Chapter 26
Esiree
Dinner was, by all accounts, uneventful, despite attempts at revelry.
It made me realize how much I had missed the evocative scents of actual food wafting through the air.
My meals in the Heart, though delicious, were a solitary affair since the Parcaetes dined in secrecy.
The smell of the plump pig roasting over the open fire pit, the buttery glaze dripping from every vegetable on my plate.
I inhaled deeply, remembering what it was like to live amongst humans again.
The food was my only distraction from the fact that night had fallen completely and Vastion was nowhere to be seen.
I even nudged Orin to inquire privately, and he indicated there was no news to relay.
My stomach was beginning to churn with anxiety.
What if they were all dead? What if things had gone terribly wrong?
Orin escorted me back to my tent after I bid good evening to the Muirian leadership. The second we entered I voiced my concern. “They should have been back by now.”
The commander began to pace the small area of my tent. “You’re not wrong. Their return should have been before nightfall. It’s possible they encountered others from nearby nests,” he surmised.
“Should you go after them? Are you sending reinforcements?”
“I want to, but we shouldn’t. Even now, our numbers are unfavorable. Our duty is to protect the citizens of Muir. We cannot abandon them to search for a party they don’t even know is missing.”
“But—”
“I’m considering all options, My Queen!” Orin snapped, emphasizing my title, albeit begrudgingly.
“Fine, but promise me that if he hasn’t returned by the hour of the wolf, you will go yourself. Even if you must go alone.”
“I am just as concerned. You’ll be lucky if I keep myself at bay until then. Every fiber of my being is telling me to go now.”
“Then go,” I whispered, tears beginning to well in my eyes.
And with that, Orin finally nodded and then departed. His swift exit brought a well of emotions, colliding like the tide against the rock.
I undressed myself, disinterested in the company of a lady’s maid while I wallowed in worry. My mind was rampant with horrific thoughts. I lay in the giant bed, the size of which caused me to feel increasingly lonely. I tossed and turned, trying to find sleep but failing remarkably.
Every small sound outside the tent caused me to jolt and stir at the possibility of his return.
My heart sat on edge, fearing that Orin’s horror-stricken expression would be the first thing I saw when the flap to the tent finally moved.
The candle beside my bed dripped down its taper, a pool of wax gathering like my fears and doubts.
My eyes stared at the trembling flames until the sensation gave way to heavy eyelids.
I awoke suddenly to the sound of the leather shifting and squinted my eyes open to witness Orin enter with Vastion’s arm slung over his shoulder.
I jumped from the bed, disregarding my state of dress and hastened myself to Vastion’s other side.
His head was slumped, and his body felt limp as I helped move him toward the bed.
When I pulled away, my hand grazed his back and he immediately winced in pain, emitting a low growl unlike anything I’d heard before.
“Scissors. Do you have scissors?” Orin asked frantically.
“I—I think so, one moment.” I moved to my desk quickly, shuffling through items, praying that I had a pair. When I found them, I brought them to him immediately, my hands shaking as I passed the scissors to Orin. Behind him, he began cutting the fabric along Vastion’s jacket.
He looked so very tired, his eyes fighting to stay open.
“What happened? Was there an attack?” I begged for answers, struggling to find my words.
Orin ignored my questions and began to peel away bloody scraps of fabric from Vastion’s broad back, revealing the most horrific wounds I’d ever seen on someone still alive.
I gasped in shock. Deep grooves marred his flesh, indicative of the Rabid’s long, sharp fingernails.
His wound seemed to bear the marks of multiple attackers having repeatedly clawed at his back.
Blood still oozed from some of the deeper cuts while dried fluid marked the more superficial ones.
“Why isn’t he healing yet?”
“He hasn’t had a ration recently, though even that will not heal such severe wounds quickly.”
“Go then. Bring him blood. Now!” I commanded impatiently.
Orin looked at me, his gaze showing a hint of concern. And that’s when I realized. He didn’t want to leave me alone with Vastion. Not in his state. One where he might be out of his wits, lacking restraint. The commander actually feared for my safety.
“He won’t bite me. I know it,” I declared, looking down at Vastion who was hunched over, barely holding himself up. “Go!”
Orin vanished in a blur, off to retrieve the only thing that could help his friend. When I was certain Vastion wasn’t going to fall over entirely, I moved to the wash table and grabbed a porcelain bowl of water and a small pile of rags.
“Thank the Gods you’re alive,” I said, beginning to dampen a cloth.
Vastion coughed through a small laugh before wincing at the pain he’d caused himself. “I thought I was already dead?”
Ignoring his sarcasm, I lifted the cloth to his shoulder and gently patted at the wound. He hissed at the sting, but I continued, trying my best to remedy the mess around his raw flesh.
“This is awful,” I said, shaking my head while dabbing his skin again.
“You should see the other vampire,” Vastion joked once more.
“Well, he certainly didn’t kill your sense of humor,” I remarked, rolling my eyes.
Too much time had passed since Orin’s departure, and I was becoming increasingly frustrated. “For someone who can move unbelievably fast, what in creation is taking him so long?” I questioned in annoyance.
“Maybe he wanted to give you time to feel sorry for me,” Vastion mused.
“I’ve been worried sick the whole time!”
“You look stunning to me.” Vastion rose from his hunched position, his face still exhibiting signs of pain. “However, I don’t approve of Orin seeing you like that,” he said, eyeing my nightdress.
Before I could scold him for flirting in such dire circumstances, Orin re-entered the tent, a pitcher in his hand—far more than an evening ration. He held it up to Vastion, expecting him to take it.
“No, that is too much,” he replied, pushing his palm against the ceramic carafe.
“Don’t give me this shit about rations now, you fool. You’re the king. A wound of that severity requires it. Now fucking drink!”
I’d never seen Orin speak to him this way.
He was speaking as his friend, not a servant, and I was glad someone had the mind to put Vastion in his place.
I couldn’t take a moment more of his deflection as I stared at the open wounds lining his back.
Maybe if he saw himself in a mirror he’d feel differently.
Vastion finally ceased his protest and lifted the pitcher to his lips and drank.
Slowly at first, but then his thirst kicked in and his gulps became frantic and quick.
I watched in the lantern light as blood dribbled from the corners of his lips, and when he’d finally drunk half of what Orin had brought him, he paused and wiped his mouth.
When he turned to face me, the warmth of his tan skin had begun to return.
But there was also a guilt in his eyes that I couldn’t understand.
“Soon,” Orin reassured him. “Give it a few moments, and I’m certain the pain will begin to recede.
” How he knew this, I had no idea, but I was then reminded that I’ve never seen Orin without his jackets and long cloaks; I had no idea what wounds he himself had survived as commander. From human, beast, or otherwise.
While Vastion drank, I continued to pat the wet cloth against his back as I witnessed the healing take hold. Slowly but surely the wounds began to close, flesh rebuilding itself, the sides of open gashes reconnecting with the bright red tissue.
“Keep drinking,” I urged him. “It’s working!”
The wounds began to close one by one, but in their wake were smooth pink scars, rows and rows of them in place of the gashes that had run like shallow creek beds down his back.
I turned toward Orin. “Will there always be scars?”
“Yes, it is likely. The damage was significant, but they will fade somewhat over time,” he explained.
Vastion finished off the last of the carafe and handed it back to his friend.
“Thank you,” I said to Orin. “What happened?”
Vastion spoke without a hint of pain in his voice for the first time since arriving. “The weapon worked—well…mostly.”
“Then how did you end up in this sorry state?” I interrogated, trying to understand how this meant victory. We had seemingly almost lost him in the process. I felt the acute ache of my anxiety finally begin to recede when I took a deep breath, acknowledging that I had not lost him after all.
“The smoke stunned them, as we hoped it would. When we breached the entrance of the nest, plenty of them were incapacitated or too weak to fight. It was easy to pick them off.”
“Then what?”
“I led us deeper into the cave to ensure we’d eradicated them all when suddenly one of them jumped down from the ceiling and landed on my back.
The beast clung to my shoulders and clawed furiously at me, over and over.
I was caught entirely by surprise.” Vastion paused, looking at his commander, whose face did nothing to conceal his anger for leaving him to watch over me instead of fulfilling his real duty.
“I tried everything to free myself from him, but he held on with every twist, turn and tumble. Finally, Feren was able to tackle him from my back before the creature could take out my throat.” Vastion shook his head in disappointment. “I won’t lie to either of you. It was a close call.”
“Why do you think that one survived?” Orin asked, thinking the same thing I was wondering, since the smoke bomb had seemingly worked on the others.