.
Ever carefully, Aisling raised a hand up and placed it on Kael’s shoulder. The muscles there tightened, but he didn’t pull away. Rather, it felt like he almost— almost —leaned into her touch.
“Will you look at me?” Aisling whispered. He stayed still and quiet. She waited a beat longer, then tried again: “Kael. Let me see you.”
The sound of his own name crossing her lips so softly drew a violent shiver through his body. Finally, with his eyes shut tight as though to shield himself from the sight of her, Kael turned.
The left side of his face was ravaged, down to the tendons in some places and to the bone in others. The skin around his hairline was singed black, and down his neck snaked angry red scars. She reached up without thinking, almost in a trance, and touched his face. Her fingertips played delicately over the peaks and plains of his wounds, stuck in some torturous limbo between fresh, healing, and scarred. He sagged against the mantle for support, her touch at once both comforting and agonizing. A low hiss slid through his gritted teeth.
“This was not meant for your eyes,” he rasped.
“I’ve seen worse.” Aisling fought to sound sincere despite the lump growing in her throat. His ruined skin was hot under her hand when he tipped his head so his cheek rested against her palm. “Will you let me help you?”
He opened his eyes slowly to look down at her standing before him. He studied her, searching her face. Memorizing it. Then he nodded. When she pulled her hand away, both found themselves missing that contact with the other .
Aisling guided Kael to his bed and he sat down heavily on its edge. Moving quickly, she lit several more candles off of the one on the dresser and set them up on his bedside table. Again, in the light now, she regarded him with as neutral an expression as she could manage.
“You came back,” Kael murmured. He said it so quietly Aisling wasn’t sure she was meant to hear it at all. She thought he’d say something more: to damn her for it or to order her away again. But he didn’t. He just stared ahead with a hollow gaze.
“I came back,” she said, then moved forward until their knees were close to touching. From inside of her sweatshirt pocket, Aisling withdrew the jar.
Kael recognized it instantly as Elasha’s salve and shrank back. He looked afraid now: afraid of the pain, afraid of her touch. Afraid to let her see the full extent of his weakness that showed so starkly on his skin. She could sense his fear, and her expression softened. Aisling set the jar beside the candles and instead knelt before the king.
“It’s alright,” she soothed. “They told me it would help, but if you don’t want it, I won’t force you.” She waited, watching him patiently. Kael avoided meeting her eye. When she rested a hand on his knee, he nodded.
Gingerly, groaning, he stripped his tunic off over his head. Aisling’s breath caught in her throat. This time, she was unable to stifle her reaction as she took in the twisted, winding scars that disfigured the left side of his body from hairline to hip. The sight brought tears to her eyes that she blinked back harshly. She tried to hide it by putting her full concentration on unscrewing the lid of the jar.
An earthy, herbal scent wafted up from the salve. It had a pale blue cast and shimmered purple in the candlelight. When Aisling scooped out a handful, it was cold to the touch. She stood and looked at Kael, searching his skin apprehensively for a place to start. The damage wrapped around his waist and crawled over his shoulder on down his back, where it lightened significantly.
“I’ll start on your back, alright?” He made no move to acknowledge her, instead staring ahead at a fixed point on the wall.
Aisling slid onto the bed to sit behind him. His closeness, something she thought she’d never feel again, radiated a warmth that eased her pounding, aching heart. She let it, just for a moment, before she pushed that feeling aside and refocused herself.
The scarring on his back was only skin-deep. Here, the salve, and her hands spreading it, were nearly comforting. Kael closed his eyes and relaxed beneath her gentle ministrations.
“Not too bad?” Aisling asked as she rubbed the medicine into the redness there. She couldn’t be sure in the dark, but it appeared to already be fading.
“Not too bad,” Kael responded.
“Good.” She worked the salve slowly over his back, giving him time to settle into a breathing pattern and allowing both of their nerves to calm.
They both knew she was spending longer there than she had to, but she needed it as much as he did. There was a pit in her stomach when she imagined the pain he’d have to endure once she moved to the front of his body. And worse still, when she thought that she’d be the one inflicting it .
“You know I have to do the rest,” Aisling warned, bracing them both. Her hands continued to rub gentle circles across his back and shoulders. The corded muscles that banded down either side of his spine flexed and tightened as he breathed.
“I do,” Kael said.
“Are you ready for that now?”
“Yes.” Though his voice was still soft, he was resolute.
Aisling stood up off the bed and circled back to stand in front of him. “Would you rather be sitting like this or do you want to lie down?”
One minute passed. Then another. Finally, as if only just processing her question, Kael eased himself back onto the bed to lean against the stack of pillows. He stared straight up at the billowing canopy above, a dark brocade that draped elegantly, if heavily, over the bed and down each of the four posts.
Aisling sat beside him on the edge of the mattress and carefully smoothed the first handful of salve onto the scars that began at his hip, spreading it slowly upwards over the rippling contours of his stomach. With each sweep of her hand, with each shared breath, her compassion for him deepened. She pushed away the memory of the last time she’d seen him like this—the last time she’d touched him like this. A creeping blush mimicked the heat from his skin on her fingers as it spread up her neck and across her cheeks.
She began working it higher then, towards his chest. The scars there were more pronounced, a deeper shade of red and warm enough to melt the salve away almost instantly. Kael shifted uncomfortably, tensing beneath her touch, pain etched obviously into his features. The scarring that mottled his chest was nearly as bad as that on his face and neck. Aisling halted her progress. She was nervous.
“I’ll be gentle,” she promised. She wasn’t sure who she was trying to reassure, herself or the formidable Unseelie King who was now lying vulnerable beside her.
“Just do it,” he hissed through gritted teeth. Aisling twisted her hair out of the way and tucked it into the neck of her sweatshirt before she leaned over him, holding herself up with her free hand on the outside of his opposite shoulder. His eyes were squeezed shut; she was thankful that he couldn’t see the apprehension in her own.
She could feel the heat radiating off of his chest before her fingers even met his skin and half-expected the salve to sizzle on contact. A low growl emanated from deep in Kael’s throat, and Aisling flinched when he pulled away sharply. Knowing that she was only adding to his pain made her unexpectedly nauseous. She had to remind herself, over and over again, that it would make things better.
“Be still,” she murmured. Working as quickly as she could with one hand, she massaged the salve into his wounds.
As her fingers moved deftly across his collarbone and up his neck, Kael’s eyes flew open and he sucked in a sharp gasp. Those silver eyes had all the wildness of a trapped animal, caught between the desire to escape the pain and the knowledge that it had to be faced. His right hand shot up to grip Aisling’s wrist beside his shoulder. His long, slender fingers encircled it completely and he squeezed until his knuckles blanched white. With his left hand, he found the material of her sweatshirt beside his hip and clenched it tightly in his fist. Aisling paused to let him readjust around her. The pressure on her wrist was enough to make her wince, but she wouldn’t dare ask him to loosen his grip.
“We’re nearly there, catch your breath.” She held in place for several seconds, offering him a moment of respite and waiting for his unspoken signal that he was ready for her to continue. She took a deep breath, too, and concentrated on stilling her trembling hand.
Kael turned his head to the side to give her better access to his injuries and to hide his face as it twisted in agony. He was losing what little control he had left; a tremor wracked his body as a guttural sob escaped his lips.
“Breathe,” she urged again softly. She pressed on, ensuring the salve was spread across every divot, every exposed muscle fiber, every raw edge. Kael could no longer stop himself from crying out, and his breaths came in short, ragged bursts as sweat beaded on his forehead. Aisling spoke to him quietly as she worked, her words a steady stream of encouragement and calm.
Finally, she set the jar aside. She wiped the last of the salve off on the leg of her pants and laid her palm gently on the uninjured side of Kael’s heaving chest. She willed her pounding heart to slow and swallowed back the bile that had crept insistently up the back of her throat. He kept his face turned away, still gripping onto her with both hands.
“Settle down,” Aisling said. “Let yourself relax. You’re alright.” Minute by minute, Kael’s breathing deepened and his grip loosened. His body gradually sank into the mattress and the waves of feverish heat that had been rolling off his body eased.
She guessed that by now, surely by now, Kael would have gathered his thoughts and regained his composure enough to challenge her return to the Undercastle. To banish her once more, or to order her locked back in the dungeon. And because hearing him say it a second time may have even hurt worse than the first, Aisling decided it would be best for them both if she left before he could try.
“Rest now,” she whispered as she rose from the bed, voice already thick with the tears she knew would fall the moment she exited his chamber. But his grip on her wrist, which had only just begun to ease, tightened again suddenly.
“Do not leave,” Kael demanded urgently, almost pleading. He turned his head to look at her, unmasked desperation coloring his eyes.
Stunned by the stark difference between his request and what she’d imagined he would say instead, Aisling stilled. His panic tugged at her heart more than she was prepared for.
“Okay,” she whispered. She reached down and pushed a few damp strands of hair out of his face. “I’ll stay.”
Still, he didn’t release his grip. He let his eyes fall closed, and Aisling thought that for the very first time since she’d seen him speaking from the dais on Nocturne, his face clearly showed the weight of the lifetimes he had lived—longer than she could fathom.
Once he’d calmed enough to let her slip from his grasp, Aisling pulled a chair around from his desk and sat as close to his bedside as she could manage. He still trembled, and his breathing, though slower, was harsh and labored. She reached out to him once more. When he felt her hand come to rest on his arm, he took it in his own and held it tightly against the scars that carved canyons over his heart.