“Because I watched him murder my brother.” Her voice stays level. Matter-of-fact. “What I didn’t remember was that my brother had just sold me to be sacrificed in a blood ritual. So the murder was rather justified.”
The words land in the room with the weight of stones.
“The point is—” Nasyra continues, as if she hasn’t just dropped something devastating into the conversation, “—I understand what it means to arrive somewhere convinced you know who your enemies are, only to discover the truth is considerably more complicated. I also understand what it means to carry a sibling’s betrayal.” Her gaze sharpens. “Yours is still alive. Still hunting you. That’s worse, in some ways. At least mine had the decency to stay dead.”
The honesty steals my breath. Not sympathy—something harder. Recognition.
The door opens before I can respond, and Aisling strides in with her medical bag and an expression that suggests someone is about to be lectured.
“There you are.” She sets the bag down with a thump. “I told Selene to bring you back an hour ago.”
“I got distracted showing her the fortress.”
“You got distracted talking about Rurik’s explosives.” Aisling points at the couch. “Sit. Stay. Don’t move until I’ve checked your vitals.”
“I’m already sitting.”
“Then you’re ahead of schedule. First time for everything.” Her hands are cool and clinical as she checks my pulse. “How do you feel? And ‘fine’ is not an acceptable answer. I need specifics.”
“Tired. Shaky. Like someone hollowed out my insides and filled them with sand.”
“Specific. I appreciate it.” She pulls a small crystal from her bag and holds it against my wrist. It glows faintly, pulsing in rhythm with my heartbeat. “Your reserves are at roughly sixty percent. Which is medically fascinating, given that you should be dead.”
“She’s very comforting,” Selene stage-whispers. “It’s her gift.”
“My gift is keeping idiots alive despite their best efforts.” Aisling doesn’t look up from the crystal. “Speaking of which—Auren wants to start training you at dawn.”
“I heard.”
“You need a week of rest. I told him that. He said your combat readiness is a higher priority than optimal recovery.” She tucks the crystal away. “He’s not wrong about the strategic calculation. But bodies don’t care about strategy.”
“He’s right about my control being unstable. Last night proved that.”
“Last night proved you were exhausted and traumatized and your body reacted accordingly.” Aisling’s gaze is sharp. “There’s a difference between unstable and depleted. Pushing yourself before you’ve recovered won’t fix the first and will definitely make the second worse.”
“She’s right,” Nasyra says. “I’ve watched Zyphon push through recovery. It never ends well. Usually it ends with property damage and Aisling threatening creative violence.”
“The threats are medicinal.” Aisling pulls a small vial from her bag and presses it into my hand. “Drink this before bed. It’ll help your reserves replenish faster. And eat everything at dinner. If I see you pushing food around your plate, there will be consequences.”
“What kind of consequences?”
“The kind that involve force-feeding and detailed lectures about nutrition.” She shoulders her bag. “I’m very thorough.”
“She means it,” Selene says. “She once cornered Rurik for an hour about the importance of vegetables. He still flinches when anyone mentions carrots.”
“He was being deliberately difficult.”
“He’s always deliberately difficult. It’s his entire personality.”
“Which is why I had to be thorough.” Aisling moves toward the door. “Dinner in thirty minutes. I’ll be watching.”
She sweeps out, leaving silence in her wake.
“Is she always like that?” I ask.
“Only when she cares,” Nasyra says quietly. “When she doesn’t care, she lets you suffer in peace.”
Something about the way she says it makes me think she’s speaking from experience. I wonder how many times Aisling refused to leave her alone during whatever recovery followed her resurrection.
