55. Aemon
55
I startle awake, disoriented, my heart racing like a trapped bird. It’s icy cold, but the air is clean and fresh and free of smoke. Just a nightmare, then. I run a hand over my chest, expecting a gaping wound, but instead I’m greeted with smooth, clean skin.
I was shot. I’m certain of it, mostly certain, at least. No. That couldn’t have been a dream; it felt too real, hurt too much. I was dying.
An image of Katya crouched over me, her eyes closed, pops into my mind. She healed me. Did she heal me? Fuck, I can’t remember.
“There he is,” someone says, and I blink my eyes open to find Jael leaning over me.
“What—” I start. My mouth is dry as sand. I smack my tongue, trying to get some moisture into my mouth and swallow. “What happened?” I attempt to sit up, but fuck, my chest feels like somebody dropped a house on it .
“It’s the aftereffects of the magic.” She pushes an arm under my shoulder and helps me sit up. “She had to basically rebuild your chest, so it’s going to take a few days for your body to fully adjust.”
She? “You mean Katya?”
“Yes. She did an excellent job, all things considered.”
I glance around the room, leaning over to see around Jael. The sun is just starting to peek over the horizon, illuminating the tiny space enough to make out the flowery wallpaper and plain furnishings that decorate all the bedrooms at the clinic. “I’m back in Verneth. How did I get here?”
“A makeshift stretcher, a stolen horse, and a ridiculously stubborn girl. She dragged you the whole way.”
I scrub a hand down my face and scratch my chin. This beard is getting ridiculous. “Where is she?”
Jael’s sunny disposition instantly sobers, and she begins picking at her nails, an excuse so she doesn’t have to meet my eyes. “She’s leaving.”
“Leaving? Where? Now?” I start to stand up, but Jael pushes me back down. Gods, I must be weak if this scrap of a woman can overpower me.
“She doesn’t want to see you,” Jael says. Katya must not have told her why or she wouldn’t be giving me that pitying look.
Of course Katya didn’t tell her. Of course she would take the high road and make me feel like an even bigger asshole. “That’s too bad,” I say, pushing to my feet. This time, Jael doesn’t try to stop me. It feels like I have a fucking anchor hanging around my neck, but I somehow manage to stand—mostly straight. “Take me to her.”
“Aemon, I told you—”
“Look, you can either take me to her, or I can walk through your entire clinic screaming her name until she shows. Your choice.”
She purses her lips and gives me a glare that is in no way intimidating. “Fine, but if your legs give out and you fall, I’m leaving you there.”
“I’d expect nothing less,” I say, then gesture toward the door. “Ladies first.”
Jael points me toward the stable, and I find Katya there, saddling a black and brown mare. I don’t know how I know it’s her. I can’t see her face, and she’s wearing a white robe with the hood pulled over her head, covering that silky black hair I know so well. But still, I know. I can feel her.
“So, you were going to leave without saying goodbye,” I say, my attempt at levity falling seriously short of the mark.
Katya stiffens and pauses tightening the cinch for only a moment, then resumes her work. “That was the idea,” she says, her voice flat. Straightening, she checks the tightness of the straps, then crosses to where her saddlebags are sitting on a stack of hay, snatches them up and goes back to the horse.
She still hasn’t looked at me.
“Katya, I—”
She whirls around. “What do you want, Aemon?” She’s covered from head to toe in white. She’s still wearing the white medical trousers and tunic Jael gave her, and a robe she got from I don’t know where, but the oddest part is the strip of cloth hanging just below her chin. The only spots of color, besides her eyes, are a pair of dark brown leather gloves and a tiny vial of what I’m assuming is blood, hanging around her neck. She crosses her arms and gives me a glare.
“Why are you dressed like that?”
She sighs and drops her arms. “That’s not what you came here to ask me.”
“No, but I’m asking you now.”
“Sunlight drains my magic. This,” she says, opening her arms in presentation, “covering my skin, slows it down.”
“Is that why you were able to heal me, because you stayed out of the light?”
“Something like that.” She turns back to her horse and begins tying down the saddlebags. “I’m leaving as soon as I’m finished here, so if you have something you want to say, you better do it quick.”
“Where are you going?”
“None of your business. Next.”
Fuck. She’s not going to make this easy. “You know I never meant for that to happen, right?”
“I know.” She walks around the horse, hand running along its backside, then starts on the other tie.
“But you still can’t forgive me.”
“It’s not a matter of forgiveness. I just…” She closes her eyes and takes a breath. “I gave you my trust, and you lied and manipulated me. And maybe Duje wasn’t your fault, but you still probably got Leodin killed. He was a bastard, but he was Max’s father, and he didn’t deserve that.”
Should I tell her how I spoke out of anger? Would it make a difference if she knew the truth, that Leodin was the mark all along, and that’s why he was roomed right below the queen? Or would it just sound like a bullshit excuse?
She stops what she’s doing and rests her hand on the horses flank. “Just, answer one thing for me?” she asks, eyes on the ground.
“Anything.”
“Did you do it for the king or yourself?”
“Both,” I answer truthfully. “Troi wanted her out so he could take the throne, and I wanted her dead.”
“For killing your family?”
“Yes.”
She nods and goes back to tending the horse.
I realize I’m bouncing on my toes like a scared kid. I still my feet and stuff my hands in my pockets. “Can I ask you a question?”
“You want to know why I saved you?”
“Yes.”
She gives the tie a final tug and looks at me. “You saved my life and I saved yours. Now we’re even.”
“But…” I stop short. I have no idea what to say. She doesn’t want to hear me tell her I love her again. She doesn’t want me down on my knees and begging—though I’d do it in an instant if thought it would help. She just wants me gone. The least I can do is respect that. “I’ll miss you,” I say, voice cracking like a prepubescent boy.
She simply nods, then fits her foot into the stirrup, pushes up and throws her leg over the mare. Circling the horse around so we’re face-to-face, she says, “Goodbye, Aemon.” Then she pulls the strip of cloth over her nose and mouth, leaving only her eyes visible, maneuvers the animal back around and trots out of the barn. I follow her out and watch as she rides off beneath the dawning sky, a shining white beacon in a sea of purple and pink and gold.
A new day, a new her; the same old Aemon.
I rub tired eyes, then turn back to the clinic. Guess I’d better pack up my things too.
I’ve got a king to kill.