Chapter 51
Chapter Fifty-One
Malakai
“For the love of the fucking Angels,” Mila hissed, diving to check Vale’s pulse.
Cyph groaned—the only sound he was able to make to ask if she was okay. He tried to push himself up, but I pressed a hand to his good shoulder to keep him down.
Mila pulled Vale clear of the fading fog, lying her where we could both see the shallow rise and fall of her chest. The herbal scents still clung to the Starsearcher’s silk dress and skin, rich even from here.
She’d figured it out—whatever it was. An answer to surviving this battle, hopefully. I chewed the inside of my cheek nervously as Mila assessed her, needing that knowledge from Vale.
“She’s fine,” Mila finally declared. “She probably just overdid it with those tinctures. She should wake soon.”
Cyph sighed, his bloodstained body relaxing.
Mila stood, turning her crystal blue eyes to meet mine, reading the panic written across my face as I held my bleeding friend in my arms.
Distantly, I was aware of the battle still raging and the possibility that we could be found here again.
Of how many others were dying. But right now, all I could do was look at the wound darkening Cyph’s skin and clothes, his blood on my hands.
It was so much, too much. Hysteria rose in my chest, clouding my mind. I had to do something—
Then, quick, small hands were there. Clearing away the scraps of his clothing, Mila ripped the already-torn hem of her own dress into pieces.
“Look at me,” Mila instructed, her voice much softer than the assured movements of her fingers. I tore my eyes away from Cyph to meet hers. We both breathed heavily, watching each other, and I tried to match her determination. “You can’t freeze now, do you hear me? He needs you.”
The last sentence rocked through me. It had been so long since I thought someone needed me in any way, yet here was this clear-eyed warrior claiming so.
I nodded fervently. “What can I do?”
“For starters, we need to get that spear out so it can start to heal. That will take both of us.” She spoke slowly.
I absorbed every word as she surveyed the weapon, careful not to prod it.
“It doesn’t look poisoned like some of their weapons were, so once we remove it, the mountains should begin to work, but we’ll want to stop the bleeding as quickly as possible, rather than waiting for only the magic.
Once the spear is removed, I need you to search the cabinets for anything that may help us. ”
The ground shuddered with a distant blast. Cyph groaned, and I flinched, but Mila remained steady.
“Got it.”
She guided my hands to where she needed them to support removing the spear, her fingers sure and warm. She had me brace Cyph’s body, holding both him and the weapon as still as possible. Fucking Spirits, his dead weight was heavy to maneuver.
“This is going to hurt,” she told him, not sugar-coating a single second of it. Cyph would have appreciated her straightforward attitude if he had the energy to tell her so.
Then, with precise, steady movements, she used a dagger to saw through the shaft of the weapon. Sweat coated Cyph’s body, cutting paths in the blood across his shoulders and chest. He passed out but kept breathing. The knife dragged through wood, splintering the spear.
Finally, it snapped.
Mila cleared away the splinters as much as possible.
“Here we go,” she murmured. In one motion, she drew the weapon free and threw it aside. Then, she took my place supporting him, and pressed the strips of her dress to the wound.
“Go,” she spat, not even looking at me, focused on her patient.
I dug through cabinets and drawers, finding mostly candle stubs and matches.
Tinctures and herbs. Stacks of old notebooks and—there.
My fingers locked around a small box. Flipping it open, I found thread, needles, and a number of other tools that were clearly once used for repairing the robes of the temple acolytes.
It wasn’t Bodymelder quality, but it would do. It had to.
Flying back up the aisle, I skidded to a stop next to Mila and dumped the supplies on the floor. “I don’t know how long it’s been there. If it’s clean.”
“They’ll be able to get rid of any infection later. What matters now is stopping the blood.”
My stomach sank at the implication. With our quick healing and proximity to our source of magic, the only true way for a warrior to die in Damenal was through loss of blood.
Major injuries—slitting the throat, loss of limb, blade to the heart—those usually sufficed.
Decapitation was quickest. If a warrior bled out before their wounds could heal…
“It’s not—I don’t know how—” I looked between the thread and Cyph’s bloodied flesh. Mila had cleared away the worst of it, and now mangled skin and muscle stared up at me.
For what seemed the hundredth time, uselessness drained the fight from me.
“I do.” Without looking at me, she threaded the needle. Her hands didn’t even shake as she pushed it through Cypherion’s skin, the stitches ragged but efficient.
At some point, my breathing evened out. As I watched Mila tie off the thread and the bleeding stopped, I sank to my knees.
Tears stung my eyes, but I barely dared to blink as I watched Cyph.
He was so still, but he was alive. His eyes fluttered beneath their lids, and his chest rose with shallow breaths.
Finally, once I was sure he was no longer dying, I lifted my head. “How did you know how to do that?”
“You learn a lot on a battlefield,” Mila said dully. She sat back, wiping her hands on scraps of fabric. “It’s the only way to keep yourself going. You have to distract yourself, or you’ll be lost.”
“It’s easy to lose yourself,” I said.
Mila’s eyes were piercing when she looked at me and whispered, “You have to retain a belief in your cause, in yourself. Without that, you’re nothing.”
The sentiment settled in my chest like a weight.
Not for the first time, I considered what her life was like during the war.
Out there with Lyria, fighting the battles my father had caused.
Watching warriors die—comrades she knew and those she may not have had a chance to meet.
Likely taking an abundance of life herself if the skill I’d seen from her so far was any indication.
How many wounds had she delivered? How many had she stitched?
Had she saved lives as well as taken them?
Had she scrambled desperately to cling to those she was about to lose, to buy them one more moment, one more breath?
Did her hands shake then or had she always been as steady as she was now?
Maybe that part came with time, or maybe her confidence and ability were natural-born talents.
I wanted to ask her; I wanted to know what it was like. I wanted to ask how she’d received each scar—the ones I’d seen on her legs, and the ones I was sure she hid. But a part of me knew this wasn’t the time.
Clearing my throat of the lump that had formed, I said, “Thank you.”
I meant it for so much more than saving Cyph’s life. Based on the smile she gave me, she understood.
“Anytime,” she sighed.
It was a bit of an unfair reprieve from the battle, hiding in that temple as we waited for Cyph to gain strength. I’d considered asking Mila to watch over him and going back out to join the fight, but I couldn’t bring myself to abandon my friend.
Finally, Vale stirred. I’d almost forgotten about her—the traitor she’d become in my eyes.
But the second she was seated upright, she looked directly at me. “I figured it out.”
“You know how we’ll defeat Kakias?”
Her lips pulled into a tight line. Whatever she saw of the queen, it couldn’t have been good. “I know a lot more than that.”