I stay crouched in front of the fire while Eres fusses, Darian sits silently on her other side, and Lyra stares into the flames.
Just in case she breaks. If she needs anything. And Darian too, though he avoids my gaze.
And that's where we stay, for the rest of the night.
Lyra
Reaching for the wraps covering my hands, I tug the bandages free until they unravel into my lap.
The wounds look as if they were inflicted weeks, even months ago. Circular and shiny, stretched and raised above the healthy skin that surrounds them. Resisting the urge to scratch at the itching around the edges, I unfurl my palms, holding them out for Eres to inspect.
The healer’s quarters smell like minted leaf and boiled linen. Clean in the way a blade is clean, sterilized by heat and necessity rather than comfort, but I find the scent strangely comforting anyway. Eres sits on a stool pulled close to the edge of the cot, his knees almost touching mine. The sleeves of his usual worn shirt are rolled up to his forearms, revealing skin marked by old burns and thin scars. His riftlines trail through them, finding their ownpath. His hair is damp at the temples, as if he’s already been working for hours.
He holds my hands like they’re something delicate. The worst of the damage is healed. But the memory of the stakes burying into my hands lives in the twitching of my fingers every time Eres touches the center of my palm. He runs his thumb across the scarring, careful not to press too hard. “You’re healing well,” he murmurs. His eyes flick up to mine. “You shouldn’t be up, Lyra. You need rest.”
I keep my eyes down. “I’m fine.”
Every time I breathe, it feels as if my lungs fill with water. It was worse alone in the bedroom. I’d been surprised to wake alone at all. I had pulled myself together and left, awkwardly attempting to find my way to the healer’s quarters and bumping into an exasperated Eres, already on his way back to sit with me until I woke. And now I’m here.
I swallow. My throat is dry despite the warmth. “Well,” I echo. “What does that mean for my casting?”
“It means the tissue isn’t knotted.” His fingers keep traveling over my skin. “You should regain full flexibility. Feeling. The scars might ache in cold weather, but—”
“That doesn’t matter,” I cut in, because the only part that matters to me is the part I’m afraid to ask about. “Will I be able tocast?”
“Have you tried?” I nod. When the silence stretches out, I bite down on the inside of my cheek. I don’t know why I feel so agitated this morning. Why I need this so desperately. But even I can admit that it might be partly because of last night.
“Your palms,” he continues, voice gentler, “are healing. And the nerve endings—” he gives the lightest press, and I feel it, sharp as a pinprick “—are responding. ”
My inhale is shaky. “So… yes?”
“I think you’ll be able to cast luminth again,” he says thoughtfully. “You might even be able to cast now. It's difficult to say with the nightdusk venom still in your veins from the quills.”
Relief threatens to overwhelm me. I swallow back the burning in my throat, push it down. “Thank you.”
That’s all I needed.
Eres is watching me, a frown building between his eyes. “If I were to give you the antidote— just a small dose, to test your luminth…” He hesitates. “You can't use it against anyone here.”
My heartbeat begins to thud. “There's an antidote?”
And then I understand. My heart beats faster still. “You mean Valcor. And… Nythen.”
Even his name on my lips makes me feel like I’m drowning all over again. He nods. “If things were normal… but they’re not, Lyra. We need them.”
I shrug. “Valcor tried to stop it, at least. Nythen… if he doesn’t come near me, I won’t use it.”
Eres’s full lips lift. “If that happens, I hope youwilluse it. But he's still in the cell, so I wouldn't worry about seeing him just yet.”
He shifts on the stool and reaches behind him to the lowest shelf, glass vials and jars lined up in some form of organised chaos. His fingers hover over several, then choose one small vial sealed with wax. The liquid inside is clear, but it shimmers faintly as he holds it up.
My pulse quickens. “That’s it?”
“It is,” he says ruefully. “Don’t tell anyone I showed you where it is, either.”
He cracks the wax seal with his thumb. “Open.”
When I part my lips, Eres tips the vial, letting a few drops fall onto my tongue. It tastes a little like licking a blade. Warmth spreads down my throat and into my chest, continuing down my arms.
