29. Kaedryn #3
“With command,” I say.
Maelin glances at me. Whatever she thinks of that, she keeps it to herself. “Only if she needs it. She has had enough draughts for one journey, and I would rather not risk her choking again.”
She dips a cloth into a basin of warm water and wipes the blood from beneath Adelina’s nose, then cleans the dark residue left along her throat. The marks have already faded to shadows beneath the skin.
“Hold this beneath her nose.” Maelin passes me a small cloth steeped in something sharp and herbal. “Do not press it to her skin. Let her breathe it.”
I do as she instructs. Adelina stirs faintly, her brow tightening, but she does not wake.
The bond pulses once.
Maelin wraps heated stones in thick cloth and places one near Adelina’s feet and another against the outside of her hip. She does not loosen Adelina’s gown or attempt to move her from my hold.
“She needs gradual warmth,” Maelin says. “Not too much too quickly. Her body has been drained, not frozen. Heat will help, but forcing it could strain her heart.”
“How long until she wakes?” I ask.
“I do not know.” Maelin shakes her head.
My gaze lifts. “Give me something better than that.”
“I will give you the truth.” Maelin sits back on her heels.
“Varrow do not take blood or magic alone. They feed on the part of the mind that tells the body to keep fighting. Some victims wake within an hour. Others sleep until their strength returns. Some wake confused or frightened. She survived the initial drain, and her breathing is improving. Those are the facts I have.”
“And the bond?” I question.
“It may be helping restore what they took, or it may only be anchoring her consciousness to yours. Celestial Bonds are not common enough for healers to understand every effect.”
Her eyes flick briefly to my arm around Adelina.
“For now, maintain contact,” she says.
I have no intention of doing otherwise.
Maelin turns to the small table and begins sorting bottles and folded cloths. “I will monitor her pulse and breathing,” she says. “If either worsens, we act. Until she wakes, I will not do more than necessary.”
“She was in pain before the attack,” I say.
Maelin looks back at me with a frown. “Explain.”
“She flinched when I touched her back. And she didn’t call her wings or try to fly away.”
Maelin’s expression stills, but she does not reach for Adelina. “Then I will examine her when she is conscious enough to understand what I am doing,” she says. “Unless her condition changes before then.”
“Good.” The word leaves me before I consider why it matters.
Maelin briefly studies me, then returns to her supplies. “You may stay where you are. Try not to crush her in your determination to keep her alive.”
I look down and realize how tightly I am holding her. I loosen my arm by a fraction. The bond remains steady.
Sylas leans against the doorframe, exhaustion carved into his face. “Do you need anything?”
“No.” I shake my head.
“You have been holding her for hours,” he says.
“I am aware.”
His eyes move to Adelina, then back to me. “You cannot stay awake forever.”
“I can stay awake long enough.”
Maelin does not turn from the table. “He can sleep sitting there. I will wake him if she moves.”
“I will not sleep,” I reply.
Sylas’s mouth twists. “Of course not.”
He leaves before I can answer, drawing the door nearly closed behind him. Soren remains long enough to give Maelin a final account of every draught he administered and each change he observed, then follows.
The cabin grows quiet. Maelin sits near the fire with her supplies within reach, giving us the illusion of privacy without leaving us alone.
I hold Adelina and listen to her breathe. The warmth returns slowly. First to her hands, then to her cheeks. The gray finally leaves her lips, though they remain pale. Her breathing deepens until each exhale brushes evenly against my throat.
She does not wake.
Time passes measured by the ship’s creaking timbers, Maelin’s periodic checks, and the steady pressure of the bond beneath my ribs. At some point, the Verdant Star slips her moorings. I feel the faint roll of the deck as we leave the harbor and turn south toward Elyrion.
Adelina remains curled against me, unaware that Dravaryn is receding behind us. She does not know I carried her from the road. She does not know I counted every swallow, every breath, every fragment of color returning to her mouth.
When she wakes, she will look at me the way she has since the temple road, like I am one more cage closing around her.
She breathes. The bond holds.
Those are facts. They should be enough.
They are not.
Someone taught her that surrender was safer than trust. Someone taught her that dying alone was more certain than asking another person for help.
I know who began that lesson. I do not yet know the full extent of what he did.
By the time the harbor lights disappear behind us, fear has become something colder.
Whoever harmed her will answer for it.
I do not yet understand that the person I am angriest with is myself.
And her.