He’d promised. And if Kesst could have properly followed that, he might have laughed, or sobbed, or begged. But instead he just stared at it, marvelled at it, after all he’d said, all he’d done, he should be dead, he should be…
“Now stop thinking like that, Ash-Kai,” the healer murmured, with astonishing gentleness in his voice. “And go back to sleep, all right?”
And lost in that moment, lost in the healer’s eyes and his voice, Kesst could finally only nod, and obey.
6
The next time Kesst awoke, it was with his thoughts — his self — feeling far more coherent than before.
He was still alive. He could breathe. He could smell, he could see, he could feel all his limbs.
And — he blinked downward — he was tucked into a bed. There was a soft pillow beneath his head, and a heavy fur lying on top of him. And the bed was in a small, dank stone room, one he couldn’t ever remember seeing before.
Kesst carefully sat up, sniffing at the air — from the scent of it, he was deep under Orc Mountain, likely in the area most preferred by the reclusive Ka-esh clan — and then he felt his breath catch at the close, distinctive scent of the healer. That sweet, impossibly powerful scent, not only here, near, in this room… but alsohere. Inside him.
Kesst’s weak-feeling hand fluttered up to his chest, touching at where he could feel the healer’s magic most — just below his collarbone, in the same place the crossbow bolt had impaled him. But instead of the ghastly wound — or even the scar — he’d expected, there was only smooth, even skin, with just the faintest twinge of tenderness beneath.
“Hey, careful with that,” cut in a brusque voice — the healer’s voice. And blinking toward it, Kesst found the healer standing up from beside another bed, in which another orc — Olarr, a huge and usually impressive Bautul warrior — appeared to be lying unconscious, his craggy face gone unnaturally pale, a thick binding wrapped around his chest.
Kesst blinked toward him for a moment, and then glanced around at the dank little room again, with its handful of brass beds, and its tiny crackling fire at the opposite end. Gods, it really was as though the healer had set up an actualsickroomof sorts, and how long had this evenbeenhere?
“Why are we buried down here in Ka-esh hell?” Kesst heard his voice croak, before he could stop it. “And Olarr isn’tdying, is he?”
The healer was striding over toward Kesst now, his big body again clothed in a tunic and trousers, his hand clutching a bulging waterskin. “He’ll be fine,” he said, as he uncorked the waterskin, and held it out toward Kesst. “And Grimarr stuck me down here. Wanted to keep me well out of the way, I think.”
Oh. Kesst blinked bemusedly at the healer’s wry expression, at the steadiness in that big hand holding out the waterskin. Not touching him this time, not cradling his head and helping him drink, and for an instant Kesst almost felt disappointed, almost like —
Suddenly his own face and ears felt very warm, his gaze belatedly dropping — and he had to force his tingly fingers to snatch for the waterskin, and raise it to his mouth. This damned healer. Not only had he gone and fully healed what should have been a brutal, life-destroying wound, but he’d done it all with such impossible, unthinkable kindness. He’d made Kesst that promise, and he… he’d kept it.
“How are you feeling now?” the healer asked, once Kesst had finished drinking, and he’d taken back the waterskin again. “Any pain, or discomfort?”
The tips of Kesst’s ears still felt unnaturally hot, and he touched at his chest again, more cautiously this time. “No,” he said, and he couldn’t quite hide the wonderment in his voice. “In truth, I feel frightfully good. Shouldn’t I still be writhing insomemodicum of excruciating agony right now?”
The healer’s lips twitched, and for an instant Kesst could almost taste amusement in his scent. “I’ve been trying to keep down the pain for you,” he replied, as his mouth pursed, and his gaze dropped to Kesst’s chest. “Speaking of which, do you — do you mind if I touch you again?”
His voice had gone distinctly tentative, his eyes glancing uneasily at Kesst’s face — and Kesst felt himself wincing as he recalled the reason for that question, that look. How he’d called the healer’s magicvile, that day they’d first met. How he’d claimed he never wanted to taste it inside him again.
“Or not,” the healer hurriedly said, and he’d even taken a step backwards, his hand clenching on the waterskin. “You’ll still be all right now. I just won’t be able to keep —”
He’d grimaced there, his eyes quickly darting away. And in return, something seemed to plummet, deep in Kesst’s belly — and he saw his hands suddenly snapping up, and flailing toward the healer with highly betraying urgency.
“No, it’s fine,” he said, in a rush. “It’s fine. I’ll happily welcome your scent over an agonizing death any day. Obviously.”
And curse him, he was making it even worse, because the healer’s mouth twisted again, as if he’d tried to smile and utterly failed. And his step back toward Kesst was hesitant, almost reluctant, and the touch of his warm hand against the skin of Kesst’s bare chest felt just the same, despite the sensation of that impossible magic unfurling deep and purposeful within.
“I’ll try to make it quick,” the healer said, his gaze still not meeting Kesst’s. “Though I realize you’ll probably never quite shake my scent now. I’m sorry.”
Gods, could this healerbeany more appalling, and Kesst felt his hands rubbing painfully at his face, his body shivering at the strength of that magic working away within him. Still fixing him. Helping him. Keeping his promise.
“It’s really fine,” he said thickly. “This is — very good of you. Again.”
The healer gave a dismissive-looking shrug, but Kesst was almost sure he could taste relief in his magic, in the way it seemed to move with even more certainty, more ease, than before. Feeling so strong, so sweet, so… sogood.
“It’s no trouble,” the healer replied, with another shrug. “Just doing what I can.”
Doing what he could. And suddenly Kesst was drowning in the most bizarre urge to start weeping, or babbling, or frantically begging. This ridiculous noble healer, with his ridiculous damned innocence, with his impossibly beautiful magic. With his promise. His generosity. His kindness.
And damn it, it was too devastating, too absurd, too much to bear. And Kesst desperately needed to get away from this again, above this again, he was fine, he could do what he did best, he could —
