Chapter 20
Healing Hurts
We were lined up for the evaluation, presenting our flowers while each of the instructors took notes down.
Sarina had offered me some of her flowers. I’d refused. There were too many witnesses, and the different condition of the flowers was obvious to any observer. Her offer also reminded me too much of Orin, coveting what he hadn’t earned.
Shortly after I'd presented my one measly flower, an animated discussion began among the instructors. They spoke too softly for me to make out though, and I wandered away.
Zevrial broke away from the rest of the instructors, flagging me down.
I stopped, too exhausted to even try to make a clean getaway.
“Tell me the truth. No arguments, no witty comebacks, just a yes or no, understood?” Zevrial's eyes were too intense as he focused on me. I shifted from one foot to the other, uncomfortable. My ankle burned like it was on fire, but still not as viciously as the original injury.
“Fine,” I said. It was starting to hurt to talk.
“Did Orin collect his own flowers from Mount Kael?” My eyebrows shot up.
“How did you—” he cut me off.
“Yes or no?” he repeated, his voice lowered an octave as he leaned his face in close to mine. His breath smelled like mint.
I didn't know what the judging criteria had been for the midterm. Would I get in trouble for having gotten Orin's flowers for him? My pulse went staccato.
“No, I—” he didn't wait for me to finish again.
“Did he attack you?”
It clicked. This wasn't about me, this was about Orin. If I lied, would he know and penalize me for it? But then again, did I have any reason to lie on behalf of Orin?
My lips pressed together as I nodded.
“Say it.” Zevrial's tone had dropped from frigid to glacial.
“Yes,” I said.
“And did he steal from you, after leaving you unconscious?”
I closed my eyes. “Yes.”
At least now I understood what Pasha and Zevrial had been talking about earlier, and the ferocious look on his face, then and now.
“Thank you.” He leaned back. “Go see Instructor Weavir to get your injuries treated—”
“I can't,” I admitted, gingerly shifting my stronger foot again. “He said he wouldn't do any more Restoration work on me until after I graduated, no matter the injury.”
“He will,” Zevrial promised, eyes darkening. “He'll do it if I tell him to.”
I sighed, bone-weary. It had been a grueling day, a grueling week even. Exhaustion had taken up permanent residence, and I just wanted to take a bath and sleep. And check on Henrik to make sure he was okay. There wasn’t enough juice left in me to argue with Zevrial.
“Okay.” I massaged my jaw.
He raised one perfect eyebrow. “Just okay? You're not going to fight with me about this?”
I shook my head. “I'm tired. I don't have spare energy to waste on you right now.”
He looked mildly surprised. “Let's go then,” he said.
“I know the way.” I dragged my heavy limping feet in the direction of Medic services.
“I’m sure you do, but all the same, I'm coming with you,” he stepped up beside me, taking a hold of my upper arm as we walked. The motion sent tingles down my arms, but I quashed the feeling that rose with it. I inhaled deeply and relished his scent, a perfect blend with the summer storm.
I hadn't noticed Izaiah when he'd helped me get to the Medical center the same way I was noticing Zevrial now. I had too much awareness of Zevrial’s presence, even though he only had one warm hand on my arm. Izaiah had wrapped his entire arm around me to help support me.
I tried not to think about what that might mean.
The heat from Zevrial’s firm hand sunk into my skin, warding off the chill that had rooted itself there.
“Does it ever get easier?” I asked. “Being a Voyager?”
Zevrial chuckled, deep and smooth. “It doesn't. But it does get familiar.
At some point they'll assign you to an Arc operation and you'll realize that you're too comfortable, and forget the risks.” He looked directly at me.
“That's what gets most Voyagers killed. Getting sloppy because they get too comfortable.”
“No problem there,” I murmured, feeling the ache in my ankles, shoulder blades, and jaw. “Comfortable and I are leagues apart.”
In the Medical center, he pulled away to wave Instructor Penbrook down. It occurred to me he hadn’t been part of the judging panel.
I berated myself for missing the feel of Zevrial’s hand on my arm as soon as he removed it.
Peering around Instructor Penbrook as he approached I saw Henrik sitting on a bed further down, his right side covered in bandages.
“She needs Restoration,” Zevrial ordered, jerking his thumb at me.
Instructor Penbrook looked at me and recognition flared. “I already told you not to come back here until after you've graduated.”
“I wasn't fucking asking,” Zevrial told him.
Instructor Penbrook straightened his spine. “And I already made it perfectly clear that I wouldn't be Restoring any more self-induced injuries for her.”
“This isn't self-induced.” Zevrial stepped closer and looked down at the shorter man. “And I won't say it again. Restore her.”
“Why should I?” Instructor Penbrook folded his arms over his chest. “I'm not in your pocket like Weavir is.”
I raised an eyebrow at the comment, curiosity roused.
“No, but you're one complaint away from losing your position here and being sent back out to the outer isles on operations again.” His eyes glinted with warning.
“It’d be a blow to all Voyagers to lose someone with your ability out there.
I'd hate to have to be the one to make that complaint.” Zevrial let a dangerous edge seep into his voice.
A full-body shiver ran through me, and not from the cold.
The tension was thick enough to impale on a spear.
Several tense seconds passed before Instructor Penbrook blew out an aggrieved breath.
“I don't fear the outer isles.” He gestured at me. “It’s obvious she needs Restoration, and if this was not the result of her own actions, she deserves to have it.” He pointed a wrinkled finger on his unblemished hand at me.
“And he better be telling the truth about that.”
I was too numb to react.
“Take a seat,” he gestured to a nearby chair. I sank into it with more fatigue than finesse. “I assume that you need Restoration on that delightful dent in your head?” I nodded.
He bent over and reached out with his Skinscripted hand before I could mentally prepare myself. The same blistering pain lanced through me, shooting from my jaw all the way to my toes. I heard myself screaming. Bone ruthlessly wrenched into place.
He pulled his hand away, shaking it out as if it had been dirtied by touching me. Maybe it had, brackish water caked me with mud for icing. I tested my jaw, and found no pain. “Thank you,” I said. Sensation returned to my frozen fingers.
“If you want to thank me, stop showing up injured,” he tsked. “I don't have enough reserves to heal you every week.”
I made a polite noise of affirmation.
Zevrial had left sometime during the Restoration process.
And for some bizarre reason, that made me feel bereft.