Chapter 22 #3
“That’s enough!” A booming voice, unrecognisable as the Usher’s, sounds around us. And as I look up, I see a wedge of darkness cracked open around Fenix, and it severs his connection to the sun, and with it, his power.
Ten drops to the floor, tossing his blade away, before crawling the few feet to me.
“Ever, it’s okay. You’ll be fine. You’ll be fine,” he mumbles the words, over and over, and completely disregarding any worry of touch, he pulls me into his lap, regardless of his own injury, and puts his hands over my wounds.
First, the one across my thigh, and then he pulls one hand away to my shoulder, and I take my hand and place it on top of his.
The pressure feels good, but pain chases that feeling into the dust, and I grit my teeth as I suck in a breath. No sooner has he finally looked at me, given me his eyes to soak in all the comfort I can from them, he’s pulled away, violently wrenched from me, and I’m back on the ground.
“Hey! She needs a healer!” Ten calls, and I turn to look up and see Crimson with him, fighting as they’re pushed and prodded away from the ring by a circle of men and women.
I’m sure we didn’t have an audience before.
“We’ll be fine. We’re okay.” I push the words from my mind to Ten, needing him to hear them. He’s hurt, too.
“Look after him, Fenix. You promised me, you bastard!” I scream the words to the sky as I grip the necklace lying around my throat with my blood-stained hand.
Aslendrix, if you have any sway in the actions and course of our lives here, please help me. I say the small prayer as I succumb to the exhaustion flickering at the corners of my eyes.
“I’ve got you, girl.”
“No way—” I struggle in the man’s arms as he scoops me off the ground.
“Fight me when you’ve got your strength back. Come on. You need a healer.” Kalan’s low voice rumbles through my chest as he ignores my protest and walks me from the training area.
“No, feels wrong. Where… Ten…”
“They’ll be cared for. Rest.”
My eyes stutter closed, and all I can see is the hurt on Ten’s face.
I wake to my body screaming at me. My arm, leg and shoulder are all demanding I pay them attention, but then I want to curse at the pain. Someone is here. Healing me.
“Stop.” My word is thick and groggy, like I’ve been out of it for a while.
“I’m not finished. It will be better soon.”
“Wrong.” It’s the only other word I can mutter. But as I say it, I try to recognise the strange feeling the healing gave me last time. This isn’t that. This is smoother. Better. But the pain is still there.
As I open my eyes, I flutter them to focus on who’s next to my bed. Every muscle that isn’t currently severed or bleeding tenses when I see the cloaked hood of the Usher.
“Not who you were expecting?” He keeps the pressure on my thigh, where Ten slashed me the first time, and I cringe at the contact, begging my conscious self to relax.
“I didn’t know you were a Natural.” Factual—keep my questions to the facts. Information, that’s what I need, and there’s no getting out of this. I doubt I’ll be in a good position if someone doesn’t stitch me up.
“I was. If you can still belong to an Order after so long away from Kirrasia.”
“You’re not a Natural here, though. Clare came to us last time.”
“Clare is a healer, yes.”
“Her skills don’t feel the same as yours. She didn’t mend Ten or Crimson particularly well.” I pause and swallow as my mouth runs dry. “Is that because of her or where we are, or that you didn’t want us healed in the first place?”
He doesn’t stop with his gentle pressure and movement of his hand over my leg. And, while the pull and tug of my skin is uncomfortable, the pain lessens, easing as he continues, and it doesn’t make me want to shrink back away from his touch anymore.
“Clare is still… learning. Her power no longer comes from Aslendrix.”
“Did she leave because she wasn’t born with strong magic? Did you try to give her Novandia’s instead?”
His cloak lifts so I can see his wrinkled face for a moment, before he gets back to work.
“Why did you use her to heal my friends?” I grit the words, wrestling with my anger, that he’d potentially experiment on people as a way to gain more power, and then use them to try to mend people. Naturals don’t do that.
“Why didn’t you use your magic to stop Aten Ciro in the ring?” he asks.
And it’s my turn to leave him thinking, rather than giving him an answer. Although at the time, it didn’t occur to me to use my magic. Especially against Ten.
If I must have him as my nursemaid, there must be some information he’s willing to spill.
“You don’t seem to have any problem practising after all this time. You’ve been gone a long while. Since the battle?” The same one that my parents started and were killed in.
“Oh, no. I’ve been gone much longer than that.
But I’m not surprised that’s what you would think.
The texts have all been erased. Or liberated, with a little help.
” Just like what Fenix was doing in the library.
Why? “Your parents didn’t need to be guided by history to find the path they took.
They did that of their own volition, because what is broken in Kirrasia has been that way for a very long time.
” He stands and looks down on me. “Rest. I have some explaining to do to your brother.”
“He wants to see me hurt, that’s clear.”
“He is frustrated. Don’t count on that changing until your own views do.”
His words do a good job of rattling my thoughts, rocking the layers of knowledge I’ve stacked up, up, and up. Was there any truth to all of this, some righteousness that I was missing?
Without another word, he leaves me alone, and I let my body relax, testing out all the aches and pains still lingering. I send a pulse of energy along the connection to check on Ten. But as I hold on and concentrate on the tether between us, all I get is a cold stone wall—his shield.
It’s the first time here that he’s used it, and it crushes a part of me that he wants to keep me out, especially after what he just went through.
The need to push through—to break through—and yell at him that I’m fine, and he needs to reassure me of the same for him, is vibrating through my chest. My heart pounds against my ribs as I swallow the fact that he wants space. I won’t betray that and take it away.
Sitting up, I pull down the collar of my shirt, ignoring the blood stain, and check the wound to my shoulder and other arm.
The one where Ten slowly pressed the blade into me, now has a star-like scar, red and ugly, where the skin’s been pulled back into place, but at least it doesn’t hurt. It aches, like in Kirrasia when Calix hit me. The tissue is mended, but not the damage beneath—just like in Kirrasia.
I just hope it doesn’t leave a scar on Ten, as well.