38. The Cliff
THE CLIFF
Seraphina
The walk to the infirmary feels longer today, heavier than it did the last two times. It’s like every step is dragging something behind it.
I think it’s because with every day that passes with Az in the infirmary, we draw a day closer to the final game, and he doesn’t seem to be getting anywhere near well enough to face it.
Khali is more tense than usual beside me, restless energy rolling off her in waves.
Reiva walks on her other side, quiet as ever, but there’s a tightness in his shoulders that’s more prominent than it was yesterday. “They won’t clear him,” he mutters.
“It makes no difference if they do or don’t.
He can’t drop out or skip a game. It's against the rules,” Khali tells him for the third time.
“Besides, even if he could, he’s stubborn and determined.
He has been dreaming and preparing for these games and joining the Sisters army for years.
He’d sooner drag himself to The Meet on game day bleeding and broken, than the alternative. ”
“You’re right,” Reiva says. “I know you’re right. It’s just, he has four days to get better, and so far, I’ve hardly seen a difference in his recovery. Even if the stitches hold his body together, his leg is shattered.”
I nod. “It’s not something you walk off in a few days.”
“Not even Az.” Khali sighs. “Not that he’ll hear a word of it.”
I stare straight ahead. I can still see it as though I’m in that ravine. The fall, the way his body hit the ground, the snap of his leg.
Reiva shakes his head. “Of course he won’t. He has the self-preservation instincts of a deaf bat.”
“It doesn’t matter anyway,” Khali says. “I spoke to my sister after the Triad this afternoon. She said he has to enter the game regardless.”
I frown. “Even if it means someone carrying him through the hellgate and leaving him to rot?”
She nods. “It’s what he signed up for. They can’t change the rules just because he’s dating the half-sister of one of them.”
The conversations I’d had with Silver about when he and Eurya met come back to me. “What about your father?” I ask. “Doesn’t he have any kind of healing power?”
She shakes her head. “I’ve never even met him. I can hardly turn up in his circle of hell like ‘Hi, I’m your estranged daughter, care to heal my boyfriend?’”
Despite everything, the corner of my mouth twitches.
“Even if I wanted to try, I don’t have any means of getting there. I can’t open hellgates, and those who can, care more about the rules than the life of one cadet.” She sighs. “And I can’t even blame them. Not really.”
Reiva glances at her. “You could at least stop blaming yourself.”
Silence follows that.
No matter how much me, Reiva or Az himself tell her it’s not her fault he got injured, she won’t listen. She’s convinced that she should have stopped him from trying to impress her by claiming the throwing stars for her.
Truthfully, she's even more stubborn than him, but if the roles were reversed, I’d probably carry the guilt too.
We reach the infirmary doors and Khali shoves them open.
She heads straight for his ward and shoves the curtain aside. We follow until she suddenly stops, and I nearly walk right into her.
“What are yo—”
Then I see him.
Az is sitting up. I blink. Not just sitting, but moving around. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed like he’s about to get up and go for a casual stroll around the fortress instead of having nearly died a few days ago.
“What are you doing?” Khali asks.
He looks up, and grins. “Ah,” he says. “My three favorite hovering anxieties. Come to check if I’ve dramatically succumbed to my injuries?”
Khali blinks. “No.” She points at him like that might reset reality. “No, absolutely not. Lie back down.”
Reiva steps further into the ward. “You shouldn’t be upright.”
Az glances down at himself, then back up. “And yet here I am. Upright and epic, defying all expectations.”
Khali crosses the room in three strides and plants a hand on his chest, shoving him back.
He barely moves an inch.
Her eyes narrow. “You’ve lost your mind. Too much time staring at the ceiling.”
“It’s not a particularly inspiring ceiling,” Az agrees. “But there’s nothing wrong with my mind.”
I step closer, studying him properly. The bandages are still there, wrapped tight around his ribs and side. But the blood that was seeping through them is gone. The wince every time he moves, even the smallest movement, gone.
He doesn’t look or move like someone we haphazardly stitched together to stop him from bleeding out. He looks fine. Like Az.
“That’s not possible,” I say quietly, except I know that it is. I know exactly the kind of magic that could make it possible. I begged and pleaded with the healer himself. Hell, I’d tried to bargain with him from the roof of his turret for the last two nights.
‘I’ll jump, if you heal Az…’
‘Forget about my wings, heal my friend…’
‘If I fly, will you heal him?’
“How?” Khali asks.
“Excellent question,” Az says. “One I also asked myself upon waking up no longer resembling a shattered vase.”
She glares. “Az, be serious for once. Please.”
He sighs. “Fine. Here’s the deeply mysterious, highly unsatisfying version.” He gestures vaguely around the room. “Someone came in. I was half-conscious. They gave me something to drink.”
Reiva’s brow furrows. “What kind of something?”
Az shrugs. “Liquid. Suspiciously effective and mildly insulting that the infirmary hasn’t been using it this whole time.”
Khali folds her arms. “And you just… drank it?”
“I was dying, my love,” he says dryly. “My standards were not as high as usual.”
I watch him carefully. “What happened after?”
He tilts his head, thinking. “I remember getting very tired,” he says slowly. “Like someone switched me off.” A pause. “Which, frankly, was rude.”
Khali’s expression tightens. “And then?”
“And then I woke up.” He looks down at himself. “Shiny and new.”
Silence fills the room.
Reiva studies him. “You don’t know who it was?”
Az snorts. “If I did, I’d be singing their damn praises, wouldn't I? Possibly composing a ballad. Instead, I got drugged and upgraded in my sleep.”
Khali’s eyes narrow. “That doesn’t concern you?”
“Oh, it concerns me deeply,” he says. “I just prefer being alive and concerned, rather than dead and well-informed.”
My pulse is racing. Because I know, or at least, I have a very good idea who should be at the center of his ballad.
Silver.
Az pushes himself to his feet easily.
Khali immediately steps forward to catch him.
He sidesteps her with the grace of one of the High Seraph’s ballerinas.
A nurse walks in. “Azazel Thorne,” she snaps. “What do you think you are doing?”
“Discharging myself.”
“You can’t just leave.”
“I can. I’ve tested it. Standing works, walking too.’
“Mild arrogance also appears to be intact,” Khali muses.
Reiva watches him carefully. “You’re certain?”
Az meets his gaze. “Yeah.”
Khali drags a hand over her face, but the relief in her voice is clear. “Fine,” she mutters, then under her breath she says, “I don’t know what angels you’ve been praying to, Seraphina, but it seems to have worked.”
“Not the angels you’d assume,” I mumble back, but she’s already been pulled into Az’s arms.
I should knock because I’m early.
I don’t.
The door to Silver’s turret swings open beneath my hand before I can second-guess it, the familiar scent of him assaulting me as I step inside.
“Silv—” The name dies on my tongue.
He’s there.
Half-naked.
A towel slung low around his waist, dark hair damp like he’s just stepped from a bath, water still trickling down the hard lines of his chest.
For a second, I forget how to breathe, let alone speak.
The gray, vein-like markings that lace across his skin seem darker, more defined, curling over muscle and through shadow in a way that makes my stomach do a flip, sending butterflies scattering.
“Oh, I…” I turn slightly, heat rushing to my face. “I didn’t… I can come back.”
His voice is calm and unaffected. “I’m sure you’ve seen worse.”
I glance back despite myself.
A mistake.
Now he’s closer. Close enough that I can see the droplets still clinging to that mouthwatering V.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” I say, forcing my voice steady. “I should’ve knocked.”
“Probably,” he agrees, but there’s the faintest edge of amusement in his tone.
My eyes flick away again. “I’ll come back later.”
“No. Stay.”
My pulse trips. This is a bad idea.
I step further into the room anyway.
“I just…” I start, then stop, gathering the thought before it slips away. “I came to thank you.”
His brow lifts slightly. “For what?”
“For healing Az.”
I study him, looking for a crack. Any sign.
Nothing.
Not a flicker.
Silver leans back against the edge of the table, completely at ease. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
A lie, bare faced and effortless.
“You expect me to believe that?” I step closer.
“Yes.”
I shake my head. “He said someone gave him something to drink. Like a sleeping tonic or potion. He woke up completely healed. Like magic.”
Silver shrugs one shoulder. “Sounds like someone did him a solid, especially given the final game is just four days away.”
My eyes narrow. “Silver.”
“Scar.”
There’s a warning in it. Soft but there.
“You are the only one I know who could heal someone like that.”
“Drop it.”
“You broke the rules.”
Silence stretches between us. “Your friend would’ve died and you’d never have forgiven me.”
My breath catches at his admission.
“Thank you,” I whisper, suddenly conscious again of the fact that he is still wearing nothing but a towel. “Do you want me to come back later?”
His gaze drags over me. “No. You could use the extra practice. The final game is coming soon. And there’s only one thing that can help you beat it.”
Something in my chest tightens. “My wings.”
He nods. “Your wings.” He steps past me, close enough that his arm brushes my shoulder. “I’ll meet you out on the roof in a minute,” he says. “Unless you plan on staying for the show.”
Heat flashes through me as I make my way across his room to the window.
He huffs a quiet laugh behind me and I hear the towel drop.