Darkness claws at the edges of my vision. I’m only faintly aware of Cygnus reaching for me. Then the shadows consume us, and the whole world goes black.
hen I regain consciousness, we haven’t moved from our spot in the cavern.
Cygnus crouches by a crackling fire about a dozen paces away. I’m flat on my back. Something lumpy and hard props up my head. I feel with my hand and realize it’s his crumpled-up tunic.
At first, I think he doesn’t notice my stirring. But then he speaks, voice cutting through the shadow: “You’ve been out a few hours. I figured you needed to rest after all that.”
I blink at our surroundings. The bodies of the banshees are gone, but the smell of death lingers.
“What happened?” I ask.
Cygnus shakes his head and lifts a finger to tap his earlobe. I spot the stream of dark, crusted blood running down from his ears, and I groan, remembering. “Yourears.I’m sorry.”
“I can’t hear anything,” he says, too loudly.
I gesture for him to come over. “I’ll help you.”
He hesitates. “You should save your strength.”
“We’re not getting through this shit if you can’t hear a word I say.”
He still looks nervous, so I wave again, more forcefully.“Come here.”
Reluctantly, he walks over and sits beside me so that we face each other. His eyes are sharp in the darkness, tracking every movement as I lift my hands to his temples. I keep the touch featherlight. It doesn’t escape me that this is the most physical contact I have had with Cygnus, at least with both of us conscious. I’m keenly aware of the space between us: his scent, the heat, each cautious breath.
The wound is easy to isolate. The pain in his throbbing eardrums carries a distinct signature, almost like a scarlet thread in an ivory tapestry. With deep breaths, I sink into my consciousness, diving further and further until I reach the coil of imaginary thread at the base of my spine. I draw it out, letting the magic surge through my skin until the threads curl around Cygnus’s severed ones. Healing and soothing.
I remove my hands as soon I finish.
Cygnus wobbles his head, like a dog trying to slough off extra water. “I’m going to have to start tallying my life debts,” he mumbles. “You own my soul a few times over at this point.”
I huff a weary laugh. “Monsters are my specialty, apparently.”
“Any idea what those were?”
“Banshees,” I say, scowling.
Cygnus falls quiet, staring at me with a strange expression I can’t place. I always have such a hard time discerning what he’s thinking. After a long pause, he asks quietly, “Does it hurt?”
My brow furrows. When I realize what he is referring to, I smile, shaking my head. “The actual healing? Not for me.”
“I can tell that it drains you,” Cygnus says. “I wasn’t sure how much or what it felt like.”
“I’ve always visualized it like a transfer of energy. I imagine if I were running out of blood and you had some way to give me a little of yours, it might feel like someone was taking your energy and putting it into me. That’s what it feels like.”
“How much energy is there?”
“What do you mean?”
“How deep does the well go?” he asks.
I consider the question, thinking of how I felt after healing Finn and repairing Cygnus’s sight. “I’m not sure. There haven’t been many situations where I’ve tested the limits. The skakabri brought me all the way to the edge, and it was terrifying. Usually, I use my Talent rarely. Typically smaller stuff.”
Cygnus nods thoughtfully. “Did your mother teach you how to use it?”
I shake my head. “She doesn’t have a bloodborne Talent.”
“Really?” He looks surprised. “Then how did you learn?”
