‘Where?’ he asks, as the blood starts to slow.
It’s working. Thank the Stars!
‘Where what?’ I ask as I replace the lid on the jar and pop it back into the box. I pick up the needle and thread once again.
‘Where were you hurt?’
‘My leg.’ I hold the needle out toward him. ‘Do you mind sterilising this with your um—’ I gesture to his other hand. ‘Element.’
A subtle smirk twitches the corner of his mouth before he raises his good hand, and a small flame appears at the tip of his index finger. I can’t help the little gasp that escapes my lips as I hold the needle over the flame, letting it lick at the metal.
‘That should be good,’ I say, pulling it away and threading the needle. We sit in silence as I make quick work of tying the knot at the end and break off the remaining thread.
My fingers brush his as I move closer – they’re warm against mine. The sudden heat makes me jolt a little. ‘I’m really sorry.’ I feel compelled to apologise again. This is my fault after all. I should have locked the door. What if it had been Lillian?
‘I know you are,’ he says, catching me off guard.
‘Are you mad?’
‘Livid.’
I gulp.
‘But we’ll get to how you managed to get your hands on one of Nicks’s daggers later. Right now, I need you to stitch me up before my adrenaline wears off.’
‘I didn’t mean are you mad about the dagger!’ I scoff. ‘I meant this.’ I point to his hand with the needle.
‘Stitches, Nocthare. Now!’ Then after a breath, he adds in a softer tone. ‘Please.’
My tongue feels heavy as I nod and buckle down. The first pinch of the needle makes me flinch. Meanwhile he doesn’t move a muscle. I work in silence, using the soft even breaths coming from Sebastian to calm my heart rate and focus. Only after I’ve snipped off the thread and tied the knot, moving on from his palm to the first of the three fingers, does he speak again.
‘Who taught you to do this?’
‘My dad.’ I find myself answering honestly. It was back when he gave me the time of day because he didn’t know I couldn’t wield yet. ‘I think I was eight when he showed me what to do. We were at home. Mom and Lukas were out somewhere, I can’t remember where. But I was in the yard picking herbs from the garden when I heard him yell out to me. He had dropped a mirror that he was trying to move for my mom and a huge piece of it sliced into his hand. It was similar to this, actually.’
‘And he made you stitch it up? At eight?’
My shoulders lift in a shrug. ‘I wanted to help. I thought the experience would make me a great healer one day.’
That gives him pause. ‘I remember that,’ he says quietly. ‘You wanted to be in the Healer Unit like your parents.’
This time it’s me who goes quiet. I move onto the second finger, not trusting myself to respond. I can’t talk about him knowing what I used to be like, because that makes me remember whatheused to be like, and I can’t go there. I justcan’t.
I’d rather stab myself with my own dagger than talk about it and reminisce on old times with him. But it seems Sebastian isn’t done talking just yet. My stomach sinks.
‘Why did you pick Malachite when you could have been placed in Opal?’
My hands start to shake. The third finger only needs about three stitches, so it’s not too bad. I ignore his question and retie the thread, before starting on the last finger.
‘Nocthare?’ He pushes the question and again, I ignore him, focusing on threading the needle through his skin.
‘Arianell!’
I freeze. My hands still just as I pull the last stitch tight. My eyes stay trained on his hand, even as my breaths start to quicken and my chin begins to tremble.
Don’t cry. It’s just a name. It doesn’t mean anything. Stars, do not cry!
I bite the inside of my cheek to reel my emotions back in. But then he goes and destroys me by gently grabbing my jaw with his good hand and lifting it up, forcing my eyes to meet his. There are a myriad of words I could use to describe the feelings that run through me as I take note of the swirls of green that look back at me. Yet none of the feelings fill my veins as much as fear. Fear of being this close to him. Fear of seeing the emotion in his gaze. Fear of forgetting how angry I am with him. And yet the thought of him being harmed by my hand caused so much panic to swirl inside of me. Fear of what that panic could mean …
