24. Chapter 24
“What?” she said, startled, the sound of the flood and the splintering trees still ringing in her ears.
Vaelin seethed, a furious shadow towering over her. “Why wouldn’t you take my hand? Why wait until the very last second? One more minute and we’d have both been swept away.”
“I —”
“Why do you have so little regard for your own life?” he demanded.
She felt his breath on her face and she stared at him, unsure of how to respond. Her chest tightened uncomfortably as she fumbled for some sharp retort, but came up empty.
“I can’t —” he began, but then he was pushing off the rock face, stepping backward abruptly and dragging a hand over his face.
Isla staggered slightly at the sudden loss of his weight pressed against her, a shiver running through her at the sudden cold of her soaked clothing as a gentle breeze threaded through the forest. Awkwardly, she scrambled out of the crevasse, her eyes drawn to the smear of blood across the rocks. Her eyes snapped back to Vaelin.
“You’re bleeding. Let me see.” She reached for his arm but he pulled away with a growl as if she’d burned him.
Stung, she stared at his hand, where a deep, jagged gash sliced diagonally across his palm.
Wordlessly, she followed as he slowly trudged through the knee-high water, climbing a slight hill to a patch of dry land.
His long hair dripped onto his shoulders, making him resemble a very large, very wet dog.
Isla’s brow furrowed with concern as he stumbled over an uneven patch of earth, leaning some of his weight on nearby tree trunks.
Gone was his preternatural grace, his face drawn with dual lines of pain and fatigue. Blood dripped from his hand.
“Vaelin—” she tried again, but he cut her off.
“It’s nothing,” he growled, his jaw tight.
“It won’t be nothing if it gets infected,” she snapped.
He turned to glare at her, and stumbled, his right knee buckling as he lurched forward.
Alarmed, Isla pressed both hands flat against his chest and shoved him backward.
He loosed a grunt of pain as his spine collided with the tree trunk of an enormous pine tree, and he sank to the ground, closing his eyes with a wince as his back slid along the rough bark.
“Sorry,” she said, hastily pushing the hair out of her face. “Better than landing on your face.”
She dropped to a knee before him, watching as his chest rose and fell with laboured breaths.
He opened one eye, peering at her. She raised a single, stubborn eyebrow.
He growled again, but held out his hand, even the small motion seeming to cost him.
Gently, she took his large hand in both of her own, tilting his palm toward the light.
She prodded the edges of the torn skin, flexing his fingers to determine the depth of the cut.
Fresh blood welled and he hissed through his teeth. She rolled her eyes.
“Terrible spot,” she murmured. “Every flex is going to tear it open again. The river water seems to have kept it clean, at least. I’ll bind it so we can keep the dirt out of it.”
She reached into her satchel out of habit, grimacing as she sunk her hand into cold water. She tipped the bag, draining the water, along with her now ruined supplies. She huffed, annoyed.
“I told you it’s nothing,” he protested.
“Oh, shut up,” she snapped, reaching for the hem of her tunic. It was already damaged from colliding with countless sharp rocks during the flood, and she tore a long strip of fabric off easily.
“There you go again,” he mumbled as she began to wrap the wound. “Always taking care of everyone else.”
“What?”
“You’re bleeding too.”
She stilled suddenly as the tip of his finger gently brushed her cheek, a shiver running through her. She lifted her eyes to his and he dropped his hand, closing his eyes.
She pressed her fingers to her own cheek, pulling her hand back to glance at the small amount of blood dusting her fingertips. “Just a surface wound,” she said, dismissively. “Yours is deeper.”
He huffed out a breath of dry amusement, a small smile ghosting across his lips.
A moment passed in silence as Isla wound the bandage tightly around his palm, glancing up at him quickly before looking back to her task.
His eyes were open again, his jaw firmly set.
He was angry, and rightfully so. She had nearly gotten him killed.
“I’m sorry I nearly cost you your life,” she said quietly.
He stared at her as though he couldn’t quite comprehend her words. She blinked, uncertain. Gone was the anger she’d thought she’d seen there, replaced now by a tenderness that struck her like an arrow. He shook his head.
“I’m not angry because you endangered my life. I’m angry because you seem to have no interest in preserving your own.”
She stared at him, discomfort, along with something else she couldn’t — or wouldn’t — name, needling her skin.
“I—” she began, but then frowned as her eyes snagged on the visible flush at his neck and the sweat that beaded on his brow.
“Are you injured anywhere else?” she asked, scanning his body.
She leaned towards him, touching the back of her hand gingerly to his brow.
“You’re warm,” she muttered, concern rising.
“Just a little burnout,” he grunted, closing his eyes as she slid her hand from his damp brow to his cheek. His head lolled to the side, leaning into her hand. He straightened abruptly and she withdrew her hand. “I’ll be fine,” he said, “I just need to rest a bit.”
“Burnout?” she echoed, her brows drawing together. She reached for his wrist reflexively, feeling for his pulse. His hand twitched as her fingers closed around his skin.
“Magic isn’t unlimited,” he explained, voice low, watching her feel for his pulse. “When the fae draw on their power, it weakens them for a time. That’s part of why the earthwielders — fae healers — are so imperative to our armies. They more or less eliminate that recovery period.”
“So they —”
“— heal others at the cost of their own strength, yes.” He drawled, finishing her thought, and raised an eyebrow at her, “Something you might be familiar with.”
She flushed, irritation prickling the back of her neck. He was annoyingly perceptive. She pulled her hand back to her lap, shifting to sit on her hip.
“The stronger you are, the more magic you can draw on, and the worse the burnout,” he continued.
“How strong are you?”
He paused before he answered, shrugging in a show of indifference. “Strong.”
“So… how long will you need? To recover?”
He shifted, wincing slightly. “We’ll rest here for the night,” he glanced down the slight hill they rested on, at the inches of water that still flooded the main trail. “That should give the earth time to reabsorb the water. I doubt there will be another flash flood on the heels of that last one.”
Isla nodded. “Will you be… full strength, or whatever? Tomorrow?”
He nodded. “Close enough. My magic is strongest in Vaelora, and we’ll likely reach the Pass by midday tomorrow. I’ll recover faster the closer we get.”
He fell quiet, eyes closed, and Isla hugged her knees to her chest. In all her life, she had never experienced a flood in Terravern, let alone one that fierce.
She winced as she recalled how the current had pulled at her like a hundred greedy hands, as if trying to stretch her body beyond its limits in all directions.
A memory pulled at her — Vaelin’s eyes, wide with urgency and fear as death crashed all around them, grunting at the force of the current at his back as debris crashed around them.
She saw more clearly now the way his energy had seemed to drain from him, fatigue seeming to sink into his bones.
He had been emptying his magic, his energy, at an alarming rate - for her.
“What is it?” he asked quietly, as if sensing her growing anxiety. His eyes were still closed.
“It’s because of me,” she murmured, quietly. He didn't respond, but she knew he had heard.“The burnout,” she clarified.
He opened his eyes, his gaze locking on hers, the blue of his eyes so light they seemed almost grey. “I made a choice,” he stated, his voice slightly husky. “And I told you… it would be inconvenient for me if you died.”
The corner of her mouth twitched upward, but the smile soon slipped from her face as her eyes fell on her drenched satchel.
Her healing supplies were ruined, the precious herbs she had gathered along their journey missing, ripped from the bag by the current.
Her bedroll was long gone, swept away along with her rations.
Thanks to the harness Oren had fitted her with, she was still in possession of her blade, which sat snug between her shoulder blades.
“The horses,” she murmured.
“They’ll have run back to Brackenford,” Vaelin said. “We’ll continue on foot. Get new mounts at the Market. Would take us more time to double back.”
She nodded, turning something over in her mind. “Can I ask you something?”
He hummed.
“The visions you and Sereth had. You said they were sent to Dreamwalkers. But… you’re not Starfire, are you?”
He shrugged, then winced at the motion. “I don’t know what I am. My mother died in childbirth and my father was a Windborne soldier who never wanted anything to do with me. He died when I was young.”
Isla felt a pang of sympathy in her chest for the boy he had been — a boy who had been unwanted, ignored. Her own home had been so full of love, she’d never known anything different.
“I spent the majority of my life as an orphan in the barracks, training with the Windborne regiments,” he continued.
“Sereth took me under her wing because she knew my mother, but she never told me how, or spoke about her at all. But I look nothing like the Starfire, and I can only wield the wind, while the Starfire wield all elements.”
“So why would you receive a vision, then?”
“No idea. In truth, I have no way of knowing if that’s what it even was. But…here you are in front of me, so I have a difficult time believing that it should be dismissed.” His lip quirked and she looked down, her neck heating.
An hour later, they sat shoulder to shoulder beneath the pine as evening fell, a fire blazing before them.
Despite the plethora of pine trees in this part of Terravern, it had been something of a challenge for Isla to locate dry wood in the wake of the flood.
She’d resorted to pulling higher branches from trees in favour of using those that had fallen naturally to the forest floor, wincing as though she felt the trees’ disappointment with every snapped limb.
“What changed your mind?” Vaelin asked softly, as though he wasn’t sure he should poke at this particular wound.
Isla flinched, watching the flames dance. She didn’t need to ask what he meant. Neve’s unseeing eyes flashed in her mind’s eye and he hummed in wordless understanding. “I’m sorry,” he said softly.
She nodded, fiddling with the laces on her boots.
“I have a sister, too,” she said. He said nothing, but she felt his attention on her.
“Lyra. She’s in The City, studying with the Scholars,” Isla continued, a sad smile tugging at her mouth.
“She’s brilliant, and stubborn. Left for Dunovar after our parents died. Got away as soon as she could.”
“Away from what?” he asked.
“From me,” Isla said, smiling sadly.
Perhaps sensing the rawness of her tone, Vaelin didn’t press for more, and she was quietly grateful. “I’m sorry,” he said again, after a few moments.
Isla shrugged. “All families have friction. I’m sure yours does too.”
“I have no family,” he said.
She glanced up, finding him staring hard into the fire. She didn’t push, showing him the same consideration he’d shown her. But she watched as he closed his eyes, face tightening, and she wondered whether he was seeing Sereth’s pyre again — the trauma he couldn’t seem to outrun.
In the morning, Vaelin rose with a grunt and announced it was time for them to make their final push to the mouth of the Pass.
She had to admit he looked better, if not quite fully himself.
Still, Isla marked his slower gait, less effortlessly graceful than it had been before.
She fell into step beside him, as though her presence might offer him some support.
He glanced down at her, eyes flickering with something like surprise.
As the sky climbed steadily into the sky, they hiked in step, the greenery of the woods giving way almost entirely to grey as the mountains now rose around them in earnest. The sparse pines were far and few between now, but Isla was pleased to find some herbs along the way to partly restock those she’d lost in the flood.
She stooped, digging through the earth. Vaelin stood quietly by, letting her work, making no sounds of impatience or desire to move on.
With the sun high overhead, Vaelin announced they’d arrived where the borders of Terravern and Vaelora met.
Despite the sun beating down on them, Isla shivered against the brisk mountain wind that blew more freely here without the forests to block its bite.
Her body groaned in protest with each step, battered and beaten by both the effort of hiking the uneven, rocky terrain and the aftermath of being thrown around by the current of the flood.
“There’s a plateau just up ahead that will afford us some shelter from the winds,” Vaelin said, his voice sounding nearly as strained and tired as she felt. “We’ll camp there.”
He took the lead as they climbed, the wind whipping greedily at Isla’s clothes, rock spires reaching for them from the cliff walls like jagged stone teeth.
She shivered, lamenting the loss of her new cloak, her clothes clinging to her skin as the mountain air seemed to imbue them with cold.
As if sensing her discomfort, Vaelin glanced over his shoulder, concern in his eyes.
“Not much farther, now.”
She nodded stiffly, too tired and cold to argue.
They rounded a bend, and Vaelin came to a sudden halt, Isla nearly walking directly into his back.
Vaelin said nothing as he slowly scanned the landscape, his fae eyes no doubt capturing far more in the falling darkness than Isla’s could. But she sensed it, too. Something - or someone - watching them, marking their approach.
And then, a voice, smooth and amused, cut through the quiet.
“Oh look, he found a stray.”