Chapter 14
Arawn found her in the warmth of the Aviary, minutes later, seated on a bench just beside the doors.
‘Minder.’
She looked up to find the prince walking towards her, ever the picture of Sacred glory … beyond the redness in his face that revealed he might have just left a screaming match with his twin brother.
Thank the gods Kinlear was nowhere in sight.
‘What do you want?’ Ezer asked.
The bravery she’d felt moments ago was gone. In its place, fresh waves of pain from her wounds. Her hand oozed blood, and her nose … the salve had certainly worn off.
‘Izill is waiting for you in the courtyard,’ Arawn said, and frowned down at her like he expected her to leap to her feet.
‘I’m having a moment,’ she said. ‘Allow me the courtesy of a second to breathe before I fall prey to yet another order today.’
A sigh as he removed his cloak and sat down beside her.
‘I only meant—’
She heard the sound of something tearing and looked over to find he’d ripped part of his beautiful white cloak into a strip. He held it out to her. ‘Here,’ he said a bit gruffly. When she didn’t take it, he softened his tone. ‘So you don’t bleed out before you make it to the infirmary.’
‘Oh,’ Ezer said. ‘Thanks.’
She tried to wrap the cloth around her wound, but her damned hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
‘Let me,’ Arawn said. The bench shifted from his sheer size as he turned to face her, their knees almost touching.
And with careful fingers, he wound the fabric around the cut on her hand. Red bloomed across the velvet as he continued to layer it. He had scars on his skin, his fingertips and the backs of his hands … the marks of a warrior who had killed and nearly been killed.
Strange, that he could be so gentle.
‘You did well in there,’ he said.
She hissed as he tied the cloth tight.
‘For a Ravenminder?’ she said darkly.
‘No,’ Arawn said. He glanced up to meet her gaze, forgetting to remove his hands from hers.
His were warm.
Calloused, and strong.
‘You did well for anyone,’ he said, and to her surprise he smiled before he realized he was still touching her, and quickly pulled away. ‘Seasoned warriors have run from Six screaming, but you …’ He looked at her like he was trying to put all the pieces together. ‘You are … an anomaly.’
She quirked a brow.
‘Well, Firemage. Coming from you … I suppose that’s as good a compliment as any.’ She stood, nodded her thanks, and turned to open the enormous wooden doors to the outside.
‘Tomorrow,’ he blurted.
She spun back around. ‘Tomorrow … what?’
He was still sitting there on the bench, his hands held before him like he wasn’t certain what to do with them after touching her.
‘Perhaps we could speak more then. About your magic.’
Snow danced around her, the cold already piercing her back as she stood in the doorway. ‘I don’t have any magic,’ Ezer said, and pulled her dark hood over her head, bathing herself in shadow. ‘And I haven’t the time to think about tomorrow when I’m still in the middle of trying to survive today.’
Without another word, she headed out into the cold.
After a long, harrowing walk down the upper cliff steps, Ezer finally found herself back in the Citadel’s embrace.
Izill waited in the courtyard, wearing a path in the snow.
‘Gods above, Ezer!’ She gasped when she saw the wrap on Ezer’s wound. ‘Tell me everything.’
She grabbed Ezer by her good hand. And where normally Ezer would have flinched, unused to being touched by anyone, she found herself strangely disarmed by Izill’s warmth.
The servant began hauling her towards the Healer’s quarters, asking questions the whole way.
It was towards the lowest floors of the fortress: a calm, quiet space with a courtyard entrance, easily accessible to any Sacred wounded in battle.
Ezer had never spent much time in hospital rooms, but she’d certainly helped Ervos stumble his way to a local healer a time or two.
She remembered how sterile it smelled. How it was a place meant for healing, and yet so many entered and never came back out.
I wish you could see me now, Uncle, she thought. I wish I could share all of this with you.
The infirmary was strangely warm and comforting, with magefire torches dotting the walls, large stained-glass windows overlooking the distant Thornwell Forest, and a Sacred Ehvermage who was as lovely in appearance as she was kind.
She looked old enough to be Ezer’s grandmother, but her smile was still youthful, full of life, with enough wrinkles at the corners of her eyes to prove she was well-versed in smiling.
‘Alaris,’ Izill greeted the woman with a kiss upon the cheek. ‘The princes’ new guest, Ezer. Would you see to it that she’s healed?’
‘Ah. And how is the Black Wing Battalion faring these days?’ The healer winked.
‘Don’t look so surprised. Someone had to inscribe that stasis rune upon your wrist. Now, come on.
’ She tsked. ‘Izill, gone with you already. I won’t have you clucking about like a mother hen.
I’ll take good care of her. Grab these rags here and see to it that they’re cleaned. ’
Alaris waved her away with a towel she plucked from a nearby table – one complete with all classic healer’s supplies.
She probably saved her magic for the worst wounds.
Sacred had to be cautious about wielding too much, lest they steal more years from their own life.
And they needed all the Ehvermage healers they could get in this war.
Izill paused at the door. ‘Zey goes to bed around eleven. If I were you … I’d find a reason to stay out late.’ She left before Alaris could shoo her off again.
It fell silent and calm.
‘Now, let’s see, child,’ Alaris said. She sat down on a stool and motioned for Ezer to seat herself on the edge of an open bed.
She was surprised by the smell that hit her the moment she touched the sheets.
It was earthy, like a warm summer’s day in the south, tinged with salt and a fresh bit of parchment.
‘Strange,’ Ezer mused. ‘It smells just like home.’
Alaris nodded. ‘The sheets are stitched with runes to make them smell soothing. A way to disarm the senses, for no one enters a Healer’s tent at ease. Smells like lavender and lemon drops to me.’
‘Clever trick,’ Ezer said.
‘Runes can do a great deal,’ Alaris said. ‘I imagine they must be quite foreign for someone not raised in the Citadel.’
Ezer glanced up. ‘Is it that obvious?’
The woman smiled. ‘I know an Unconsecrated when I see one, dear. Like you’ve one foot in the world, and one foot here with us and the gods. Your mother and father. Who were they?’
Ezer shrugged. ‘They hailed from Torvir. I’m afraid I never even learned their names. I was just a babe when the shadow wolves attacked.’
The woman considered. ‘Poor thing. There are plenty of others like you, orphaned by the Acolyte.’ For a moment, her eyes lost their light.
Like she was remembering all the swords in the snow outside her door.
‘Well, I suppose like some of the others, and mind you, Unconsecrated are a rare few these days, you’ve someone far back in your lineage that broke the vows of the Sacred.
Any idea who your grandmother or grandfather were, dear? ’
Ezer shook her head. ‘No. I’ve only ever known my uncle, Ervos. He was Ravenminder here, and … well, he wasn’t even my blood.’ She looked down at her bleeding hand as Alaris removed the wrap. The wound was deep, enough to have hit bone. ‘He’s gone now.’
Something shifted in the Healer’s eyes. ‘Like so many others, thanks to that spineless demon across the Expanse. And don’t worry about the wounds you’re certain to gain at your new post. As much as you like, you can come to me.
Working with Prince Kinlear …’ She chuckled beneath her breath.
‘He’s quite the reputation in these walls.
A wayward wind, I always say, and Prince Arawn is the wall he crashes against.’ She shook her head.
‘Now, let’s see about this hand … too deep for needle and thread, if you’re to be back at your post tomorrow. Only magic will do.’
The woman began to whisper, so softly Ezer almost couldn’t hear it.
Invocating sounded like poetry, like words that could shift seamlessly into song.
In a few seconds, the woman’s hands began to glow with a delicate white light.
She pressed them to Ezer’s wound. Her skin was cool to the touch, and soon came a feeling a bit like bubbles popping gently over Ezer’s skin.
She moved to Ezer’s nose next, shaking her head like a disapproving mother as she looked at how swollen it had become.
Another invocation, another strange feeling upon her skin, and the pain was gone.
For good this time.
‘There,’ Alaris said. ‘All done and fixed up, child.’
Ezer lifted her hand and grinned.
Without magic, the gash would have taken weeks to truly heal, and then it would have scarred, but here in the Citadel …
She flexed her hand, marveling at how perfectly stitched together her skin was. And so fast, it had taken only a breath.
She was brand new once more.
‘Thank you,’ Ezer said. ‘I know what it takes to invocate. To use your magic.’
It was a cherished gift, the realization that a Sacred would use her precious energy, give of herself to channel the gods’ power … for her. A stranger.
Alaris waved a hand. ‘Healing requires far less magic than wielding in battle. I’ve plenty of years left.
It’s why you’re not likely to see a Sacred quite as elegantly aged as an Ehvermage Healer.
’ She ran a hand across her greying braid.
‘Nomages don’t often appreciate the beauty of aging.
The joy that it gives to know you’re still living, while others haven’t been quite so blessed. I’ll take the wrinkles any day.’
Her smile fell away as she studied the trio of dark and jagged lines across Ezer’s face.