Chapter 84
Chapter Eighty-Four
Blair
Lorkan crumpled in Blair’s arms as they landed in his office at Vísdómr.
It was the only place she could think of. She’d been so jarred, so consumed with protecting Lorkan, she’d only thought of somewhere that felt like home. Somewhere safe. Warm—
Except, Lorkan’s office was anything but. An enchanted lamp on his desk lit itself upon their arrival, and in the dim light, Blair’s ragged breath plumed in the air. The stone walls converged around them, worsening the cold. Ahead, the fireplace hadn’t been used in days.
“Fuck,” she hissed, crawling across the carpet.
Behind her, Lorkan shivered and grew paler than usual. Blair’d forgotten he wore nothing but her cloak. It was too small for his tall, lean frame, reaching his shins and revealing the blood coating his bare feet. The velvet material clung to his sharp muscles, leaving little to the imagination.
But it wasn’t only his beautiful physique she couldn’t tear her eyes from, but the injuries marking his body. Burns ringed his wrist and neck. One eye was black and bruised, his brow split open. He winced when he sat back against the sofa, and Blair guessed he had broken bones, too.
Why, blasted books, wasn’t he healing?
Blair’s insides heated, her shadows leaking from her fingertips. She hated the sight of him in pain. Hated how she’d reached Lorkan too late, and his own people had hurt him for what he was.
Rook tapped his beak against something metal, guiding Blair.
Ah—there. She reached the stack of wood and flint, and her hands shook as she attempted to start the fire.
By some luck or fate overlooking them, sparks fell onto the firewood and smoke rose.
Using her wind bronntanas, Blair fed the fire until it crackled and danced to life.
She reached for Lorkan and grasped his face, stroking his cheeks and making him look at her. His golden eyes were so vacant, her chest cracked.
“Where can I find supplies?” she asked.
“Desk drawers on the left,” he said.
Blair nodded and sprinted off. She discovered a few bottles of healing ointment—their scents conjuring memories of her late sister, Mirella—a washing rag, dressings, and a small bowl. Near the table with tea and a decanter of whiskey, she found a pitcher of water.
Blair busied herself with creating a cleaning station, like she’d seen her sister set up many times. She assessed Lorkan next, her hands shaking as she pushed her cloak from his shoulders to inspect all his wounds—
She froze. “Lorkan . . .” Blair didn’t fight the tears. What was the point when her heart broke at the sight of him like this?
An arrow remained lodged in his chest, crooked at a wrong angle because someone had snapped the shaft. She assessed him up and down and cursed, finding another arrow in his leg, far deeper than the first.
Thought and reason vanished from Blair’s mind as she stared at his wounds. Think, damn it, think. But Blair wasn’t a healer. She wasn’t Mirella. She was a scholar. She researched books and papers and—
No, she was Blair Carson. The man she loved needed her, and above all else, she was resourceful.
Rook landed by her side, staring up at her with his beady eyes. He clicked his beak and stomped his feet into the carpet, as if agreeing with her.
But how did she help Lorkan? She could clean a wound, but the arrows . . . She didn’t have the bronntanas or skills to get them out.
Rook flew to the painting hanging by the fireplace, tilting his head.
Fjall Pack. Of course. Werewolf-vampyrs she could trust.
Blair assessed Lorkan again. She’d already used too much magic traveling from the Drengr Village to Vísdómr to create another danu, and he was far too heavy to carry.
She could leave him and wander the tunnels herself, but the thought paralyzed her to the carpet.
Her entire being couldn’t bear leaving him.
Rook cawed, ruffling his wings. He tapped the painting again as if—
“Smart, clever bird,” she whispered.
Blair rushed to him and opened the secret door that led to the underground village.
“Go,” she said to Rook.
Her familiar shot into the darkness, his onyx feathers glinting until he disappeared completely.
Blair returned to Lorkan’s side. No, she couldn’t remove the arrows herself, but she could clean his other injuries while she waited for help to arrive.
She started with a few minor cuts, wiping blood away, and found too many bruises to count, as if someone had beaten him for days.
Blair’s shadows hissed—why wasn’t he healing?
With his head tilted back on the sofa, Lorkan fought consciousness as Blair worked. Beside them, the firewood dwindled as an hour passed.
Blair had cleaned the worst of it, aside from a nasty bruise and cut festering on his side. She dabbed the cloth with ointment and water, and as she pressed, Lorkan shot forward and growled, baring his fangs at her.
Blair didn’t flinch as Lorkan’s golden eyes drank her in, more predator than scholar. But he wouldn’t hurt her. She believed it in her bones.
He blinked, face falling as recognition flashed across his face. “I . . . Blair, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s alright,” she said.
“It’s not.” He tried to sit up but sank back as his strength gave out. “I failed Eldrick. My father. Alvin and Mya are dead—”
“Do I resemble death to you?” a woman’s voice called from the hidden doorway.
“Aye, Lorkan, you look like shit and like you’ve seen a ghost.” Alvin laughed.
Blair tried to find some relief in their playful banter, but something wild and fierce, like a storm raging within her, rose to the surface.
“Someone shot him with two arrows,” she said, rising to meet them. “He’s not healing.”
“Aye, we figured someone was in awful shape. That bird of yours caused quite a ruckus in the village, stealing the healing supplies we’d need.”
Mya shrugged her shoulder, showing Blair a sack packed to the brim.
“Rook is a familiar,” Blair said as he landed on her shoulder, raising a brow at Alvin.
The werewolf-vampyr grunted. “Rook is a menace and owes me thirty river pearl beads.”
Rook purred, proud and triumphant.
“How about we chitchat later and take care of Lorkan?” Mya said, skipping towards him.
He couldn’t stop staring at his friends, mouth opening and closing. “I thought . . .”
Alvin grunted. “We were close to it, but Blair found us just before the sun rose. She must have a knack for saving lives.”
Blair winced. The memory of her sister’s death was still fresh. It plagued her dreams and even waking thoughts if she wasn’t careful.
“How about you get some food from the Vísdómr kitchens?” Mya asked. “Lorkan will be fine with us for a little while. I promise.”
Suddenly, the last few hours hit Blair like a gust of wind.
It didn’t help that she’d been tracking Lorkan in the mountains for days, trying to find him after learning what Dalinda had done.
She wasn’t a third born, yet the urge to protect Lorkan had become as intrinsic as breathing.
Too, the closer she got to him, the fiercer his emotions had become.
She’d felt them as if they were her own—his despair, panic, and helplessness.
Blair had finally found Lorkan because of a bond she’d always suspected, and now, he was watching her with his beautiful golden eyes as if he could not only read her emotions but her thoughts.
She swallowed. “Alright. I’ll be back soon.”
Blair lied. She didn’t exactly take her time, but she didn’t rush either. She simply needed a moment to breathe. To think. Or for once, not.
She visited her temporary dormitory to wash and put on fresh clothes—an oversize sweater to finally remove the days-old chill in her bones and high-waisted trousers her sister Evelyn would love. She tied back her curls once they were dry, sighing at her reflection in the small mirror near the door.
Every so often, the bond between her and Lorkan pulsed. Each time, she paused, equally filled with wonder and nerves.
After a few flights of stairs, a wrong turn and two right turns, she found the library’s messaging post and sent a letter detailing the latest events and her worries regarding Eldrick Drengr by iolair.
The beast of a bird shot out the room’s weathered window, its mighty wings causing ripples in the lingering snow clouds.
Eventually, Blair found food at the Vísdómr food stalls on the ground level—a steaming bowl of winter squash soup and a crusty bread baked with cheese and an herb butter to pair.
The secretary manning the ancient text section allowed her inside the department without question, and after a long, mighty breath, she entered Lorkan’s office with the tray of food.
Lorkan pressed his lips into a thin line and furrowed his brow while Alvin and Mya giggled amongst themselves. As she shut the door behind her, his attention swiveled in her direction.
“Blair,” he said, sitting up.
He still wore no shirt, but at least the blanket draped across his shoulders fell over a pair of black trousers. The bruises had slightly faded, and the arrows were nowhere in sight. A dark purple paste caked the wounds they’d left behind.
Alvin clapped his hands and rose out of his seat. “I think that’s our cue to leave.”
“Oh, you’re quite right,” Mya said. She pulled up a seat for Blair and gestured to it.
Blair set Lorkan’s meal down and grasped the fellow witch’s hands. “Thank you for helping.”
Mya’s beautiful face beamed as she smiled. “Thank you for saving us, all of us. I don’t think Fjall Pack will forget what you’ve done.”
Blair walked Alvin and Mya to the painting and let them into the tunnels. Once they were off, she sealed it shut, and ventured to the fireplace. She fed the fire a few more logs and hovered near the warmth.
“Blair,” Lorkan whispered, gentle but stern, “look at me.”
She shut her eyes, her name on his lips was like a caress down her back. She turned, inch by inch. Lorkan’s eyes were a plea and declaration all one, as if he gazed upon the stars and heavens, not her.
“Come here. Please.”