Vice is pressing harder on her stomach now, backed against the wall. That ulcer must feel terrible right about now.
My magic explodes outward, trying to reach everyone at once. The Luminary collapsing, Grimm favoring his left ankle (when did he hurt that?), someone's nose definitely broken and pointing the wrong direction which is going to need setting immediately or it'll heal wrong.
That's when Ruvan reaches me. His shadows cut through the ropes and I fall forward into him, which is embarrassing but also his shirt smells like leather and that soap he uses and there's a weird hollow sound when I hit his chest—completely empty stomach, probably hasn't had anything but that awful tea since yesterday.
"Your teeth are going to crack if you keep grinding them like that," I tell him, noticing how tight his jaw is. "Also your shirt has a rip. Right shoulder seam. Do we even have navy thread?"
"You were tied to an altar." His voice is very controlled, which means someone's about to die.
"Yes, but the real problem is their ventilation system. All this incense is basically toxic. Also, someone left candles burning unattended which is a fire hazard. Do they even have water buckets? What if someone's robe catches?"
His expression does something complicated I can't read because the Luminary is on his knees now, that beautiful whiterobe ruined with his own black blood. Does anyone here know about enzyme cleaners? Because that's the only thing that might save that fabric.
"Stop," Vice says suddenly, her sword at the Luminary's throat. "Just... stop."
Everyone freezes. Her knee pops again when she adjusts her stance. She really needs to get that looked at.
"Vice?" The Luminary's voice is tiny, confused. The fever's cooked his brain.
"You're destroying everything," she says quietly, and her voice shakes from exhaustion. That eye twitch is worse now. "The Court, the faith, yourself. You've become the corruption you sought to cleanse."
"But the light—"
"The light doesn't want this." She looks at me. "Show him."
I don't know what she means until my magic responds, golden light meeting Ruvan's shadows. But instead of fighting, they blend together. Not gray, not less, just... different. Like when you mix honey into tea and it swirls around before settling.
"That's not corruption," Vice says. "That's balance."
The Luminary makes this awful choking sound. Then he's falling, convulsing, his own poisoned magic finally consuming what's left. My light tries to catch him, to fix it, but there's nothing left to fix. Some things are too broken.
"Let him go," Ruvan says gently, his hand on my face. His fingers are cold—poor circulation from the shadows probably. "You can't heal someone who's choosing to die."
The Luminary stops breathing with a little sigh. The sanctum goes quiet except for various groaning and someone definitely whimpering about their hamstring—called it.
"Is everyone okay?" I call out. "Who needs healing? Raise your hand if you can't speak. Also, that one in the corner, your toenail situation needs immediate attention!"
"Olivia," Ruvan says in that tone that means I'm missing something important.
"What? People are hurt. Look, that one's definitely got whiplash from how they landed. And someone should check Finn's wrist, he's holding it weird."
"She's actually concerned about us," one of the Radiant Court survivors whispers, clutching what looks like a dislocated thumb.
"She's always concerned about everyone," Arthur says, limping over. There's a squelching sound from his left boot. "It's a problem. Livvy, you can't heal people who were just trying to purify you to death."
"But they're hurt. And look at them—when's the last time any of them had a proper meal? They're all sharp edges and dehydration."
"They're supposed to be hurt. It's called consequences."
"Consequences don't reset dislocated joints though."
Vice steps forward, sword lowered. Her stomach makes the most incredible growling sound. "The Radiant Court is dissolved. Anyone who wants to leave, leave. Anyone who wants to stay..." She looks at me. "Do you take refugees?"
"Oh, we're definitely going to need more groceries," I say, already mental cataloging. "And bedding. Does anyone have allergies? Some people can't tolerate wool. Do any of you know how to cook? Forty-seven people is a lot of eggs to manage solo."
Ruvan makes that sound that means he's given up. "You want to adopt the people who just tried to kill you?"
"They're very clean," I point out. "Look how organized everything is. Plus Vice clearly has management skills. We could use help with breakfast prep. Also she needs bland foods for thatulcer. Rice porridge, maybe some of that ginger tea that doesn't taste great but actually helps."
