TWENTY-THREE #3
“I couldn’t find you after the battle,” she says quietly now. “Then Garrick came hauling you out of there looking like you were about to collapse, and I . . . ” She exhales shakily. “I didn’t know if you were okay.”
I stare at her, guilt settling heavily in my chest.
I was so consumed by exhaustion, by what I’d done, that I never stopped to think about what she saw. What it must have felt like to watch her best friend lose control of something that powerful. Or what it must have felt like to think I might not survive it.
I swallow hard. “I’m here.”
It feels painfully inadequate, but it’s all I have to give her right now.
“I swear to every god that exists, if you ever do something like that again without warning me first, I will personally make sure you regret it.”
A weak smile tugs at my mouth.
“Noted,” I murmur.
“No, not ‘noted,’” Lyra huffs. “This is a serious complaint. Filed under ‘My Best Friend is a Lunatic with Too Much Magics.’”
“That’s a long filing category,” Garrick cuts in, grinning.
I scan her quickly for injuries she might be trying to hide.
“Are you okay?” I ask, my voice still hoarse. “Are you hurt?”
Lyra snorts, shaking her head. “I’m fine. Just a few cuts and bruises.” She tilts her chin toward Garrick, shooting him a pointed look. “Not that I got to see as much of the battle as I would’ve liked, because Garrick here made sure of that.”
“I’m grateful for that,” I say, casting Garrick a sidelong glance.
My eyes land on a long tear in her dress, the split emerald green satin revealing the ugly gash on her hip. It’s bloody and oozing.
“Ly!” I exclaim, pointing at it. “How did that happen?”
“That happened the one time Lyra stepped out from behind my shield,” Garrick answers, his voice tight.
Lyra has the decency to look remorseful. “I know. I’m sorry!”
“Why haven’t you seen a healer?” I ask.
“Because I was looking for you.” She takes a step closer. “I’m coming with you.”
“No, you’re not,” Garrick and I say in unison.
I fold my arms across my chest. “You’re going to a healer.”
Lyra’s eyes dart between us before she releases a defeated sigh. “Fine.”
The tension immediately eases from Garrick’s expression, and I don’t miss the relief that flashes across his face.
Lyra finally steps back, running a hand through her blood-smeared hair. She looks exhausted, her skin paler than usual, and one side of her dress is stained crimson from the wound on her hip. Yet she’s standing here arguing with us instead of taking care of herself because she was searching for me.
“Get some rest, Amara,” she says, her voice softer now. “I’ll check on you in the morning.”
I nod, but my legs already feel dangerously feeble as the adrenaline drains from my system. Garrick notices.
“Come on, Little Storm,” Garrick murmurs, tugging gently at my arm to steer me away. “I have strict orders from our mighty Warlord to make sure you actually get some sleep.”
I scowl. “I can walk by myself.”
“For gods’ sake, Garrick, carry the idiot,” Lyra snaps.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Before I can protest, Garrick slides an arm beneath my knees and another around my back, lifting me clean off the ground.
“By all the gods, Garrick!” I complain.
Lyra points a finger at me. “No. You will let him carry you. You look like shit, by the way.”
I glare at her.
“Enjoy babysitting her, Garrick,” Lyra says before reaching up to cup his face. She presses a kiss to his lips, then leans over to brush one against my forehead.
“I’m grateful you’re both okay.”
Their eyes lock, and suddenly I feel unbelievably awkward wedged between the two of them.
I wait a moment.
And another.
When neither of them moves, I clear my throat loudly. “Ahem.”
Garrick glances down at me and chuckles. “Okay, off to bed with you.” He looks back at Lyra, his expression softening. “I’ll be with Thane for the rest of the night. But will you please stay in my chambers? I’ll get there when I can.”
Lyra’s smile turns gentler as she nods. “Of course.”
The moment Garrick steps away from Lyra, the air seems to change.
The castle is eerily silent now. The halls stretch around us, dim and hollow, carrying the lingering weight of the battle long after the fighting has ended. With every step, exhaustion drags heavier through me, pulling at my limbs until even holding my head upright feels difficult.
“I’m sorry I can’t walk,” I admit quietly, embarrassment warming my face.
Despite my earlier protests, part of me is relieved he’s carrying me. My nerves are still frayed from the chaos of the night, and I’m no longer certain my legs would hold me if he set me down.
“It’s no trouble,” Garrick replies, glancing back at me.
His voice stays deliberately light, and I can’t help wondering if he’s trying to distract me from how badly I’m fading.
“And Thane asked me to. Besides . . . ” His expression sharpens as he scans the corridor ahead.
“We still don’t know if the castle is fully secure. ”
The memory of the ballroom crashes back into me. Shadows pouring through the hall. Screams echoing beneath shattered chandeliers. Magics roaring beneath my skin hard enough to tear me apart from the inside.
A chill slides down my spine.
The threat is still real.
The farther we move from the ballroom, the quieter the castle becomes. The distant sounds of soldiers clearing wreckage and tending the wounded fade behind us, swallowed by the oppressive stillness stretching through these halls.
Crimson and gold banners hang from the stone walls, stirring faintly in the draft.
Massive columns rise along either side of the corridor, carved with ancient battle scenes frozen in triumph and ruin alike.
The carved faces seem almost alive in the dim light, their stone eyes following our movement down the hall.
I manage a nod, though even that feels exhausting. The battle still churns through my mind, my body struggling beneath the aftermath of everything I unleashed.
Garrick glances down at me, his usual smirk fading.
“Are you really okay?” he asks quietly.
I almost say yes, but the lie dies before it can leave my mouth. Instead, I rest my head against his chest and focus on breathing, waiting for the world to stop tilting beneath me.
“I will be,” I manage at last.
Garrick studies me for another second before nodding once.
“Good,” he says quietly. “We’re almost there. You need sleep more than anything right now.”
At the end of the hall, Thane’s door comes into view, and relief hits me hard enough to weaken my knees. The need for sleep is impossible to ignore now.
“Go ahead. Thane warded it so you can enter without him,” Garrick says as he gently lowers me back onto my feet, keeping an arm firm around my waist. Then his mouth curves into a smirk. “Did it right after I so graciously interrupted you two the other morning.”
Normally, I would have thrown a comment right back at him. Right now, I barely have the energy to roll my eyes.
Turning the handle, I push the door open. Garrick steadies me as we cross the threshold together before guiding me toward the bed.
“Get some sleep, Amara,” he says, stepping back toward the hall.
I hesitate. “Garrick?”
He pauses, turning back. “Yeah?”
I wet my lips, searching for the right words. “Thank you.”
Garrick’s expression softens slightly.
“Yeah, yeah, don’t get all sentimental on me now,” he says, the grin returning. “Just try not to light Thane’s bed on fire in your sleep, alright?”
I groan weakly as I collapse onto the blankets without bothering to remove my ruined dress. Garrick’s laughter muffles behind the heavy door as it swings shut.
After a moment, I manage to kick off my shoes, one after the other; their soft drops to the floor are swallowed by the silence stretching through the room. The quiet presses in around me.
But my mind still churns with flashes of blood, fire, and screaming people.
And the Commander.
White hair.
A pale face surrounded by shadows.