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She crossed her arms over her chest. “Yes, slowly killing yourself. That’s what you’re doing.”
He cracked his neck and didn’t respond to her accusation. “Any news from Obryn?”
“You’re injured. I won’t tell you anything until you’re healed.”
“It’s nothing,” he said.
“Let me be the judge of that. Take off your shirt.”
At that his eyebrows lifted. “If you want to see me naked, you only need to say the word, Winters.” He took off his coat. Next, he shrugged out of his jacket before unbuttoning his shirt.
She noticed two new wounds.
“Sit.” She pointed at the couch.
He smirked and grabbed a whiskey bottle. “Look at you, being bossy,” he said as he sat down, stretching out his long legs and leaning back. “I wonder what else that pretty mouth of yours could do for me.”
She rolled her eyes at him. “This is going to hurt.”
“I’m counting on it.” He took a swig from the bottle.
She applied a salve and cast a tried-and-true healing spell, watching as the skin slowly closed. Aidric’s pain tolerance was impressive. He stayed entirely still as she worked. The only indication that he was in pain was the way his muscles tensed.
“Still no sign of him?”
He shook his head. The reward for Rakkley—dead or alive—was at an all-time high.
“I separated Synth from my magic.” Aidric’s eyes shot open. But before he could say anything congratulatory, she continued. “It doesn’t change much. We still can’t extract it.”
His brows furrowed. “It changes everything. If he extracts it from you, you won’t die.”
“Yes…but he would still regain Synth.” The thought made a cold shudder go down her spine.
“If it means you get to live, I don’t care.”
“Of course you care. If Synth returned…” She shook her head, unable to finish that sentence.
A coldness settled in those mercury eyes of his. “I don’t care if the council goes up in flames. Let the world burn. I’ll gladly walk on its ashes if it means you’re alive.”
His words chilled her heart because she was certain he meant every one of them.
“Aidric, you can’t possibly—”
“I never said I was the hero in your story.” There was no remorse in his voice. No hesitation.
He was the villain, ready to sacrifice the world for her. Her heart ached. She swallowed her tears and focused on his wounds. Even his skin felt cold to the touch. She applied the salve to the laceration.
“How many Wielders this time?”
“I’ve lost count.”
“What’s the point of killing random Wielder groups?”
He took another swig from the bottle. “The council thinks one of these groups could lead us to Rakkley.”
Entire units from the council had been dedicated to the search for Rakkley and any remaining Synth after the war.
Mira focused on Dawson’s wound. Extensive use of Dark Magic was dangerous for a Wielder. Even the best healers were unable to remove all the residue Dark Magic left behind. While most of the residue from endare cuts or other dark spells could be extracted, a small fraction of it was always left behind. Looking at the scars peppered across Dawson’s torso, she knew it was especially bad for him. Every time he used Dark Magic, it would impact his old wounds.
