Chapter 84 – Quinton
QUINTON
“Good,” Myrin said from beside me. “Remember to narrow your focus.”
I nodded, guiding my magic to apply pressure to the officer’s leg.
He’d been brought in after a skirmish just outside Tempest; a clean cut, but deep.
Myrin had ordered me to heal him. The runes above his bed kept him in a deep sleep, while Myrin stood next to me, monitoring every move.
Her own magic pulsed quietly on the surface, a safety net in case I made a mistake.
“Now, go inside gently and sweep it out, clean the edges. Hold it there,” Myrin murmured. Her power brushed the wound, cool and steady, bolstering my fumbling threads. “Don’t strangle the flow—cup it. Yes, like that.”
I swept my magic through the laceration, guiding out clotted blood and ragged tissue. Gods, it was painstaking work. Blood magic for healing always took more out of me. And learning to use it gently? It was even worse.
“Better,” she said softly. “Now, align it. Feel the muscle fibers. They will be rough, like frayed rope. Don’t force them. Coax them back together.”
I pulled the torn edges inward, weaving them close. Sweat prickled at my temples.
“Steady, Quin,” Myrin said, always calm, never hurried. “Anchor the deeper layer first. If you only seal the surface, it’ll tear apart the moment he moves.”
I adjusted, pressing deeper. The muscle shivered under my control, resisting at first, then settling. Slowly, painfully, I drew the wound closed from the inside out until only the skin gaped.
“Now the vessels,” she instructed. “Pinch the small ones shut, one at a time. You’ll feel the trickle.”
I gritted my teeth, hunting down each faint stream and sealing it with a precise pinch of power.
My vision blurred at the edges. I pushed through it, dragging the skin closed, weaving it tight until nothing but a thin red seam remained.
“Ease off,” Myrin said.
I released the artery carefully. Blood rushed beneath my control, testing the repair. It held. The officer’s pulse beat steady under my hand.
A shaky breath escaped me. My hands trembled where they rested at my sides. “Done.”
Myrin placed her palm over the sealed wound, testing, then withdrew with the faintest smile. “Weeks ago, you would have burst the artery. Today, you saved his leg.” Her gaze softened. “You’re learning, Quin. Even if it costs you more than it should.”
My magic recoiled back into me. I was spent. The man slept on, blissfully unaware of how close he’d come to losing his leg.
“You should be proud of yourself. Healing magic is the most difficult craft out there. Anyone can burn things, but putting them back together? That requires patience and technique. You’re learning, Thornvale.”
“Thanks, Myrin,” I said quietly. I wasn’t sure I deserved the praise. I’d improved—from rough, blind mending to something that actually worked. I had to. We all had targets on our backs now.
I left Myrin’s healing rooms and walked back toward the barracks.
It was still early in the morning: Elias would be sparring with Azaria, so I took the opportunity to grab a quick meal and try to replenish some of my magic.
Healing took it out of me in ways nothing else did.
I’d gained a new respect for every healer in this place.
Mending wounds was no joke. I thought I knew the basics until Myrin showed me I knew absolutely nothing about proper healing.
I’d been as rough as a butcher with a dull blade.
But I kept at it. Showed up at Myrin’s every day, even when Azaria had shut me out.
I was a miserable bastard then, but Myrin never stopped teaching me.
I did it because I’d promised to stand by Azaria—because she’d need me, and she’d need this power.
But promises weren’t enough. Not when I’d already failed her once. Not when I’d walked away at that ball and left her alone with the man who’d hurt her.
I needed to know the truth. Needed to face what I’d done—or failed to do.
And there was only one person who could tell me.
Azaria said Torven had been seen at the Obsidian Palace in Draevenholt. Malphyr didn’t invite people there for nothing. If Torven was there, Malphyr had a plan for him.
What Azaria had said in front of the squad kept gnawing at me: He wants to break me by killing the people I love.
I was on that list—love. I knew what we had. I knew what she’d shown me these past few days. But Azaria had spent years keeping people at arm’s length, and some part of me—the part that remembered weeks of her walking past me like I was nothing—still flinched at the word.
She loved Dain—no question. He’d been her anchor, her family, for as long as anyone could remember.
She’d built something with Kalias too. That used to bother me, back when I was too proud and too stupid to see it for what it was.
I understood that now. Didn’t mean I was above the occasional pang of jealousy when the wolf curled around her like he owned her, but I’d learned to let it go.
And then there was me.
Fuck, I needed to stop spiraling and start doing.
And the next step on that long list was talking to Dain about what really happened during that cursed Anniversary Ball.
The common room was still empty—good. As expected, Dain was already there, sitting at the large desk, tea in hand, sifting through the ever-growing pile of reports. The amount of paperwork in this place would never cease to amaze me.
“Morning, Quin,” Dain said casually. “You’re here early.”
“Morning, Dain,” I replied, dropping into the chair opposite him.
He gave me that knowing look and asked, “What is it?”
No point in dragging it out. “What happened during that ball?”
Dain hesitated for a moment. “You need to be more specific,” he said carefully.
“You were worried Azaria was in danger that night. I saw someone watching her. I couldn’t place him, but he had eyes on her all evening. And then there was that man who pinned her to the wall by the restrooms…” I trailed off, unable to stop the anger rising—anger at myself, mostly.
Dain weighed me for a moment, clearly waiting for me to finish.
“You know who that man was,” I finally said.
“Yes,” he replied.
Bile rose in my throat. “Tell me, Dain,” I said hoarsely. “Was Azaria in danger at that moment, and I walked away?”
Dain looked at me and took a deep breath. He was weighing something—whether I was worthy of the truth or not.
“Dain, please,” I pressed. “I need to know. Who was that man?”
He waited a moment, then replied, “The man you saw at the restrooms was Torven Kaelor.”
I thought I was going to be sick. The man who was actively trying to murder her, who was sending Dravareth scum and beasts through our wards—he was right there at the ball, and I’d done nothing to stop it.
Elias, Dain, Azaria—every one of them was right to be pissed at me.
She was in danger, and instead of stepping in, I let my jealousy and anger flare up, like a fucking?—
“Quin,” Dain cut into my spiral. “You were a miserable prick that night, yes. But whatever happened with Kaelor was not your fault.”
“I should have stepped in, Dain, I?—“
“Yes, you should have.” Dain didn’t soften the blow. “But it’s in the past now.”
I took a deep breath. Maybe it wasn’t my fault, but I still felt guilty. But the week after…
“Dain, what happened during that arrest?” I asked. I had to know. Azaria admitted she wasn’t in Thalor, that she’d had to lie low.
“It doesn’t matter now,” Dain replied.
“It matters to me,” I said, more sharply than I meant. “What happened to her during that week, Dain?”
Dain’s jaw ticked. He waited a long moment, then sighed. “Azaria was injured. She needed treatment, but Tywin decided it was best for her to stay away for a few days. Torven’s arrest was a… delicate matter. It wasn’t my decision to keep it secret, Quin—I was bound to an oath, and so was Azaria.”
“He hurt her… That bastard hurt her,” I growled.
“As I said, Quin—whatever happened to her was not your fault. You couldn’t have predicted it, and it wasn’t you who dealt the blow, so stop beating yourself up over it. She needs you strong, and she needs you in the present—not drowning in things that happened months ago,” Dain said.
Easy for him to say. I loved her. I loved her so fucking much. And now, knowing I’d failed her again… I couldn’t think straight. Couldn’t focus on his logic.
“Quin, look at me,” Dain prompted. I lifted my gaze to his. “We all make mistakes. The question is whether you learn from it and move forward… or drown in guilt and let it drag you back to the men we once were.”
I let his words settle. Dain was right—he was always right. I had to find a way to believe it myself.
“I’m sorry, Dain,” I said, because it was the right thing to do. Not just for Azaria, but for him—for everything I’d done that day, and the way I’d acted. She didn’t deserve it. Neither did anyone else. “And I’m sorry I didn’t act.”
Dain sat back, studying me for a moment. “Thank you, Quin.”
I nodded.
“Now, focus on those training sessions with Myrin. You’re getting the hang of it. Soon you’ll be promoted to squad healer,” Dain said, tone suddenly casual.
That stopped me cold. “How do you know about this?”
Dain grinned. “Spy, remember? It’s my job to know things.”
I rolled my eyes. “Sure.”