Chapter 13
Chapter
Thirteen
Cold fingers felt along Araya’s throat, sliding over her skin.
They’d given her something sweet and syrupy that made her head feel like it was full of cotton.
She hadn’t wanted to drink it, but Jaxon had ordered her to.
He leaned against the bars, watching with the sharp focus of a predator as the healer finished his examination.
“The tongue laceration was deep,” the healer said finally, releasing her. “I put in eight stitches.”
Araya blinked up at him. He was older than Serafina—but there weren’t that many healers. She wondered if they knew each other, even in passing. What had he thought when the Arcanum had arrested one of his fellow healers? How much pain had Serafina endured at a black site just like this?
“She’s underweight and magically depleted—but I’m sure you already knew that.” The healer’s gaze slid over her, disinterested. “It’s not really my place to advise on this, but fae always have an easier time healing with access to more of their power.”
“You’re right.” Jaxon crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s not your place. What else?”
The healer shrugged, moving on without argument. “She’ll be woozy from the poppy syrup,” he said. “She’s likely to sleep a lot. Don’t be alarmed if she’s difficult to rouse.”
Poppy. Araya frowned, the movement pulling at the neat row of stitches he’d put in her tongue. It hurt, but in a strange, far away way. She’d never had poppy before. She didn’t even drink. Smart fae females never did—
“She’ll need to see a healer again in four days to have the stitches removed.” He closed his bag with a snick that reminded Araya so much of Serafina she wanted to weep. “Liquids only until then, followed by a saltwater rinse.”
Jaxon pushed off from the bars, moving to stand in front of her. He stared down at her, one hand toying with the end of her braid. “Can she speak?”
“Not unless you want to redo this the slow way.” The healer frowned. “I used magic to speed the initial healing, but the skin still needs time to knit back together. Push her to speak too soon and at best we’ll have to start over.”
“And at worst?” Jaxon asked without looking away from her.
The healer’s expression twisted, his face blurred by the effects of the poppy. “She could lose her tongue altogether if infection sets in. Magic can speed healing along, but it can’t bring back something already dead. Four days, Commander Shaw. At least.”
Araya stared down at her hands in her lap, trying not to let the corners of her mouth twitch.
She’d lost count of the number of times she’d listened to Serafina explain the same thing to over-eager patients who thought magic could fix everything.
Losing her tongue though…Jaxon would hate that. He’d never wanted a silent pet.
“Thank you,” Jaxon said, not sounding like he meant it at all. “You can go now.”
The healer bowed, scurrying from the cell without a backward glance. Araya doubted he was a fae sympathizer like Serafina, but she had to imagine that getting called to a black site wasn’t something most healers looked forward to.
“Do you think you’re clever, Starling?”
Jaxon’s hand whipped out, catching her chin in a bruising grip. Araya gasped, a wordless moan of pain slipping past her lips. But there was nowhere for her to go. The stone wall kissed her spine, and Jaxon stood between her and the only door.
“You didn’t win anything with that little trick,” he said, forcing her face up so she had to meet his eyes.
“We traced the bodies of the fae rebels killed back to Farhallow. If you’d helped us, we could have gone in with a targeted force.
But since you didn’t…” he trailed off, letting the words linger.
“Pryce had no choice but to order a full raid.”
Araya’s breath caught. The poppy dragged at her thoughts, her mind working twice as hard to understand. A raid on an entire district? So many innocent people would be swept up in the chaos—
“Shh.” Jaxon pressed a finger against her parted lips, hushing her softly. “Remember your stitches.”
Araya snapped her mouth shut. Jaxon let his hand drop, following the path of her braid down her neck to where her pulse beat at the base of her throat.
“It’s such an ugly, unnecessary thing,” he murmured.
“Every door kicked in. Families dragged into the street. Anyone who can’t produce the right papers, anyone in the wrong place at the wrong time…
” Jaxon sighed deeply, shaking his head.
“How many innocent children are going to grow up without a mother—all because you couldn’t answer a simple question?
They might even have to open a new camp. ”
Araya shook her head, even that small movement making the cell spin around her. He was saying this was her fault. Like she was the one with the power to order soldiers to sweep an entire district. Tears pricked her eyes, the poppy making it hard to grasp the words she needed.
Jaxon didn’t seem bothered by her lack of reaction. “Poor Araya.” He tugged the tie from her hair, combing his fingers through the plait until it spilled across her shoulders. “Can’t speak. Can’t even think.”
Araya’s heart pounded, panic fighting the drugging influence of the poppy. She was in danger here. She needed to run and never stop—or if she couldn’t run, she needed to hide. Needed to make herself small and unnoticeable. Forgettable.
But it was too late for that. Jaxon Shaw had already found her.
“You know I prefer your hair down.” Jaxon curled a strand around his finger. “Are you just trying to find new ways to vex me, Starling?”
Araya shuddered under his touch, but Jaxon only smiled. He leaned down, brushing his cracked lips across her forehead.
“Get some rest,” he murmured. “I’ll be back when you’re feeling more like yourself.”