“Where are we at?” Cygnus asks calmly, stepping up beside me. He’s brought a satchel of supplies, which he quickly unpacks and cleans while I explain.
I’ve closed half of the wounds at this point, but several others are still bleeding, the arrows untouched, and I’m nearing total exhaustion. Every time I remove an arrow, Sebastian loses a deadly amount of blood. His life force is down to a tattered thread.
“I’ve got six more,” I say tersely. “Can you help me stabilize him?”
“Yes.”
We duck our heads together, and for the first time, Cygnus and I move in sync.
We fall into an easy flow. Back and forth, his medicine with my Talent. I’m so accustomed to clashing with the Head Healer, I didn’t anticipate how compassionate he’d seem in this context. He keeps interjecting with assurances.
“You’re doing well,” he tells me, once he notices my shaking hands. “Take deep breaths. That’s great, Lyria.”
He directs our approach as we work together to remove the remaining six arrows. Cygnus doesn’t just guide the process; he guidesme.It’s so much easier to work with someone else steadying me.
I finally understand it: why Daisy giggles at his mention, why Anna doesn’t resent the hospital being run by a teenager.
He’sremarkable.
As the process draws into hours, Cygnus and I are keenly aware that we’re doing the impossible. Sebastian looks like a corpse already: his perfect features past recognition, his eyes violet with bruises, and his skin like sour milk. Clinging to Sebastian’s life force is like grasping a thread tied to a running bull. His life is pulling toward death, but I’m pulling harder.
Death will not take Sebastian tonight.
Come what may, I will do this. I will not let him go.
With Cygnus’s help, I work until Sebastian’s wounds are mended. When I’m done, I feel certain that a human couldn’t detect the scarring. Cygnus and I have worked nothing less than a miracle tonight, but we still haven’t brought back his color. And despite our efforts addressing every visible injury, all that’s keeping Sebastian alive is my Talent.
With nothing left for him to do, Cygnus sweeps up his instruments. He mumbles something about cleaning them and steps into the adjoining chamber, his footsteps crunching on the broken glass.
In Cygnus’s absence, I look back at Finn. He’s been quiet all night. A brooding angel. He looks equally ashen, his fine features rent with despair. But when our eyes meet, I find no hatred or disgust in them. Just concern.
I wonder if that will change when I’m done.
When Cygnus returns, his walk is slow.
“I’ve done all I know how to do,” he admits. I hear the layered plea in his words. Everyone in this room wants the same thing: for my Talent to save Sebastian. But I’m past spent. I might have been treading water this whole time.
I gaze back at Cygnus, warring over how much to confide. Anything I say will be heard by Finn. Judging by Cygnus’sface, I guess that I look like hell. I know I feel like it. My hair is plastered in clumps to my forehead; I’ve been alternating hot and cold sweats as I’ve drawn on levels of power I haven’t touched since the Ironwoods.
“I’m trying,” I say roughly, emphasizing every syllable. “I’m just holding him. Y’know?”
His eyes widen a little, and I can sense his alarm. He might be the only one who can see just how hard I’m fighting.
“Would it help if I sit with you?” he asks.
I nod.
He draws up a chair and scoots in close beside me. He doesn’t talk more, just sits quietly with me. I use his breathing to measure my own.
You can do this, Lyria. You have trained for this.
I see very clearly what I need to do. This is how I reach absolution.
In all other things, I have failed. I have revealed my identity. I haven’t finished the omnidraught. I haven’t opened the gates to Ruin. But maybe this is the reason the Gods brought me to the castle. Maybethisis Elowyn’s will. Sebastian is the king the people need. I can make this my purpose—saving him. Surely it is my duty. It’s what I’ve prepared for my whole life.
I’ve walked with pain. I know its nature. I know where to strike against it, how to attack. This is an enemy I’ve clashed with before, every day. And if it’s a matter of enduring pain for the good of our realm, for thepossibilityof Evermore, that I can do.
I let myself lean on Cygnus’s quiet presence for a few minutes. But as with all else, this is stolen time. I quickly realize the situation’s selfishness. The patients in the East Wing need Cygnus’s help more than I do right now. I’m the only thing keeping him from that work. Once that awareness inhabits me, I’m too sick with guilt to appreciate his proximity any longer.
