Chapter Thirty Nine
Begrudging Diplomacy
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Phaenon, Nythanor.
Gedeon.
Gedeon had long since lost count of the days that had dragged past when two Eternal warriors came for him. Not to shove frozen meat and water through the thick bars of his cell as they had done each night at the first rise of the moon, but to bring him out of his imprisonment.
Which could only mean one thing: Naal Westerra had finally returned to Phaenon. And with her, he was sure, was the Earth Warden.
In the same place as he was. For the first time.
He was unsure how that knowledge made him feel.
It had been some time since their last projection.
He was fairly certain her continued absence had something to do with the fact that Naal Westerra had shared that he was locked in the ice cells.
As though, perhaps, the prospect of him and their inexplicable connection was too close for comfort. Too close to home.
He felt the lack of those projections. No matter how sporadic they had been thus far, her presence, even in distrusting spirit, had piqued his interest in a way he could not explain.
Could not understand. And yet, her piercing green eyes had slyly taken up residence in the dark corners of his mind, even when his thoughts were upon something else entirely.
Perhaps the weakness plaguing his body had addled his sanity.
The coarse hair that covered his chin and neck was now an overgrown clump of frozen ice. Had they left him there any longer, Gedeon was sure his insides would have ended up the same way.
He had never known cold like it. It would not kill him, but it was both mentally and physically debilitating. He may have even succumbed to that descent into madness, had they not come for him.
The only way he had avoided such a fate was because he had not for a moment let his inner sight deter from the tiny flame that was burning within.
Burning with hope.
Hope that had no roots. No clear purpose. Yet still it burned. Bright as the sun.
Not in the literal sense, for his magic had not seen the light of day since his dear brother had cursed him. Fire, darkness, and even mortal magic remained imprisoned in his own body.
The iron around his wrists may as well have been wood for all the use it would do. Sekun’s curse was far more powerful than those feeble shackles.
He dared not try to wield his magic at all.
Nor had a single word passed his lips since the Eternal archer, Nysari, had threatened to cut out his tongue.
He did not doubt for a moment that the female had every intention of following the threat through should he fail to comply with her simple demand.
So he’d stayed silent, very much wanting to keep his tongue rooted in his mouth.
Walking was an arduous task to say the least, as the two Eternals marched him through Gallena’s temple.
An icy grip seized his muscles, but it was thankfully softening with the gentle warmth of many a flame throughout the great temple; dancing in torch brackets on the walls, flickering on the wicks of a hundred candles, burning through the drywood of a hearth in a healer’s chambers.
He’d expected to meet with the Air Warden. But standing before him now was certainly not Naal Westerra.
Short in stature, with masses of blonde-grey twisted dreads atop her head, the female stared at Gedeon with brown, untrusting eyes, before turning her attention to the warriors either side of him. ‘Thank you, Ruven, Bryran. You may go.’
The Eternal to Gedeon’s right bowed his head, but the one to the left did not move. ‘I think it unwise to leave you alone with the prisoner, Second,’ he said. ‘For your protection, I advise you to let us stay.’
The healer chuckled. ‘Ruven, does the young prince look to be in any fit state to attack me?’ Ruven’s face hardened, but he didn’t reply.
‘If you are so worried for my well being, you may wait outside. Should you hear me cry out for aid, then by all means come to my rescue. But unless that situation arises, I beg you to leave me to work in peace.’
She was mocking him, yet doing so in a way that was rather endearing. Ruven looked as though he did not know whether to smirk or scowl. He opted for neither, simply dipping his head as his companion had done, and leaving her alone with Gedeon.
‘Sit,’ she instructed, motioning to a wooden healer’s bench in the centre of the stuffy room.
He obeyed, his stiff body aching, yet welcoming the heat blazing from the hearthstone.
A dizzying assortment of aromas circulated the room, so many he could not distinguish one from the other. It was not altogether unpleasant.
For a long moment, Gedeon stared into the flames. The healer bustled behind him, grinding herbs by the sounds of it, and when she was done, she thrust a hot jar into his hands. Citrus and cinnamon wafted up his nose.
‘Drink,’ the healer ordered. Gedeon took a sip and almost gagged: the smell did not match the taste. She spoke again, her tone clipped and authoritative, ‘Drink it all.’
Gedeon didn’t hesitate this time as he threw the contents of it down his neck, swallowing hard. He almost sighed with relief as the hot tea/magic-fused tonic warmed him instantly from the inside out. After a few seconds, his clothes and skin were drenched from the remnants of weeks worth of ice.
Without a word, the healer took the jar from his hands, her white feathered wings tucked in at her back as she placed it to the side.
She faced him again, eyes narrowing with surveillance.
‘Prince of Fire,’ she murmured. ‘A title that holds such significance in this world. But you are still mortal. And a dangerous stranger to these lands. This title of yours holds no standing here, so, I will call you by your name. Gedeon, is it not?’
Gedeon did not reply.
The healer’s mouth pulled into an amused smile. ‘I see you have taken Nysari’s threat with literality. Whilst I am impressed by your resilience to keep your tongue, I do require an answer.’
Somewhat confident that he was not about to talk himself into a trap, Gedeon cleared the cobwebs from his throat and said, ‘Yes. That is my name.’
His voice sounded foreign. A broken, unused, dusty instrument.
‘Good,’ the healer said.
Gedeon tested the waters. ‘And yours?’
She paused, her hand lingering on the edge of the bench. ‘I have no wish to become acquainted with the destroyer of my city.’
That embedded knife of guilt twisted in Gedeon’s gut. ‘Then why am I here?’
‘The pramah has requested that I treat any injuries that may ail you.’ Her expression of bold discontent told Gedeon she wanted to do anything but that.
‘Why?’
‘Because physical pain can act as a cloud for judgement. When Naal hears whatever it is you have come all this way to say, it will come from a body and mind of optimum health, not one that is frozen and weak.’
Gedeon could not stop himself before saying, ‘You have no taste for torture in the north, then? Truth often comes pouring out when one’s body is at the end of its tether.’
‘Spoken from experience?’ The healer’s eyes narrowed. ‘Nythanor’s customs are nothing like Zarynth’s. You would do well to remember that. Now, lie back.’
He did as she asked, placing his shackled hands on his stomach.
She moved to stand over him, hovering her palms over his head, then tracking down his body, a dull heat emanating from them.
Her magic tingled every inch of his skin until she reached his midriff, and that tingling morphed into sharp pin pricks as her power sunk through to his spine.
Gritting his teeth against the pain, Gedeon fought to keep his body still.
The healer withdrew her hands, marking the tension now gripping him. She threw him a glance. ‘Roll onto your side.’ Gedeon obeyed her. ‘This may hurt.’
The warning did nothing to prepare him for what came next.
It was worse. Far worse than it had been the last time he’d attempted to wield his magic. Phantom hands roamed his spine and it burned. The curse in his back was fighting her, swelling and writhing to dispel the foreign entity in his body, combatting that which might finally force it from him.
Gedeon bit his tongue to stop from grunting with the pain, clamping down so hard that blood coated the inside of his mouth.
Still the healer prodded the parasite, and the burning intensified with each second that ticked by. He was beginning to think that she had lied, that this was surely his torture-
A gasp of relief escaped Gedeon as she removed her hands. The burning, stabbing pain subsided. A goblet of water was thrust in his face. ‘Drink.’
He managed to push himself to a seated position and gulped down the whole thing.
The healer watched him carefully, folding her arms across her chest as she sat behind a messy desk of parchment, potions and animal skulls. ‘Were you aware that you have been cursed?’
Struggling to force his breath back to a steady pace, Gedeon nodded.
The healer said quite blankly, ‘It is a cruel magic, and one I have not seen for quite some time. Such dark curses should never be used so sparingly.’ Her lips became a thin line. ‘Who did this to you?’
‘Why does it matter?’ Gedeon replied tightly.
‘I am merely curious,’ she said. ‘This curse acts as a clamp. It limits your capabilities by causing extreme pain when attempting to wield magic. Even Warden magic, it would seem. Whoever did this knew exactly what they were doing. It is not an easy thing to be rid of.’
Stabbing Sekun with his sword in the Flaming Falcon had not been vengeance enough for what his brother had done to him. Anger coursed through his veins. He demanded, ‘Can you get rid of it?’
‘Perhaps,’ the healer said quietly. ‘But I believe the question you should be asking is will I get rid of it.’
They glared at one another.
What use would he be to Naal Westerra if he had no power? It was in their best interest that he be in prime condition, the healer had even said it herself-