CHAPTER 5 #3
“It’s not like I could go anywhere without one of you finding me and dragging me back here.” The words had more bite to them than she was owed, but it was true. I had barely made it fifteen steps without an elven on my tail.
“I understand how awful this situation must be for you. For all of you. It has never been fair for us to take you from your homes and sentence you to death.” Her voice was gentle. So at odds with Kilian’s harsh disposition.
“Why do it, then? None of us have asked to be elven. Release us and be done with it.”
The female gave me a sad smile. “I never introduced myself. My name is Syrina. I’ve been paired with your friend Anama for the Trials.
I see a lot of myself in her. It’s why I don’t instruct very often.
You may think the Trials are hard on you, but each decade we form bonds and attachments to our candidates.
And each time, we watch them die. No one hates the Mortal Trials as much as I do.
I do not relish a single drop of blood spilt – mortal or otherwise. ”
“Watching someone die is not the same as dying.”
“No. It is far more painful. Take a left here.” Syrina gestured to a doorway on the lower landing of the stairwell. “We should get you to the med hall to fix that hand of yours. I don’t know what you were thinking, riling Kilian up like that. You might as well have signed your death certificate.”
I shouldered the door to find a long stone passage, exposed to the elements on the left side.
Aside from the chill, the view was breathtaking – different higher up than on the ground floor.
The jagged mountain range on either side was clearer, the frosted peaks rising and falling around us.
It reminded me of the tiny snow globes which had decorated one of the governor’s living rooms.
A railing coated in a fine dust of snow trailed the length of the passage. To the right stood rooms, their doors labeled with things like Supply Hall, Staff Dinner Hall, and right at the end of the passage, Med Hall.
“I feel so much anger every time I’m near him,” I said as Syrina held the door open for me.
The med hall was a cluster of white beds. All were empty save for one, atop which an elven male was sprawled, fast asleep, his torso wrapped in bandages. Syrina led me to a bed away from him and ordered me to sit.
“Kilian has that effect on people,” she responded. “Try not to let him get under your skin. I don’t.”
I gave her a skeptical look. “He riles you up too?”
“All the time. You think I want to be here, training another candidate to go through the worst experience a mortal should ever have to endure? I’d much rather be in my studio with my paints and pottery, creating things that will actually survive.”
“So why are you here, then?” There was no hostility in my question, only curiosity.
“He asked me to be,” she said simply. “And you’ll soon learn just how difficult it is to say no to him.”
“Are you two…?” My question hung in the air. The way she spoke about him, with a casual indifference that only came from knowing someone a very long time, made me wonder whether they were together.
“No. Definitely not.” Syrina laughed. It was a tinkling sound that reminded me of windchimes. “He’s like my brother. And besides, he’s not my type.”
I blinked. It was hard to imagine Kilian not being anyone’s type.
“Sure,” Syrina continued, her eyes light with amusement.
“I can admit he’s attractive, if you’re into the whole tall, brooding, capable of slaying his enemies with half a thought kind of thing, but it’s not for me.
I prefer my partners to be softer, feminine, but who can still kick some ass, you know? ”
Despite wanting to hate her, I couldn’t. A smile broke across my face. “An excellent combination.”
A door flapped open to the side and a male elven entered. He wore a white coat and sported a tired expression as he crossed over to us. “Syrina,” he said by way of greeting. “Are you well?”
“Perfectly so, Midius,” Syrina replied. “I’ve brought my mortal friend, Lirah, for some healing. She fractured her wrist punching Kilian.”
Midius gawked at me in disbelief. “Are you able to rotate the joint?”
“No.” I didn’t even try. My wrist throbbed even when I didn’t move it, the skin hot, blood-slicked and swollen.
“May I?” The elven’s fingers hovered above my wrist but did not touch me.
I nodded.
Cool fingers pressed gently to my wrist, then to my temple. “You’ve had a minor dislocation to your fifth metacarpal and a superficial laceration,” he murmured. “There’s some fracturing to your vertebrosternal ribs and a few muscular contusions. Nothing serious.”
Nothing serious? It hurt when I fucking breathed.
“I’ll leave you in the capable hands of Midius,” Syrina said, backing away. “If you ever need to chat or things become too much – more than it already is, I mean – I’m here.”
“Thank you,” I said, and genuinely meant it.
Midius’ fingers softly scraped along my wrist and an icy menthol sensation licked at my bones. It was a foreign feeling but not an uncomfortable one.
“Is this upper magic?” I asked the healer, curious.
“Of course,” Midius answered. “Upper magic and a lot of experience. It takes a certain skill to reset bones and repair muscles.”
“How long have you been practicing for? I would have thought the magic would make it easier.”
“Oh, decades, my dear. Decades. The magic only gives you the ability. It’s how you hone it that distinguishes you.”
When he was done, I rotated the joint carefully, marveling at the instant relief. If I had dislocated a bone in Serila, it would have taken months to heal.
The icy sensation slowly leeched out of my body, leaving me with no physical pain. Only the blistering ire in my heart that seemed to never wane.
I doubted even Midius would be able to fix that.