Chapter 34
The infirmary is much cooler inside than the dining hall. No doubt, the woven bamboo blades of the ceiling fans are fueled by elemental magic controlling the air. They whirl at a steady pace, providing a comforting breeze.
We’re greeted by a woman with red hair wearing brown linen who guides us through a hallway to reach separate care rooms. There are eight rooms total with large, rounded windows overlooking the lagoon. Each room is equipped with two beds and washbasins.
Kelrean is in the first room with his eyes shut. A woman stands at his side, adjusting his bandages, while another woman rubs his temples with the pads of her fingers to keep him calm.
I smile at the healers—they’re so gentle and attentive. I move on to the second room, where Rynthea is seated on the bed, sulking as she stares at the floor. Other than a bandage wrapped around her forearm and another on the top of her head, she appears fine.
“Should’ve known you two were coming,” she says without looking up. “I could hear Algar’s annoying voice when you were at the entrance.”
“Yep,” Algar says with a pop of his lips. “She’s swell.”
“How are you feeling?” I ask.
“I lost my scythesword,” she grumbles.
“Yeah.” I step into the room. “I’m so sorry about that.”
She’s quiet for a few seconds, then she exhales. “It was a gift from my father.” She drops her head just enough for her hair to curtain her face. “I promised to never lose it.”
My heart aches as I watch her continue to stare at the floor. After a while, she raises her head and meets my eyes. “I don’t think I can continue this quest, Zaira. I feel like I’ve lost so much, and it’s only been a day since I left Kamtaur.”
“I understand.” I lace my fingers in front of me, giving them a light wring. “You won’t go back through Delchester alone, will you?”
“No. I’ll return to Bernwood, go to the nearest port, and catch a boat that’ll take me to Junsho. From there, I’ll travel to Winstoft. It’ll take an extra day or so, but it’s much safer.”
I nod, relieved. “I know we just met, but I’ll miss hanging out with you,” I murmur, sitting next to her.
She laughs. “You call being attacked every hour hanging out?”
I laugh, too. “Fair point. But it’s better to face an attack with a fierce minotaur at my side than none at all.”
She gives me a warm, genuine smile.
I look at Algar. “What about you?”
“I agree about the attacks. It’s been gods-awful. But I’m seeing this through.” Algar flashes a grin, and Zephra whacks him in the face with her tail.
I giggle. Even Zephra considers him a fool for not backing out. I won’t blame him if he does. No one deserves to carry Thane’s baggage—and heavy baggage it is.
Thinking of Thane, I stand up and say, “I’ll check on our sorcerer.”
Algar takes my place next to Rynthea, giving me a knowing look before he taps the patch on her head. She winces with a snarl. He chuckles, throwing his hands in the air when she raises a fist at him.
When I step around the corner, I take a peek into the next room.
There is Thane, resting on his back and staring up at the ceiling.
His mask, swords, and buffers have been removed and placed neatly on a corner table, along with his rucksack.
There seems to be a cloud of gloom hovering above him.
In stark contrast, there is a vase of bright-yellow flowers on his windowsill.
I clear my throat, and he lifts his head. When he sees it’s me, he drops his head on the pillow again and puffs out a breath. “Surprised you stuck around,” he says.
“Well, I don’t hate you anymore, and you have Frevella’s sphere, so…”
He doesn’t respond.
My heart starts to beat faster. “You do still have it, don’t you?”
“Yes. It’s in my bag.”
“Okay. Good.” I breathe a sigh of relief and step deeper into the room. Then a cheeky smile sweeps across my face. “So do I get a thank-you?”
“For what?”
“Saving your life.”
He snorts. “Are we keeping tallies? Because if so, I’d say we’re about ten to one. Maybe higher.”
“So you agree. It was my turn to save you, then?”
“Sure. There might even be a next time.”
“So you admit it—I’m just as good at saving your life as you are at saving mine.”
“Don’t get carried away, Quinlocke.” He smirks the tiniest of smirks.
I stifle a laugh. “How long do they say you need to heal?” I ask, moving to the side of the bed and looking into his eyes.
“I’m fine.” He starts to sit up but hisses sharply and flops back down on the bed as he grips his chest. When he tugs the collar of his shirt down, I see a small stab wound close to his shoulder.
“What happened there?”
“Maliek,” he mutters.
“It’s bleeding.”
“The healer gave me something and said the bleeding would stop soon.”
“Well maybe if you stop moving and tone down the bravado, it’ll heal faster.” I scan the high shelves on the other side of the room. They’re crammed with bowls, medicines, and glass vials. A built-in counter below them displays a stack of neatly folded towels.
“Where is the healer, anyway?” I ask.
“Don’t know. She saw my gear and kept giving me funny looks. Won’t be surprised if she doesn’t come back. She probably thinks I’ll cut her head off or something.”
“Hmm. Can’t say I blame her for thinking that. You do love cutting heads off.”
I walk over to the shelves and read the etched vials. I spot one with porune oil, pluck it off the shelf, grab two clean towels, and carry both to Thane’s bed.
“What is that?” he asks, fighting a groan.
“Porune. It’s a numbing agent. It’ll blunt the pain. Now lift up your shirt,” I order.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“Get over yourself.” I place the medicine vial down on the bed and tug his shirt up.
It takes everything in me not to react to his rock-hard abs and impressive pecs.
Even with a few battle scars, he’s a delicious sight.
Honestly, the scars make him sexier, though I’ll never admit that out loud, and especially not to him.
“Stare harder, why don’t you?” There’s clearly humor in his tone.
I poke his wound. He grunts and swallows the pain through gritted teeth.
“Stop your shit talking or I won’t numb the wound,” I threaten politely.
“You’re not as nice as I thought you were, oh sweet one.”
“I am nice. Just not when it comes to dealing with jerks like you.” I open the vial and press the towel to the mouth of it, allowing the translucent yellow liquid to soak into the fibers. I place it on his wound, and he winces, his muscles tensing before settling again.
I use the other towel to wipe sweat from his forehead, and in the process, his eyes latch on mine. I want to look away, I really do, but I’m stuck—lost in his deep, golden irises.
“I thought you were going to die.” My words come out sounding more vulnerable than I expected.
“It’ll take more than water to kill me.” His hand curls around mine. I squeeze it as my heart flutters. His palm is warm with hardly any calluses, likely from those fingerless gloves he wears.
I’ve never seen so much of his skin before and find it hard not to absorb every detail.
On his forearm is the letter D, but each point of the letter is sharp and jagged.
It matches the same D on the dagger he gave me in Delchester Forest, only this D has a raised slash cutting through it.
It’s as if someone pressed something hot to his skin to try and burn it off.
The Divine.
“Thane?” I struggle with my next set of words, looking into his eyes for answers. He waits for me to speak. I chicken out, pulling my hand out of his. “Turn on your side,” I murmur instead.
He hesitates before doing as he’s told. When he flips over, I freeze again. On his back is the most intricate (and upsetting) ink design I’ve ever seen.
The hilt of a sword starts at the top of his spine and slopes downward just for the tip of the blade to end at the small of his back.
Swirls of black ink wrap around the blade like whispers of smoke.
In the center of the blade are the letters S and G.
The letters are stacked, the bottom curve of the S bleeding into the G and ending with more swirls.
It takes me a second to realize the whispers of smoke are meant to be shadows. And the sword is the letter T.
The Shadow Guild.
I have to look really close to make out the blend of the letters. But I’m not mistaken. I try to swallow as Thane glances over his shoulder. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing.” Whatever Maliek used went straight through his body, so I grab the vial again, dribbling some more liquid onto the towel before rubbing it on his wound.
When I’m done, he rests on his back again and sighs as he tugs his tunic down.
“So just a heads-up, you should try and be still so you can heal faster. Xiaodera—the queen—is not a fan of yours. And Algar and I think Maliek will come back. If he shows up at Immalonian borders trying to attack, she won’t hesitate to feed you to the wolves, so to speak.”
He shifts on the bed. “Maliek won’t be coming back.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I drove my sword into his heart and threw his body into the rapids before the bridge collapsed. He’s likely at the bottom of the waterfall now, food for the fish…or the monsters. Whatever deems him appetizing enough.”
“Oh.” He has no idea how much relief this brings me. “Are you sure?”
He looks me in the eye with certainty and says, “He’s dead, Zaira.”
“Okay.” I release a steady breath. “I still think we should leave here as soon as possible.”
“We will.” He studies me as I study him. There are so many things I want to ask. So many things I want him to explain.
He frowns. “I don’t like when you look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m fragile.”
I shift closer. “Is it possible that you are?”
“Far from it,” he grumbles.
“Broken, then?” I offer.
He swivels his gaze to the ceiling.