Fenrir who had loved his wife so wholly, so completely.
"Apprentice Sommers," a voice called, harsh, loud and grating, raking down my back like the claws of a beast tearing flesh. But I barely heard it, could only listen to the sobs from behind. I didn't acknowledge it as I knelt by his body and poured the remaining half of my potion down his throat.
I didn't know if it would be enough, didn't know if it would help any as the black veins had travelled so far down his body that I wasn't sure if there was any coming back from the damage that had been done.
But I had to try. I had to dosomething.
I glanced back, my eyes meeting those green, tear-stricken ones, before I stared down at her father. His head was lolling to the side, his face pale, yet the writhing stopped. His breath was still shallow, but slowly it too calmed.
Tracking those black veins that started to recede, I laid my hand against his forehead, my taut muscles relaxing inch by inch as I felt the fever reducing.
He would be okay.
For now, for today, he would be okay.
"Get the prisoners rounded up."
That voice.
Hard and cold, with barely restrained anger. It had terror curling my spine as I slowly stood, turning to face him. The other guard had stopped restraining Mirabel as she ceased fighting. She made no motion to move, but her eyes remained fixed on the slowly waking man behind me as theguard began to gather all the prisoners into a single file line, hooking their shackles together.
I could feel that burning gaze, waiting for me to look at him, to meet his eyes. But I could not.
Would not.
Would they punish me now, for saving a Luanthian’s life?
"Apprentice Coleman," High Master Belcomb spoke, her eyes on that chocolate haired apprentice. "You have failed your second trial, you may now take your leave and return to your quarters to pack your things. Hopefully we see you again next year when you can retry."
I barely felt the harsh shove from behind as he passed, his shoulder knocking me forward. Barely felt the arm that caught and steadied me. I hardly heard the low growl that left the Kinslayer’s lips.
"Syra," he murmured, his voice quiet in a room of whispering apprentices and clanking chains. “Look at me."
I couldn't.
Couldn't lift my eyes to meet that silver and green gaze, terrified of what I would find there. Terrified of what I would feel when I saw them.
He would have let Fenrir die here.
He would have let his daughter watch the slow, suffering death of her father.
I let that knowledge settle deeply in the marrow of my bones, let it sink into the blackest depths of my soul.
"Let go of me," I snarled, his hand instantly dropping from my arm, as if he hadn't even realized he was still holding it—still touching me.
"Captain Delmar." The High Master’s honeyed tone floated through the air, breaking the suffocating little bubble we had become trapped within. “Leave her punishment for the interference of a Luanthian prisoner to me, I'm sure you have much on your plate already."
She was mistaking this tension between us, this stilting conversation, as Roan scolding me for what I had done.
He let out a breath as he hesitated, uncertainty a conflicting storm in his eyes, yet he took a step back.
"Very well then." His head dipped in acknowledgment to the High Master before he turned on his heel to lead the prisoners from the room.
I watched Fenrir stumble to weak, shaky legs as Mirabel eyed him over her shoulder, sorrow etched into her little face.
"Syra, l'd like to see you in my office."
The office that I entered was grand.
