Empty Spaces
The day of Rion’s release came twelve days after they arrived in Springhope.
Lark had visited him every day in the garden, bringing Noctis when the healers permitted it, sitting with him in companionable silence or quiet conversation.
The change in him was gradual but unmistakable.
He spoke more now, full sentences instead of monosyllables, and sometimes he even started the conversation rather than merely responding to hers.
She had found him reading on a few occasions, which reassured her in a way few things had.
When he finally inquired about the archive, asking questions about what she hoped to find there and how extensive the records were, she had to suppress a smile.
He had not yet said he would come with her, but the fact that he was still thinking about it felt like progress.
Today, the bandages would come off.
Lark arrived at the healing halls shortly after dawn, Noctis at her side. She found Rion already awake, sitting on the edge of his bed with his hands clasped loosely in his lap. He looked up when she entered, and his expression made her pause in the doorway.
“They’re removing the bandages this morning,” he said. His voice was steady, but she could see the tension in his shoulders, the rigid stillness of someone bracing for a blow.
“I know. Catrin told me yesterday.” Lark crossed to stand beside the bed, Noctis pressing close to Rion’s legs as he always did now. “Do you want me to stay?”
He was quiet, thinking before his answer came. “Yes.”
She sat in the chair she had occupied so many times over the past twelve days and waited.
Morena arrived rather than Catrin. Lark hadn't expected that, but it made sense. Morena was the more experienced healer, and this was delicate work. She carried a basin of water and a tray of supplies, her movements calm and soothing as she set them on the table beside Rion’s bed.
“Good morning,” she said, her voice warm but professional. “How are you feeling?”
“Ready to have these off.” Rion touched the bandages that wrapped around his head, covering the left side of his face from brow to cheekbone. “Whatever’s underneath, I’d rather know than keep imagining.”
Morena nodded as though this was exactly what she had expected him to say. “The wound has healed well. There will be scarring, and the socket itself will need ongoing care, but you’re past the worst of it.” She paused. “This may be uncomfortable. Try to hold still.”
She began unwinding the bandages with gentle, practiced hands. Layer after layer of white cloth fell away, revealing first the unmarked skin of Rion’s forehead, then his temple, then the edge of a puckered and raw scar.
Lark made herself watch. She owed him that much. He was facing this without flinching, and she would do the same.
The last of the bandages came away.
The left side of Rion’s face was a map of violence.
The eye socket itself was closed, the lid shut over the emptiness beneath, the skin around it now a web of raised scar tissue that spoke of burns and tearing and wounds that had healed imperfectly despite the best efforts of magic.
Scarring extended from just below his eyebrow to the top of his cheekbone, curving around toward his temple, a permanent record of what the Ashen Enclave’s torturers had done to him.
Rion sat perfectly still, his remaining eye fixed straight ahead, his face impassive. He didn't look at the small mirror that sat on Morena’s tray and didn't ask to see what she and Lark were seeing. Perhaps he could read it in their faces, or perhaps he simply knew.
“The tissue is healing cleanly,” Morena said after a moment. Her voice remained calm, clinical, giving him facts to hold on to. “I’ll apply a salve to keep the scarring supple, and you’ll need to do the same twice daily for the next few weeks. The sensitivity will fade with time.”
She worked as she spoke, cleaning the area with water from the basin, applying salve from a small jar that smelled of herbs and honey. Rion endured it in silence, his hand finding Noctis’s fur and gripping tight.
When she was finished, Morena stepped back and regarded him with an expression that held no pity, only assessment. “You’ll need something to protect the socket. I have patches available, simple cloth ones, unless you prefer to arrange something else.”
“Actually,” said a voice from the doorway, “I might have a solution for that.”
Pippa stood in the entrance, her curls auburn in the morning light, her smile determinedly cheerful. She held a small object in her hands that she presented to Rion with a flourish.
“I had one of the leatherworkers make it,” she said. “I figured you’d want something with a bit more style than medical cloth.”
It was an eyepatch. Not the plain, functional kind that Lark had seen on sailors and soldiers, but one crafted with meticulous care.
The leather was dark brown, supple and well-worked, with subtle tooling along the edges.
The strap was adjustable, designed to sit comfortably across the head without pulling at the hair.
It was, Lark had to admit, rather elegant.
“Pippa.” Rion’s voice was rough.
“You can’t spend the rest of your life looking like an invalid.” Pippa crossed to the bed and pressed the eyepatch into his hands. “If you have to wear one of these things, it might as well be dashing.”
Rion looked down at the patch in his hands. At first he said nothing, and Lark held her breath, uncertain how he would react. This was Pippa at her most Pippa, barging in with gifts and cheer, refusing to let him wallow, but it was a risk. He might not be ready for it.
Then his mouth quirked, just slightly. Not a smile, but the ghost of one.
“Dashing,” he repeated.
“Extremely dashing. Roguish, even. You’ll look like a pirate. A very scholarly pirate.” Pippa’s smile widened. “Try it on.”
He did. His hands were steady as he fitted the patch over the ruined socket and adjusted the strap. When he lowered his hands and lifted his head, Lark felt a weight lift from her shoulders.
He looked different. Not worse, not better, just different. The patch changed the geography of his face, drew attention to the sharp line of his jaw and the bright green of his remaining eye. It made him look older, harder, a man who had survived terrible things and come out the other side.
“How does it feel?” Morena asked.
“Strange.” Rion touched the edge of the patch with careful fingers. “But not bad. It fits well.”
“I gave the leatherworker your measurements.” Pippa looked pleased with herself. “Well, estimates of your measurements. I’m glad they were close.”
“Thank you, Pippa.” Rion’s voice was quiet but genuine. “This was very thoughtful.”
“Yes, well.” Pippa waved a hand as though embarrassed by the sincerity.
“Someone had to make sure you didn’t look pathetic.
Now, are you ready to get out of this room?
Because Darian is waiting at the guesthouse with breakfast, and I’m fairly certain Noctis is going to go mad if he has to leave you again. ”
The walk to the guesthouse was slow, punctuated by frequent stops for Rion to catch his breath.
Twelve days of bed rest had weakened him more than any of them had realized, and the steep streets of Springhope were unforgiving.
But he refused all offers of help, setting his own pace, his hand occasionally dropping to rest on Noctis’s head as the wolf walked beside him.
Lark stayed close but did not hover. He needed to do this, to prove to himself that he could. Her job was to be there if he faltered.
But he didn’t.
The guesthouse felt warm and welcoming after the clinical atmosphere of the healing halls.
Darian had indeed prepared a late breakfast, a spread of bread, cheeses, and preserved fruits that covered most of the common room table.
He rose when they entered, his stiff posture relaxing slightly as he took in Rion’s appearance.
“Good to have you back,” he said simply.
“Good to be back.” Rion lowered himself into a chair with visible relief. “I’m told I look like a pirate.”
“A scholarly pirate,” Pippa corrected.
They ate together, the four of them around the table, the first meal they had shared since arriving in Springhope.
The conversation was light and careful, everyone aware of the fragility of the moment and determined not to shatter it.
Rion ate more than Lark had seen him eat in days, though he tired quickly and his responses grew shorter as the meal progressed.
But he stayed at the table until the food was gone and the tea had gone cold.
“You should rest,” Pippa said finally. “Your room is ready. Second door on the left, past the common room. We’ve been keeping it for you.”
Rion nodded and pushed himself to his feet. He swayed slightly, and Lark half-rose from her chair, but he steadied himself with a hand on the table, and the moment passed.
“Thank you,” he said. “All of you. For everything.”
Then he walked down the corridor toward his room, his footsteps slow but steady, Noctis close at his heels.
Lark watched them go. The wolf had not left Rion’s side since they departed the healing halls, his body protectively close, his attention fixed on his master with an intensity that bordered on obsession. He was where he belonged now. Where he had always belonged.
She was happy for them. She was. Really.
But when she heard Rion’s door open and close, when she heard Noctis’s claws click on the floor as he followed his master inside, she crumbled in a way she had not expected.
That night, Lark couldn’t sleep.
She lay in her bed, staring at the ceiling and listening to the silence. It was too quiet. Too still. The room felt larger than it had before, the shadows deeper, the darkness more complete.
For twelve nights, Noctis had slept at the foot of her bed.
His weight had rested against her legs through the blankets, his warmth a comforting presence in the unfamiliar room.
She had grown used to the sound of his breathing, the occasional twitch of his paws as he dreamed, the soft woof of contentment he made when she reached down to scratch behind his ears.
Now, the foot of her bed was empty. The blankets lay flat and undisturbed. The only sounds were her own breathing and the distant settling of the guesthouse around her.
She had known this would happen. From the beginning, she had known that Noctis was Rion’s wolf, that his presence at her side was temporary, and that she was just a placeholder until his master was well enough to reclaim him.
She definitely had not let herself become attached.
And she most certainly had not let herself depend on the comfort of his company.
At least that’s what she told herself.
Lark sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. The floor was cold against her bare feet. She didn’t reach for her boots or her jacket, not intending to go anywhere. She simply sat on the edge of the mattress and stared at the empty space where Noctis used to lie.
This ache in her chest was absurd. She had spent years alone.
She had taught herself not to need anyone, not to rely on anyone, and not to let anyone close enough to leave a hole when they left.
A wolf sleeping at her feet for twelve nights shouldn’t matter.
It shouldn’t leave her feeling hollow and desolate.
But it did. It mattered.
Because it wasn't really about Noctis. It was about everything Noctis represented. That brief, fragile sense that she was not alone, that warmth in the darkness, that presence that asked nothing of her except companionship.
She had let herself get used to it. And now it was gone.
A soft knock on her door made her look up.
“Lark?” Darian’s voice, low and careful. “Are you alright?”
She could say yes and send him away so she could sit alone with her thoughts until exhaustion finally claimed her. That was what she would have done a few turns ago. It was what she had done for most of her life.
But Pippa’s words echoed in her mind. The walls that kept you alive are the same ones keeping you trapped. And Morena’s voice, gentle and firm: Keep showing up.
“No,” she said. “Not really.”
There was a pause. Then he asked, “Can I come in?”
She considered it. Darian was not Pippa, with her warmth and easy affection. He was a soldier, stoic and reserved, not given to emotional conversations. But he was here because he had noticed.
“Yes.”
The door opened, and Darian stepped inside. She noticed he was still dressed, as though he had not yet attempted sleep himself. His eyes moved around the room, taking in the empty bed, her position on its edge, the absence that seemed to fill the space.
He didn’t ask what was wrong. It was not in him to offer platitudes or false comfort. He crossed to the chair by the window and sat down, his posture relaxed, his presence steady and undemanding.
“It’s strange, isn’t it?” He said after a moment. “How quickly we get used to things. How much it hurts when they change.”
Lark looked at him. In the dim light from the window, his face was all planes and shadows, his expression impossible to read.
“He’s where he belongs,” she said. “Noctis. With Rion. I knew this would happen.”
“Knowing doesn’t make it easier.”
“No. It doesn’t.”
Quiet settled between them, but it was not uncomfortable. Darian had that quality, she realized. The ability to share space without filling it with noise. To be present without demanding anything in return.
“You should sleep,” he said eventually. “Tomorrow will be easier. Things usually are.”
“Is that soldier wisdom?”
“Something like that.” He rose from the chair and moved toward the door. At the threshold he paused, looking back at her over his shoulder. “For what it’s worth, you’re not alone. You haven’t been for a while now, even if it doesn’t always feel that way.”
Then he was gone, the door closing softly behind him, and Lark was alone again.
But the room felt less empty than it had before.
She lay back down, pulled the blankets up to her chin, and stared at the ceiling until sleep finally came. And if her dreams were full of warm fur and yellow eyes and the feeling of precious things slipping away, well, that was between her and the darkness.
Tomorrow would be easier. Darian had said so, and she hoped he was right.