Chapter 41 Wren
For the next two days, I barely leave Cassiel’s side. I keep him elevated, keep him hydrated, dose him with vials of painkillers, feed him, keep him company, and touch him so much that any other person would have complained and swatted me away from them.
Cassiel doesn’t, though. He crawls into each touch like he’s starving for it, which isn’t remotely true. He pulls away whenever his mother fusses too much, although he accepts a few hugs from Runara.
“I knew she was your favourite,” I remark one afternoon as she’s pulled away for lessons.
“Well, she was.” His silly, silky smile is stark across his face, and if he was in a better condition, I’d be tempted to throw a pillow in his face.
I don’t bother telling him that he shouldn’t say such things, not right now. And when his fingers drift across the blankets in search of mine, I inch forward to meet them.
I’m still holding them when the healer comes by to change his bandages.
“I can do that,” I tell her.
She glances at Cassiel, waiting for his permission. He senses her unspoken question and waves her away.
I unload the basket and start with his hands, snipping away the gauze wrapped around his palms. Memories of him crawling through the wreckage hissing in pain shoot through me, but I try to bite them down.
“Do they look bad?” Cassiel asks.
“No,” I tell him, mostly meaning it. “Largely superficial. If they do scar, it won’t be noticeable unless someone is really, really close.”
Cassiel nods, not seeming particularly convinced, and I tilt his chin towards me.
“It missed your face, though,” I remind him. “You’re as pretty as ever.”
He laughs, his voice light. “You’re so shallow, Wren.”
“Perhaps. But I don’t think you mind.”
He makes no attempt to correct me, and it takes all my power not to lean forward and kiss the edge of his jaw.
Needing a distraction, I unscrew the jar of ointment, and, before he can register anything, take the scissors and slice across the pad of my thumb.
I add a few droplets to the cream I’m applying.
I doubt my fey blood, weak and diluted as it is, will be able to do something as impressive as cure his eyesight, but it might accelerate his healing.
It’s worth a try.
I finish doctoring his wounds and rebandage them, pulling the covers up around him. One on his leg, one on his arm, several on his hands and fingers. He can’t even hold a spoon.
He definitely hates it more than me, but I think I’m a close second.
“You don’t have to do this,” he tells me, as I lift a spoon to his lips.
“Would it surprise you to hear that I want to?”
He takes a bite and swallows. “I seem to recall you insisting that you weren’t a nursemaid.”
“I seem to recall insisting that I made exceptions.” I press another mouthful to his lips. “Consider this me repaying you for that time you bandaged my leg and fussed over me for days.”
“That was different,” he insists.
“Why?”
He sighs. “Because I care about you more than you care about me.”
I drop the spoon into the bowl and stand up abruptly. My heart hammers in my chest. I can feel it in my throat, my stomach, like a creature crawling through my insides. My chest constricts so much that I can barely breathe.
Does he really think that?
“Wren—” He reaches for me, but I’ve already moved away. I hover near the window, wishing I could run. To fly away from here and him and everything I might have to do and everything I shouldn’t feel.
“It’s dangerous to care about me,” I tell him, which is as true as it is painful.
“I don’t care,” he whispers.
But you will. He will care so much when he learns what I am. He will care so much it might just break him.
He starts coughing before I can think of something to say. I race back towards him, bracing him against my palm as his body shudders against me. I squeeze his shoulder with my other hand, holding him steady, encouraging him to breathe through it.
He places his hand over mine as it subsides. “Just… stay there a moment,” he begs.
“Your heart is beating really fast—”
“Does that surprise you?” He squeezes my fingers.
It ought to be impossible for a blind man to look at me with such a dreamy expression.
It ought to be impossible for me to be considering kissing him.
I seize the bowl from the bedside and shove another spoonful towards him. It’s the best shield I have at hand.
I’m going to need something more if I am to survive this.
Late in the night, I wake to the sound of Cassiel coughing. A deep, wracking sound that scrapes at his throat. I hold my breath, listening. Waiting. When it doesn’t stop, I push aside the blanket and go to him. He’s turned on his side, shoulders trembling.
“Here,” I murmur, pressing a glass into his hands, then a vial.
He takes both, obedient despite his exhaustion.
“Fairly sure I’m not supposed to be your problem at night, Thornvale.”
“Fairly sure I’m not going to sleep if you’re coughing.”
“You don’t have to sleep here. If you want to find somewhere else—”
“I’m all right here.”
He exhales, soft. “Is it so hard to admit you like me?”
“Yes,” I whisper, my voice thin, “but not for the reason you think.”
Cassiel reaches out, his fingers brushing my wrist. It’s meant to be teasing, a light touch, but he lingers. His skin is warm against mine. Without thinking, I turn my hand over, letting our palms press together. His thumb traces the side of my hand, slow and thoughtful. I don’t pull away.
“You’re hot,” he murmurs, frowning slightly.
“And you’re tired.” I squeeze his fingers gently before slipping free. “Sleep.”
I stroke his hair until his breathing evens, then stay beside him a little longer just to make sure he’s asleep…
and partly because I enjoy watching him this way.
I’ve never watched anyone sleep before, never found any joy in watching someone dream.
His lashes are so dark compared to his hair. His eyes dart beneath his closed lids.
He still sees, in his dreams. I wonder if I feature in them.
When I’ve had my fill, I rise carefully, padding to the window and opening it fully. The cool night air rushes over me, but it does nothing to help the heat rolling under my skin. My pulse thuds at my temples.
I pour myself a drink, downing it in greedy gulps. It barely soothes my throat before the heat spikes again, worse this time, pulsing beneath my ribs. My breath hitches. I stumble to the washbasin and douse myself in water—
It hisses into steam the moment it touches my skin.
Oh. Oh no.
I lurch backwards, my legs trembling. I barely make it to the bathtub before my knees give out, and I collapse into the copper basin, fingers curling against its cooling metal. My body shakes violently. Heat surges up my spine, my fingertips prickling as my magic claws for release.
No, no, not again—
This hasn’t happened since I was a child. Since I couldn’t control myself.
Since the night my mother died and I locked my fire inside me, never to let it out again.
Except, I did let it out, or rather, I let it in. I doused the fires in the manor to save Cassiel. I sucked the flames inside me. I’ve done that before, now and again—but small, tiny flames. Candles and campfires. Nothing like the inferno that surrounded us.
The flames want out.
A whimper slips past my lips before I can stop it. The pressure in my chest builds—an unbearable, searing force pressing outward. I can’t. Not here. Not with Cassiel in the next room.
I killed my mother. I can’t kill him.
I squeeze my eyes shut and bite down hard, teeth digging into my lip to keep from screaming. My breath is ragged, my hands shaking as I press them against my ribs, willing the magic back. I don’t want this. I never wanted this.
Take it away, take it away—
Desperate, I reach for the other elements, forcing myself to focus. Earth, to ground me. Water, to cool me. Air, to carry the heat away. Nothing works. The copper beneath me burns, and my nightgown steams where it clings to my body.
Worse, the fabric starts to char. Flakes of it rise into the air like burning snowflakes.
If someone else touched me now, their skin would blister.
Stop this, stop this, stop this!
I can’t let Cassiel find me like this. Even if I manage not to hurt him, there’ll be no hiding that I’m not human. He’ll know that I lied.
He’ll know what I am.
And I don’t think I can bear the look on his face when he realises.
Runes—I have to use runes. My fingers are too slick with sweat to draw them properly, so I bring my thumb to my mouth, reopening the cut from earlier. Blood wells up, dark and thick. I smear it along my forearm, tracing the cooling sigil, whispering the incantation.
It doesn’t take. The heat warps it, blurs the edges, makes it drip from my skin the moment it’s applied. My breath comes faster.
I need more.
Pushing myself up, I stagger toward the sink, nearly toppling over. The scissors sit on the side, sharp and gleaming. My fingers shake as I pick them up.
I press the blade against my chest.
Pain sears through me, sharp enough to jolt my mind back from the burning haze. I bite down hard against a cry, dragging the sigil into my skin. Another on my thigh. Another on my arm.
I whisper the spells through gritted teeth. Prayers. Pleas. Anything.
The heat ebbs. Slowly. Painfully. The runes glow faintly before settling into my skin. My breath rattles, but it no longer feels like my ribs are going to crack apart. The steam fades from the air. My nightgown clings to my skin, damp and ruined.
I collapse onto the cold tiles, pressing my forehead to the stone. My fingers ache. My vision swims. But I’m not burning anymore.
Not on the outside, anyway. But something is still very, very wrong. Any minute, Cassiel could wake up, or Dain could hear me banging about and come to investigate. If I stay, I’m going to die.
Shaking, I drag myself upright and lurch toward the desk, fumbling for paper. Ink smudges as I scrawl the words.
Something’s wrong with me. Meet me at the Rosey Duckling. Hurry.
I roll the note and stagger to the window. The night air is freezing. I locate a willing bird, tie the note to its leg, and whisper Zephyr’s name and a spell—more a prayer—for speed. My hands tremble as I release the bird.
The cold creeps into my bones. My knees buckle.
I can’t do this. I have to get dressed, get on a horse, get out of here before Cassiel realises—
Just a minute, whispers a voice inside me. Just rest. Just for a minute. Gather your strength.
My vision darkens. My body sinks toward the floor.
I close my eyes.