36
When the Healer Can’t Heal Herself
Blair
I find the trolley with the laundry waiting in front of the campus. Then I glance at the door, and a slight breeze comes from inside, brushing against me as if to say, Right. You can enter as long as you do the laundry.
“And you’ll kick me out the moment I intend to do something else, right?” I mutter under my breath.
Talking to a house—a new low. But the breeze rises again, as if to say, You got it, girl.
“Alright, fuck you all.”
I let my hood hide my face as I push the trolley along, down a path the house shows me with lights jumping on, laying it out ahead.
I know the building—the library was enchanted by fae thousands and thousands of years ago—but I have no idea what kind of magic lives here.
I’ve certainly never heard of anything like it.
I dip my head even lower when students pass by, hiding my long, silver claws.
A witch is no servant. If anyone spotted me doing laundry, I’d never live it down.
I find the laundry room, and to my surprise—washing machines, run by magic. Well, huge pools where you pour in the dirty laundry and drench it with soap, letting it swirl the clothes around in a kind of spiral.
I pour it all in and sit down at the edge of the pool, watching the play of colors as the fabrics spin. I feel sick. And hungry. And thirsty. And most of all—drained.
When I blink, a glass of cold water appears out of nowhere next to me. I glance up at the dark ceiling, then back at the glass. I empty it in one go, and it refills itself.
The campus. The campus did that.
“Alright, since we’re on good terms now, what about a glass of wine?” I ask.
In answer, the campus flings a piece of fabric right into my face.
“What the fuck?” I hiss, but my nose catches the scent as I peel it away.
Melody. Sweat. Fear. Blood. I stare at the shirt. Blood. So much blood.
“Why are you showing me this?” I ask.
“Who are you talking to?”
I jerk up at the healer’s clear voice. Quickly bunching the fabric in my fist, I throw it into the pool before turning around. How did she sneak up on me like that? Huh. I’m either too fucking hungover or I’m slowly starting to lose my fae senses. Like everything else. How fitting.
“What? Are you checking in on me, or do you just enjoy seeing me humiliated?”
“Humiliated? Why?” Meanara asks. The healer settles beside me, pulling her long robes up, revealing long, slender, pale legs and flashes of a tempered, slim waist.
I look away. “I was not born to do laundry.”
She laughs—actually laughs. If she bears me a grudge for what I said to her in front of the soldiers at the barracks, she doesn’t show it. “And what were you born for, Blair?”
“To rule,” I snap, my temper flaring.
“Uhhh…I see. Didn’t work out so well.” There’s a small smile on her face as my head snaps toward her. What the hells is it about this woman that makes my blood run hot? And cold as murder.
“What do you want, healer?” I kick a bucket aside with my foot.
“I want to convince you to help me in the garden tomorrow.”
I roll my eyes and sigh up at the ceiling. “Isn’t it getting boring?”
“Gardening?” the healer asks, annoyingly oblivious—but I know she’s just pretending.
“Don’t fuck with me,” I growl. My head aches, my neck’s stiff as hells and I really, really want a bath.
“Oh, I would not dream of it,” she chimes lightly.
I whip my head toward her. “Good we have that off the table,” I snarl. “Your sacred primness is not to my taste anyway.” It’s true enough that it slips easily from my mouth.
Yes, I have weird sex fantasies about the healer, but that’s probably down to my fucked-up sense of intimacy, not my tastes. And I wouldn’t think twice about her if she hadn’t shared Caryan’s bed.
“Come tomorrow. Please. I could really use your help in the garden.”
My temper snaps, and I get up. “Don’t, for a second, think I don’t know what you’re doing, healer.”
“What am I doing, Blair?” Meanara glances up at me through those strange midnight lashes.
“Trying your tactics. All that ‘everyone needs to heal’ bullshit.”
“Not everyone needs to heal, Blair.”
“Careful, healer. My temper’s really short today, especially since I’m hungry.”
“Threats, Blair. But threats won’t erase the pain in your soul.”
“Ahhh, and gardening would?” I glower at the pool, as if I could somehow urge it to wash the laundry faster.
My stomach aches with hunger. As I stare at the water, a plate with a sandwich appears between us—neatly sliced toast with molten cheese, hand-cut ham, and some mouthwatering caper mustard sauce I can almost taste on my tongue.
“No. I just need someone with your strength to help me carry some heavy pots. I need to repot some herbs, and the potter delivered the big ones I ordered yesterday,” Meanara says, frowning down at the plate. “How does this work?”
“I don’t know—you tell me since you live here.” I mutter, again glancing at the ceiling.
“This…magic must only be present on campus, not in the temple. Yes, I remember some scribes mentioning that,” she says thoughtfully.
“They say the library feeds them during night shifts.” Her gaze drifts to the swirling laundry.
“I also heard Melody went down to the archives to translate a few books.”
The words linger, light and casual. Fucking healer. I know better than to believe it’s unintentional. And the worst thing?
It still works.
Melody’s probably working her ass off down in those archives.
And I’ve done nothing to make it easier for her.
Because I’d been too fucking wrapped up in my own mind and problems to care for her.
My fingers find a sharp-tipped claw. Riven must have slid it into my pocket as he leaned in.
That slick, crafty bastard. I run my finger over the unusually cold material.
Nefarian steel. Where he got it from, I can only speculate—after the fae killed the angels, they banned all Nefarian steel and destroyed most of the weapons forged from it. That doesn’t mean there aren’t still secret stashes somewhere. Caryan probably has a lot of them too.
But it’s invaluable, like Melody’s sword.
So why did Riven give it to me, of all people?
Meanara whispers a warm, “Thank you,” to the ceiling—as if that’s perfectly normal behavior—before she helps herself to half my sandwich. Sure enough, the food steers my mind back to other things.
I watch Meanara close her eyes as her teeth sink into the delicious piece. She lets out a quiet sound of pleasure as she chews, eyes still closed, and I wonder whether she sounds like that in other moments—then chastise myself for even thinking such a thing.
I clear my throat. “How’s…Melody doing?”
Meanara opens her eyes and her chewing stops. Then she puts the sandwich down with intimidating gentleness, and for a second, I spot rage beneath her facade. Carefully contained, hidden—but there. Interesting. She swallows before answering, “Not well.”
“Kyrith’s training,” I spit. “Does Caryan know about that?”
She glances up at me, holding my gaze, trying to read whatever’s written across my face.
“I don’t know. He’s not been around much these days,”she says carefully.
“I’ve tried to reach him several times in the past months, but always in vain.
Today was the first time he showed his face again.
But he was gone again before I got the chance to speak to him. ”
I try to read her expression—the quiet rage still flickering in her eyes, the fierce determination etched in her face.
She has tried to reach him. Several times.
“Where is he now? Let’s go find him. I can’t believe that he approves of that. He is a monster, but not toward Melody.”
Meanara looks down at the sandwich in her lap before she gently pushes the plate away, as if she’s lost her appetite. “No one knows where he went. Not even Riven. He just disappeared again after the council meeting.”
“Wait…that’s why he was here,” I realize. What I walked in on.
“Among other things, yes. There have been incidents lately. Apparently, the wards guarding Avandal have been breached. They have holes. There have been trespasses and attacks. But he also came to look after Melody, yes,” Meanara confirms.
I pull my hand away from that cruel thing in my pocket.
That’s why he gave the clawed ring to me.
And to piss me off enough with his speech….
“Riven can’t stop Kyrith,” I gather.
Meanara shakes her head. “No. Caryan ordered him to stay back. Tiny moments are all he gets, and he uses them to check in on her. He’s not even allowed to stay longer than ordered in Avandal.”
I swallow against my suddenly raw throat. “She still doesn’t let her magic up,” I say quietly.
“No, she doesn’t.” Meanara draws in a sharp breath. For some reason, the healer looks suddenly shaken. Tired. Affected.
Is it Caryan’s wordless absence? Or something else? The holes in the wards? Since when did they exist?
Not my problem, I remind myself. But…
After all those years as a wing leader, I still think like a general. Tactical. Trained to eradicate weaknesses, especially when it comes to defenses.
But that part of me no longer exists, I remind myself.
“I can’t believe that not even Riven knows where Caryan is,” I state after a moment of silence. Also, it’s so unlike Caryan to just disappear. Unless he’s looking for something….
“Maybe Riven knows, but I doubt he’d tell me.”
I want to say that they could just ask Melody—she can find anyone—but then think better of it. Melody’s the last person to want to find him.
“I’m not allowed to interfere,” Meanara says suddenly, her face tightening with anger.
I bite my tongue to stop myself from reminding her that, as a healer, she wouldn’t be able to do much against a high lord. Especially one with Kyrith’s power.
Instead, I ask, “How so?” Again, my curiosity gets the better of me.
I hadn’t meant to talk to Meanara—not really—but here I am, and it feels strangely…
well, normal, despite all our differences.
I want to hate her, but right now, I just feel too burdened to leave her alone with this.
I can be polite…at least once a day, right?
Exhaust my last remnant of common decency and let the healer tell me her problems.
But the truth is, I’m curious—and a little worried.
The healer looks away, and color crawls up her slender neck. She gets up and straightens her robes. “Let’s just say I made a decision once. I am oath-bound to Caryan. And in this particular case, I cannot go against his will.”
She looks pained as she confesses it. I stare, struck by her honesty.
She sighs, picks up the plate as she gets to her feet, and holds it out to me. “Here, eat. I can see that you’re hungry.”
I take it but keep watching her as she turns. “Wait—”
Meanara pauses, her gaze suddenly wary, her face solemn. As if she’s afraid she’s revealed too much. Or as if what she just said weighs her down.
“Why tell me this?”
Silence falls, and even the campus seems to listen, curious. I resist the urge to glare at the ceiling.
Meanara tilts her head, her long, shining hair flowing down her waist. “You know, sometimes I wish I wasn’t a healer.
I always thought healers would heal themselves by healing others, but some wounds are just too deep.
Some we cannot reach ourselves to tend to.
We need someone else.” She lets out a shaky breath.
“You are a warrior. You’re so strong. Stronger than you realize, even if you don’t think so.
Maybe stronger than I am.” She shakes her head, as if to clear it.
“I made a mistake once. One I cannot undo. Maybe you’re not the only one who could use a friend sometimes, Blair Alaric. ”
She walks away briskly.