56. Convalescence
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
CONVALESCENCE
Saya Claymore
I find it challenging to sleep when my mind wants to torment itself with a thousand words that make no sense. Like a knotted string, I am finding a thread to pull loose, a sentence apart from the others.
The flame has burned out, and I take a moment to adjust to the static darkness.
Avianna is to the right of me, facing the wall.
Then, across from me and the furthest away, is Olivia.
She sleeps like the dead. With her arms by her sides, lying flat on her back, she’s looking up at the ceiling with her eyes closed, I believe.
It’s hard to tell from all the way over here in the dark.
As I let go of Serun’s shoulders, I observe him. Cloaked in darkness, his shadows a comforting blanket, he sleeps upright, with me on his lap. His arms cage me, made of stone. I take hold of his hands wrapped around my waist, unshackle them with enough force, and slide off his lap.
On my feet, I grab the bag nearby and make my way to Olivia.
She has her eyes closed, which is promising.
Strangely, I can picture her in a coffin.
Serun slept that way when I woke in his coffin, but that was the only time he slept like that.
When he is with me, his arms cage me, keeping my flesh on his.
The zipper on the bag makes my body cringe at the loud noise in the silence. Part of me doesn’t know why, considering it’s daylight and, unless threatened, they can’t wake up. I’m the only nightwalker who can stay awake during the day—an oddity.
I take out my spare clothes, bottled water, and the ointments Serun packed. I grab the stitching on my shirt and tear it in two. I soak one piece in water and lather the other with ointment until it’s like a second layer of skin.
While Olivia sleeps, I wash her face. My heart sinks.
Why wouldn’t it? Her wounds crust over, and age plagues her face from all the blood she has lost. Flakes of it moisten, slipping down her cheek as I wash around the deep gash the echo gave her.
Burns sharpen across her flared red cheeks and down her jaw, fluttering like butterfly wings on her neck.
My light is powerful against nightwalkers. And now that I think about it, Serun fled during our training session too.
After I clean around her wounds, I take the torn shirt, lathered with ointment, and wrap it across the side of her face, covering the wounds and her bruised, closed eye. I’m not even sure it will help. They’re dead. Their skin likely doesn’t regenerate like a human’s.
Still, trying doesn’t hurt.
Once I’m done, I pack up the water and ointment, raise my hands towards Olivia’s body, and close my eyes.
Darkness wraps around me as I sink, falling beneath rock and minerals until I stand in the moonflower valley.
This time, instead of moonflowers or the fire that engulfed the village, I am surrounded by vervain.
They bloom in their powdery purple, their petals folding together, and they emit a refreshingly sweet scent.
Pulling magik to me, I open my eyes once I reach it. The whispered voice grips my shoulders and breathes in my ear, saying, “Pir avacen.”
With a deep breath, I hold the light and whisper, “Sur bonur.” The tiny scratches and the blood soaking into the fabric seem to stop. My trembling fingers glide down her face, ensuring every sparkle of light sprinkles down like powder in a snowstorm.
After the light fades, I lean back on my legs, lower my hands to my thighs, and sigh. That should do. Anything more, and I might have a difficult time holding my glamour around slayers.
I make my way to Serun, sit back in his lap, and lean against him. With my entire body relaxing and the knots of worry and tension about Olivia lifting a little, I close my eyes to get some semblance of sleep.
Coldness touches my thighs, enough to make my shoulders jerk, and my ears prick and flick back. Serun’s arms lift, settling back around my waist.
“You awake?” I whisper.
Nothing. No response, or a feeling as my mind tries to pull me under into sleep. In a matter of seconds, the weight of tonight suffocates all the voices, and I succumb.