Page 8

She hurried the rest of the way to his side, leaning over to hug him tightly. Her mouth opened, but all that came out was a shaky sob.

He lifted one of his arms, strangely heavy with his fatigue, to return her hug.

When she pulled back, she sank onto the chair beside the bed, swiping at her face. For long moments, she didn’t speak. Perhaps there really was nothing to say.

Then she plastered on an attempt at a smile. “Kari will be staying with your Aunt Fayetha for a little while.”

In other words, his mama would be here at the hospital with him. Merrik gave a slight nod.

Aunt Fayetha was his dacha’s younger sister. She’d married Uncle Imryll two decades ago, and they’d had his only cousin Alyndra. At ten, she was still barely older than a toddler due to slow elven aging. Uncle Imryll must be away at war, likely stationed with Prince Ryfon in the eastern forests since Merrik hadn’t come across him at Fort Defense.

Merrik turned his face away from Mama, not wanting to see the look on her face. “I do not want to see her. I do not want her to see me like…like this.”

“I understand. I won’t bring Kari until you’re ready.” Mama briefly rested her hand on his shoulder in a semblance of the elven gesture.

Her tone was far too understanding. Far too measured. It brought back that snarly, want-to-bite-someone feeling again.

“Lt. Merrik Loiatir?” A deep male voice spoke from the entrance to the room.

When Merrik dragged his gaze that way, he found a male elf healer standing in the opening of the curtain, a male nurse with a clipboard standing just behind him, a pencil in hand in preparation to jot notes.

“If you allow me, I would like to examine your injuries.” The male healer stepped forward.

Did Merrik really have a choice? He gave a nod, but he didn’t watch as the nurse unwrapped the bandages, first around his stump, then around his left foot. He didn’t want to see. He hadn’t yet been able to bring himself to look. Once he saw, then it would be real. There would be no pretending he still had both feet. That the foot he had left was still the same as it had always been.

The sight must have been pretty bad, for his mama made several stifled gasps and sobs.

The healer pressed his hand to each of Merrik’s knees, and the itching, squiggling feeling of the healer’s magic spread through him, sometimes warm and soothing, sometimes sharp and aching. The healer made several hmms and spoke softly to the nurse. The scratching of the pencil grated in the otherwise silent room.

At last, the healer’s magic swept through him, banishing the last of the pain, before the nurse began the process of rebandaging both of his legs.

The healer made a noise in the back of his throat before he stepped closer to the head of the bed, standing where he was facing both Merrik and his mama. “I have completed my assessment. The left foot and ankle are still in need of additional reconstructive surgery, and the stump of the right leg needs to be shaped to be optimal for a prosthetic. However, I would like to wait several days for the body to continue recovering after the strain of the injuries and the blood loss.”

Surgery. Reconstruction. Merrik’s ears buzzed loudly, a chill sweeping through him.

He could barely hear as his mama asked the healer, “What are his chances of walking again?”

The healer said something about a weak leg, surgery, prognosis, but Merrik couldn’t take in the words.

He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t do any of this. More hands on him. More time unconscious. Another chance of waking up missing his other leg.

“No.” Merrik shook his head vehemently. “No, I won’t…I can’t…”

Both the healer and Mama broke off their conversation, turning to him.

The healer gave a slight sniff. “You will have several days to come to terms with it.”

Merrik shook his head again, gritting his teeth. He didn’t want any of this. He didn’t want surgery. He didn’t want to be in this hospital. He didn’t want to be missing a leg.

He barely noticed as the healer and nurse left after exchanging a few quiet words with his mama. He shifted, gritting his teeth at the pain stabbing through his legs despite the renewal of the healing magic, and rolled his shoulders enough to put his back to his mama where she still sat beside him.

He didn’t want to talk. Didn’t want her compassionate gaze and attempts to make the best of things.

“Knock, knock.” A new, cheery voice rang from near the curtain.

Adry. His heart lurched, as it always did at the sound of her voice.

This time, that lurch blossomed into full-blown panic. She couldn’t see him like this. He didn’t want anyone seeing him like this—not his squadron, not Fieran, but especially not her. Not the girl he’d loved from the moment he’d gotten old enough to notice girls and realized with startling clarity that she definitely wasn’t his sister, despite his brotherhood with Fieran.