Carrying a luminary while insulted

Astar is polite enough to let Tairn and Sgaeyl land and launch in the courtyard of Riorson House before he and Molvic take their place. He doesn't release the magical bands holding me in his seat until Aaric is up his leg and right beside me to carry me down to the ground, and even then he's reluctant.

"You can let her go," Aaric murmurs. "I've got her."

Finally, Astar loosens his grip. On the ground, he nuzzles me with his nose and I get a nauseating sense of deja vu from the last time we were in Aretia. "I love you, Little One."

"I love you, too."

He and Molvic launch into the sky, and Aaric carries me to the house, both of our packs over his shoulders. The foyer isn't empty, though.

"Jo?" Violet gasps, then she's hobbling over to me as fast as she can, almost tripping on the thick carpet.

I don't care about my injuries or that I can't really stand on my own; I don't care about anything other than the fact that she's alive. "Put me down," I tell Aaric, and he obliges just in time for Violet to bury me in a hug.

Her hair is wet with tears by the time she pulls away, my flight jacket suffering the same fate. "You tried to rescue me?"

"Will you—" I ask Aaric, and I don't even have to finish asking my question before he's nodding. "I was just trying to find you, I wasn't planning on getting caught."

Aaric relays the words, making Violet's eyebrows furrow for a second before she sees my splinted fingers and wrist and frowns in understanding. "He tortured you, too."

I nod.

"I'm sorry, Jo." She pulls me into another hug, and my leg starts to wobble from balancing on it for so long, but Aaric grabs my hips and steadies me before I fall over completely.

Xaden comes up behind Violet and takes a similar stance, giving my brother a nod before his eyes land on me with a softness I'm not expecting. "Your room from last time is up for grabs."

I shake my head. I don't like combining my bedrooms and sickrooms—I lost myself to the memories of the castle already in the last week, I don't need it to happen again anytime soon.

"I'll go to the infirmary," I tell Aaric, and he tells Xaden, who just nods at the both of us.

And then the other person in the room, the one I'd been ignoring so well, has to step forward and open his mouth. "I'll meet you in there after I mend Violet," Brennan offers.

"Not on your fucking life," Aaric snarls before my skin even gets to prickle at Brennan's proximity. Then he's lifting me into his arms and walking away too confidently for someone who's never been here before.

"Left," I instruct before he gets himself lost. "Thank you."

He just presses a kiss to the top of my head. "You don't have to thank me for that."

The infirmary is practically empty when we get there, but one of the healers in pale blue takes one look at me and immediately turns and walks out. "I can't tell if that's a good thing or not."

He just stands in the middle of the room for a minute before he looks at the rows of cots. "Should I just pick a bed, or…"

"Over here." Heath, the Head Healer, comes in through a side door, the healer from before trailing after him. He points to the farthest cot in the room, and Aaric obliges, setting me down as carefully as he can. "Joan Graycastle," Heath greets me, and his smile is as kind as I remember. "Your brother, I presume?"

"Aaric," he introduces. "And you are?"

"Heath Myrwin, Head Healer." He shakes his hand, then turns his brown eyes back to me. "I can't guarantee the next few hours are going to be comfortable, but we're going to take care of you. I assume it's a no to the mending?" I nod, and he nods back. "Then there will probably be surgery."

I tense up, but there's no other option—I can't heal without treatment, and if I refuse to be mended by Brennan, then I'll have to do it the old fashioned way. "I want you in there with me."

Aaric repeats the request, and Heath nods. "Done. We have some assessments we have to do, just to know what we're dealing with, but if and when the time comes, he'll be there."

The time comes sooner than expected. After the very first assessment, they realize I have internal injuries in my abdomen, and immediately prepare me for surgery, while one of the healers—Rori—explains to me and Aaric what they'll be doing.

"You'll need a blood transfusion, and one of the other healers, Tulley, will keep going with our assessments on your other injuries during the surgery to determine if there's anything else we need to fix so we won't have to sedate you more than necessary."

I track Aaric with my eyes until he's right by my head. "If I wake up, get Imogen to make me forget, okay?"

"Okay." He helps me sit up so I can take the sedative offered to me by Rori, then he brushes my hair back and kisses my forehead. "I love you, Joey. You're going to be just fine."

And, surprisingly enough, I actually believe him.

—

It's not Aaric in the chair beside my cot when I wake up, but Garrick, an ankle supported on his opposite knee as he flips through a book. He glances up at my stirring, and a soft smile breaks out on his face. "Morning, sleepyhead. Y'know, you were out for almost sixteen hours."

I go to lift my hands to sign, and while there's only a dull ache with the movement, I'm still in no condition to sign anything, which makes me huff in frustration.

He just laughs and stands up. "Don't worry, I'm just dropping these off." He leaves the two books in his lap on the bedside table, their spines facing me, but not the rest of the room: Distance Wielding: A History by Anne Framond and Going the Distance by Captain Caroline Bowes. "Gods know you'll need the entertainment."

Or studying. I lift one hand, the one with the broken wrist, and fingerspell, "U-P-D-A-T-E?" as best I can.

That one word has him sitting back down. "Only because you asked so nicely.

"All the cadets were assigned rooms in the barracks, and all of the officers we have on our side are being reassigned to guard the border in case Melgren decides to come knocking with the rest of the army we didn't leave in shambles." My eyes widen, but he waves off my concern. "We had enough Marked Ones in the riot that flew over that the only way he'd ever know where we are is if he tracked us visually, and the scouting reports say there's no movement so far, so we're safe for the time being.

"Classes should be starting up again; Devera, Emetterio, and two other professors left Basgiath with us, so the Assembly Members will fill in the educational gaps." Then he nods at the cot beside mine, where I didn't even notice Aaric sleeping soundly. "And he only left your side to shower and change. You know, he threatened me? Me. Told me my life would be hell if I let you wake up alone. I was tempted to call his bluff, but you're both royalty, and I didn't feel like pushing my luck."

I just roll my eyes and shake my head at his antics, which only makes him grin.

"Yeah, I'll be milking that for all it's worth." He stands up and straightens out his uniform. "I have a briefing, but I'm glad you're okay." Then he leans down and kisses the top of my head before he's gone with one last smile and a wave thrown over his shoulder.

I slowly shift on the bed until I can pull the first book, Distance Wielding: A History, into my lap without straining myself, then I open the worn cover to the first page and start to read.

—

Even Aaric isn't immune to Rhiannon Matthias's Squad Leader voice—she finishes her speech insisting he has to go to classes, and he folds in the first thirty seconds of the quiet that follows.

She sends him out to get breakfast before formation, then takes a seat beside me and smiles. "He cracked way quicker than I thought he would, I was ready to stare him down for a couple minutes if I needed to." Her eyes trail down the bandages and bruises littering my skin, making the rising sun from the window behind me catch on the faint freckles dusting her dark cheeks and lighting up her eyes.

"I don't know what your writing capabilities are right now, but we'll get you the notes and the homework for…however long you're in here." She sighs. "I'm really sorry we didn't get you out."

I furrow my brows and tilt my head. What the hell is she talking about?

"We thought that if we waited a couple days, Nora and Varrish wouldn't be expecting us to do anything. So we planned a jail break for you and Violet—Sawyer, Ridoc, and I—but they were waiting for us to show up; we barely got down the stairs before the guards had us restrained. Varrish put us in the interrogation classroom to be questioned, but Xaden and Garrick came before they ever even got the chance to ask us anything."

Something hot and bright flares in my chest. They were coming to rescue us.

"But I'm glad you're okay. Both of you."

"Me too."

Her eyes get even lighter as she says, "And we got to send letters to our families, letting them know we're okay. We couldn't tell them where we are, obviously, but we at least got to send something."

Oh, that's…really thoughtful, actually. I'll have to ask Aaric if he sent something to Mardred and Nathaniel.

The bells—much more chipper than the ones at Basgiath—ring for seven o'clock, and Rhi has to go to formation. "We'll come visit after classes, okay?" she says as she walks backward toward the door. "Love you!"

With the lack of classwork in front of me, I fully dive into the books Garrick brought, even though I can't practice anything. As much as I want to try and figure out my new signet, I can barely stand on my own two feet, let alone use up my energy on magic.

That's how the morning passes, reading and sleeping and reading some more, with Heath checking my stitches and my blood pressure every two hours. It's quiet, and the most peaceful I've ever felt in an infirmary.

Of course it doesn't last long.

"A riot approaches!" Astar shouts in my head so suddenly I startle, sending my book to the floor.

Shit. Dragons? "Are they friendly?"

"Most dragons are never friendly." Panic surges through my veins that I know isn't my own. "Keep yourself hidden, Little One."

I Conceal myself immediately, and by extension the IV drip I have sticking out of my arm. The energy expenditure is unimportant when there's potentially a riot of enemies approaching our position. This is my only defense—the two longswords strapped to my pack beside the bed are useless to me right now.

The panic recedes slightly. "Teine leads the riot."

Teine? Mira's dragon?

My heart rate slowly eases to a steady rhythm as Astar says, "Hmm. Maybe there are friendly dragons."

"We're safe?"

"Yes. The Shadow Wielder apparently collected all of them as he was returning."

That's a relief, I guess. I drop the Concealment, scaring one of the younger healers changing the linens on some of the cots, and settle back against my pillows. The adrenaline rush Astar just sent through me wiped me out, I wouldn't mind a nap for a couple minutes—

The infirmary doors open and the Shadow Wielder himself walks through them, a redhead I don't recognize two steps behind him, with both of them making their way straight for me. At the last second, Xaden turns to the redhead and puts out a hand, telling her to wait, then he continues alone until he's sitting in the uncomfortable chair beside my bed.

"Graycastle."

I can only nod at him, but he, apparently, isn't waiting for a response, even if I could give one.

"The redhead back there? Her name is Lydia Cantrell, she graduated the year before me." He pauses for a moment, his eyes intently focused on my face before he says lowly, "She's a mender."

She hasn't even looked at me and my skin starts to crawl.

He sticks out a hand, not touching me, just hovering like he's ready to hold me down if I try to bolt. It's not an unfair assessment. "She's not here to mend you if you don't want it. I just wanted you to know there's someone who isn't Brennan who comes highly recommended." He pulls the sleeve back on his uniform to show me an ugly, angry red scar on his arm, stretching from his shoulder to his elbow. "She kept my arm attached to my body." He pulls the sleeve down. "She came in with the influx of officers, and I'm making sure she's here for at least another day, so you don't have to decide right now, but she can mend you, if you want it."

He brought me a mender.

Something warm burns in my chest at the sentiment, even though the thought of a stranger putting their hands on me makes bile rise in my throat. My body was barely starting to feel like mine again before Varrish put his hands back on it, and then he brought Nolon into that cell. The only relief has been Astar in my head and Aaric at my side—comforting, familiar, safe. Not an enemy, not a stranger.

…But maybe she doesn't need to be a stranger.

"Will you come to the infirmary?" I ask Aaric.

"Is everything okay?"

"Relatively." Then I focus back on Xaden and look over his shoulder at the redhead. "Okay."

He waves her over, and she walks toward us with a big smile on her face while she stops at the foot of the bed. "You're Garrick's secret sock supplier, right?"

My lips break into a wide smile as I nod. "Guilty."

"Then it's you I have to thank—I've finally been able to wear my new boots long enough to break them in without getting blisters."

Xaden arches a brow at her. "Couldn't you just mend the blisters away?"

She rolls her eyes. "Technically, sure, but it's such a waste of time and energy. Why would I bother, when I can just wear more comfortable socks?" She winks at me. "I'm Lydia, but I'm pretty sure Riorson already told you that."

The infirmary doors open again and Aaric walks in, taking the chair on the opposite side of my cot from Xaden, and giving him and Lydia a cool appraisal.

She just looks between the two of us with raised brows. "Twins?"

Aaric shakes his head. "She's my older sister."

"Huh."

Xaden watches Aaric for a moment before he turns to me. "Do you need me to stay?"

"No." Not with Aaric here now. "Thank you."

The corners of his mouth curl up in the faintest hint of a smile. "'Course." He stands, nods at Lydia, then walks out of the infirmary.

The Lieutenant smiles softly at me, but it's not with any pity—just clear understanding. "I know you don't really want me here, but the aggravation of being injured probably won out, right?" I attempt a shrug, and she laughs at my agreement. "It's okay, I'm not offended." She takes Xaden's unoccupied chair, moving slowly to react to any hesitation on my part.

I don't give her any.

She keeps looking back and forth between the two of us. "Are you sure you aren't twins? I mean, obviously you're not identical, but even fraternal twins don't look as similar as the two of you do."

"Positive," I sign back, then turn to my brother with a soft look in my eye. "We might as well be, though. Will you be my hands?"

"You know I will be. What's this for?"

"She's a mender." He sucks in a breath, and his eyes narrow at Lydia, but I press on. "Xaden brought her for me. She's staying an extra day, so I can decide if I want her to…work on me."

His green eyes bore into mine. "What do you want?"

I turn back to Lydia, who doesn't seem at all put off by the conversation the two of us are having without her, and look her up and down. "I don't want her to be a stranger."

Aaric understands exactly what I mean. "Okay. What should I ask her?"

"Does she have any siblings?"

"Four," she says with a mischievous grin after Aaric finishes the question, directing her answer at both of us. "An older brother, two younger sisters, and a youngest brother. Don't tell him I told you this, but he was definitely an accident. I mean, come on, an eight year age gap between kids? That's not on purpose, I don't care what you're telling yourself. There was this one time we all tried to convince him he was adopted, and he actually believed us, even though he looks the most like our parents than any of us. He cried for three days and wouldn't talk to any of us for a week, but it was worth it."

She's good at this—setting me at ease. There's an openness to her expression and her way of speaking that makes me feel like we've been friends for years; I know more about her and her family than I do about any of my squadmates, and I've only known her for five minutes.

"Do you want to start?" she asks me when the latest story about a rider and a wine bottle comes to an end. "It's okay if the answer is no. We don't have to do this right now, or today, or ever, if you don't want to."

I look down at the mangled mess that is my hands, and swallow down the nausea slowly growing in my stomach. I at least want my hands back.

I nod twice. Yes. Please.

She leans closer and hovers her hands over mine, but she doesn't touch me yet. "It's all at your pace, okay?"

Lydia talks me through the process, taking each injury in her hands and assessing it before telling me what will be happening, all before she ever starts to channel.

When she finishes my hands and wrist, she sits back, offering me an end to the process if I want one, but I don't—we've already started, and while this has been the most pleasant mending I've ever had, I don't want it prolonged longer than necessary. So I nod my head, and she gently prods at my shoulder, ready to start on the next injury.

I never knew mending could be gentle. Every experience I've had with it has been violent and violating, but Lydia completely subverts my expectations. She takes breaks when I need them, and tries to keep the tension light with stories about her family, while her focus never falters from me and my needs.

It's a nice change of pace.

We're both exhausted by the time she mends my last rib back together. It still hurts—forcing anything back together before it's ready hurts—but there's no mental exhaustion wrapped around this mending session, just physical.

"You and I are going to have the best naps of our lives," she tells me when she finally leans back in her chair. "You doing okay?"

I lift both of my hands and sign, "Never better."

—

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