Chapter 13 You’re A Legend Now #2
Her voice was calm, brisk, but the lines at the corners of her mouth betrayed a sharp urgency.
As soon as Alina was horizontal, Sage pressed a palm to her forehead, then her neck, then her chest, muttering under her breath the whole time.
“Pulse wild, skin flaming. Idiots, she should have been here an hour ago. Hold her down if she seizes.” The last command was to Kael and whoever else was there, but the look she gave them made it clear she’d break their fingers if they bungled it.
Sage rolled up her sleeves and set to work, hands moving with the surety of someone who had done this hundreds of times.
She dipped a rag in the barrel and wrung it out to drape over Alina’s eyes.
The sudden chill was a mercy, drowning the worst of the heat and giving her something to anchor her thoughts.
“Magic toxicity,” Sage muttered. “It happens when you let the current run without a break.” She examined Alina’s arms, prodding the flesh with two fingers. “You’re lucky you didn’t cook your nerves clean through.”
Alina tried to reply, but her mouth was filled with the taste of burned copper and her tongue refused to move. She settled for a weak, inarticulate groan, which made Sage snort with dark amusement.
“Still alive, then,” Sage said, almost fondly. “That’s a start.”
The compress was lifted from her eyes in favor of a fresh one on her brow.
Sage barked for more towels, for vinegar, for the green paste in the jar marked with a star.
The rebels scurried to obey, their faces serious.
The healer peeled back Alina’s training clothes where they stuck to her skin, slicing the sleeves with a knife when they refused to budge.
The cold air hit Alina’s exposed flesh and she gasped, startled.
Her skin was scored with angry red welts that branched out from her shoulder, following the nerves like roots under the surface.
They pulsed with each heartbeat, throbbing in time with her eyes.
Sage reached for the green paste and slathered it onto the worst spots.
It stung, then cooled, then stung again, but the pain was at least real, not some wild storm of agony.
“Mint and witch hazel,” Sage explained, almost conversational, “and a few drops of poppy for luck.” She wrapped Alina’s arms in strips of soft linen, then tucked the edges tight under her shoulders.
She sent her unwilling helpers off and continued wrapping the rest of her patient’s body.
A distant part of Alina’s brain celebrated finally being rid of the horrible clothes and cheered at the chance to receive something at least moderately becoming.
The image was a welcome distraction, and she held on to it as long as she could.
The treatment was efficient, impersonal, but every so often Sage would pause to squeeze Alina’s hand, or to brush the hair off her forehead with surprising gentleness. It was a strange comfort, like being tended by a mother who had no time for coddling, only results.
The rest of the world faded and Alina with it, drifting between worlds, aware only of the cold compress on her brow, the faint hum of voices at the edge of her hearing, and the sharp chemical taste that filled her mouth whenever she tried to speak.
Sometimes she opened her eyes to find Sage glaring at her with a mixture of exasperation and concern.
Other times, the room was empty except for the soft rustle of the wind through the corridor, and the slow, patient thumping of her own heartbeat.
Once, in the middle of the night, she thought she saw Kael standing at the entrance of the room.
He was talking to Sage, voice low and urgent, arms folded in front of his chest like always.
She blinked and he was gone, replaced by the ghost of pain that had settled behind her ribs.
When she woke next, she didn’t know if that had been a dream or reality.
As darkness pooled in the corners of the room, Sage settled onto the stool beside the bed and started grinding something in a wooden mortar. The sound was steady, soothing, a reminder that even in the worst of it, someone was watching over her. Someone cared enough to stay.
Alina closed her eyes and let herself float, the fever draining from her body in slow, aching waves.
Ever so slowly, the pain receded and was replaced with a bone-deep exhaustion, settling into her like a blanket being drawn over her body.
As she slipped under, her mind frazzled and skittish, she thought that she might actually survive this.
When Alina next woke, the world was gentler—or maybe she had just dulled enough to mistake survival for kindness.
She lay on her back, head propped on a pillow that smelled of someone else’s hair, every muscle stiff and spent.
The pain was a memory now, sharp but distant, replaced by a hollow ache that ran the length of her body and back again.
For a few moments she did nothing but breathe, feeling the slow bloom of air in her ribs, the way her fingers and toes still tingled with leftover static. She was alive.
She was also, unmistakably, alone.
It was quiet in the infirmary, save for the steady drip of meltwater somewhere in the corridor and the whisper of her own breath.
Sunlight trickled through a light shaft and started to fill the room, lightening it by degrees.
From this vantage, everything looked strange—larger, lonelier, as if the space around her was waiting for something to happen.
She tried to remember what that something might be. At first, her mind skipped in anxious loops: the pain, the burning, Elara’s disappointed voice. Then, slowly, Kael’s name rose to the surface, and the longing that came with it was nearly as strong as the magic that had almost killed her.
He had not come. She knew she should not care—or at least she should not admit it—but every time the door creaked, or a shadow passed outside, her heart kicked like a trapped animal.
She waited, stubbornly, for his silhouette, the familiar set of his shoulders, that rare, crooked smile that sometimes made her believe she mattered.
But she waited in vain.
After an hour, or maybe two, Finn bounced in, carrying a tray of something that looked like porridge and smelled like old socks. He set the tray on the side table with a flourish, then perched himself on the end of her cot, careful not to jostle her too much.
“Up and at ‘em, Your Highness,” he said, grinning. “Thought you might be hungry after your little… performance art piece yesterday.”
Alina tried to smile, but her lips cracked and she hissed instead. “I think I burned out my taste buds,” she said, voice ragged. “But thanks.”
Finn produced a wooden spoon from behind his ear—seemingly unable to just take it out from a pocket like a normal person—and dug into the porridge.
He offered her a bite, which she took reluctantly.
It was sweet, spiced with clove and something sharp, and the first mouthful soothed the rawness at the back of her throat.
“Have you seen Kael?” she asked, unable to make herself look directly at Finn.
Finn’s grin softened into something almost apologetic. “Busy. War stuff, you know. But he said to tell you he’s glad you’re alive, and that he’ll drop by as soon as he’s done plotting the downfall of civilization.”
She almost laughed, but the sound caught in her chest. “He’s probably mad I almost set the woods on fire.”
Finn shrugged and spooned another bite into her mouth. “He’s mad all right, but not like you think. Anyway, I heard you knocked Elara off her high horse. Twice!”
Alina managed a weak snort. “She’ll never forgive me.”
Finn grinned again. “Maybe she will. Or maybe she’ll just set your eyebrows on fire next time. Either way, you’re a legend now. People are talking.”
“Let them talk,” Alina muttered, feeling exhaustion drag her eyelids down. “Maybe then they’ll stop hating me.”
Finn’s expression grew serious, just for a moment. “Not everyone hates you, you know. Some of us are just waiting for you to admit you belong here.” He poked her arm, surprisingly gentle. “Eat. Heal. Then go prove the rest of them wrong.”
She opened her eyes to look at him, trying to read the sincerity behind his lopsided grin. He met her gaze, unflinching, and for a moment she felt a little less alone. “Thanks, Finn,” she said.
He winked. “Anytime, Princess.”
He left soon after with a promise to return with more food and fewer jokes. The room emptied again, and Alina felt the weight of her own thoughts settle back over her. She drifted in and out, sometimes waking to the creak of floorboards or the faint voice of Sage in the corridor.
But mostly, she just waited.
Night fell, slow and blue. Torches guttered low in the hall.
The ache in her limbs grew worse as the cold crept back into the infirmary, and she shivered under the thin blanket.
She remembered the story Kael had told her, about the first time he’d failed, about the lives he couldn’t save.
She wondered if this was what survival looked like: not victory, but a slow accretion of scars and memories, a resolve that grew harder each time you refused to give up.
She tried to sleep, but her brain was a haunted house.
Memories banged around inside: ghosts of Elara’s scorn, Maven’s hate, her own mistakes echoing louder the longer she lay awake.
She turned over, pulling her knees to her chest, and bit the edge of the blanket to stifle her sobs.
She thought of the way Kael had held her that night and the warmth of his hand on her back, the certainty that, for a brief moment, she was not alone in the world.
She must have dozed off eventually, because the next time she opened her eyes, Sage was sitting beside her bed. The healer looked exhausted with dark smudges under her eyes, her hair coming loose from its braid. She held a clay cup in both hands and watched Alina with friendly concern.
“You’re awake,” Sage said, voice low and even.
Alina tried to sit up, but Sage stopped her with a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Not yet. You need water.” She pressed the cup to Alina’s lips and waited as she drank. The water was cold and tasted like stone, but it soothed the burning in her chest and made her headache recede.
“You pushed too far, too fast,” Sage said. “Your body wasn’t ready.”
Alina wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “I didn’t have a choice.”
“There’s always a choice,” Sage replied, something hard and sad in her eyes. “But I understand why you made it.”
Alina swallowed. Her voice was thin, unsteady. “You look tired. I’ll be fine on my own for the night. You should rest.”
Sage searched Alina’s face for a long time before replying.
“When I was your age, I didn’t have anyone to tell me when to stop.
I nearly burned myself out of existence.
I don’t want that for you.” She hesitated, the mask of composure slipping for the first time Alina could remember.
“I know what it’s like to lose everything.
I don’t want to watch it happen to you.”
Alina stared at the ceiling, tears pricking her eyes. “Did you ever… hate it? The Gift?”
Sage’s laugh was a dry, brittle thing. “I hated it so much I tried to cut it out of myself. Didn’t work. Just left scars.”
They sat in silence for a while, the only sound between them the slow, ragged rhythm of their breathing.
Alina turned, meeting Sage’s gaze. “Will it always hurt like this?”
Sage considered the question, then nodded. “It gets easier. Or you get stronger. Maybe both.”
Alina closed her eyes, hot tears slipping down her cheeks and into the pillow. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, not sure if she meant the words for herself, or for Sage, or for the world that had forced them both to become something sharp and dangerous.
Sage squeezed her shoulder again, fingers cool and steady. “Don’t be. Just get up tomorrow, try again, and know that you are not alone.”
She stayed there until Alina’s breathing slowed, the pain receding enough to let her drift. When she left, the room felt emptier, but also lighter, as if some of the darkness had been named and banished.
Alina slept badly, waking every hour to a new pain or a dream she couldn’t remember. In the early morning, she lay on her side and watched the light change from black to indigo to pale, hopeful gray.
She thought of Kael, of Sage, of Finn and even of Elara. She thought of the faces that watched her in the corridors, the suspicion and hope and fear all tangled together.
She made herself a promise, there in the cold and the silence. She would not break. They would not break her. Tomorrow, and the day after, she would keep getting up. She would try again, and again, until she was stronger than the pain.
She would fight, not because someone had prophesied it, but because it was the only thing left that made sense.
As the Caves came alive the next morning, with sounds that bordered on homely, Alina closed her eyes and let herself believe, just for a moment, that the future might be something she could claim for herself.