Asalaâs work really was exceptionally good. This was something Estella knew more about than she probably should, this little time into their acquaintance, but it seemed the young Qunari had been of great assistance to her yet again, and she couldnât say she was ungrateful, much as she wished it werenât necessary. Fortunately, nothing that had happened to her had been life-threatening; sheâd passed out mostly from pain and exhaustion, which was admittedly a little embarrassing, especially because she hadnât even been conscious when theyâd actually gotten around to doing what theyâd come for, and rescuing the scouts.
At least theyâd all still been there, and alive, and no further confrontation with the Avvar was necessary. She believed sheâd done the right thing, though of course as usual she probably should have done better at it. But the scouts were safe and no members of her party were dead, and the Avvar who hadnât wanted to be there in the first place had been able to leave, and that was⊠well, it was truthfully a much better outcome than sheâd been expecting.
Estella currently sat at the small desk crammed into the little clericâs cell she used as a room, the charcoal pencil in her hand moving only occasionally, because she was thinking more than she was sketching, at the moment. Her leg ached a lot still, and theyâd only made it back to Haven the day before, so she limped a fair bit yet, but considering how many places her bones had been broken in, that was really a small miracle of magic. She was on strict instructions not to wear herself out by doing anything too strenuous, but she had to admit the enforced inactivity was probably going to drive her up a wall eventually. Sheâd slept most of the previous day, and now that she no longer felt like she was going to topple over and die at any moment, she admitted she was bored. Even when she wasnât on a job, Estella preferred to be active, to train or at least walk around, and there werenât any especially interesting books around for her to get lost in, either.
So she was drawing, mostly to give her hands something to do. It was a skill Commander Lucien had taught a few of the others, and that they in turn had tried to teach her, but though she could draw simple things relatively well, she was still having trouble with faces and architecture and things like that. Even her renderings were quite inferior to Cyrusâs, she mused, but, well, that was just to be expected. She liked doing it, anyway, and since there was really nothing else to do, she figured she might as well.
A sharp knock on her door drew her out of her reverie, and she called for the person on the other side to enter. Sheâd suspected it might be Asala, by to check on her again, but when the door opened to reveal Cyrus, she wasnât all that shocked.
His expression, initially difficult to read, shifted almost immediately upon his entry, and he shut the door behind him with a click. A thundercloud seemed to pass over his features, darkening them for a brief moment, and his eyes narrowed as he took a deep breath. He otherwise looked as he always didâas though they hadnât been traipsing through a bog and then traveling as swiftly as horseback would carry them back to Haven.
He looked at her for a moment, flinty and intent, his displeasure clear from the look on his face. Crossing his arms over his chest, he leaned back against her door. âJust whatââ He cut himself off, exhaling through his nose and visibly clenching his jaw. âWhat were you thinking, Stellulam?â
It didnât take a genius to figure out what he was referring to, and she turned her body in her chair so that she was sitting sideways on it, folding both of her hands in her lap and looking down at them for some time. She didnât need to look up to know that he was still skewering her with his stareâhe had a way of doing that. He could look at a person, at her, and make her feel either like she was the thing at the center of his entire universe or⊠like she was a bug on the end of a needle, and half as smart. Right now it was definitely the latter, so she didnât meet his eyes.
She supposed it was a fair question. The Estella he knew would never have done something like that. Estella hadnât even known she would do it herself, before she did it. But her thought process had actually been quite rational, and so maybe if she explained it, he would understand. âI was thinking⊠I was thinking that the Hand was Avvar. I donât know a lot about them, but I know they value honor. Or, well, if they donât, their culture does, and so heâd be bound to accept a challenge issued to him. I was thinking the only person he really cared about killing was me. I was thinking that his people didnât look like they wanted to be there, and no one should ever have to die for something they donât believe in.â
She did chance meeting his eyes then, and grimaced. Maybe that part was more emotional than rational, but still. âIt just⊠it wasnât necessary to risk anyone else. I knew if it really came down to it, then the rest of you would be able to win, so either way the scouts would be safe.â Sheâd done the right thing. She had.
Cyrus, however, didnât seem to think so, at least not the way she did. He scowled deeply, then dropped his hands to his sides, moving one up to run through his hair in an irritated motion that seemed to be more for preventing him from doing something else, though it was hard to say what. âThe scouts.â He repeated the words softly, a faint note of incredulity in his tone. âDid you even once consider that the relevant difference between these two scenarios might be the fact that in one of them you were dead?â
Her brotherâs entire body was tense; his volume had risen a fair bit over normal inside modulation, though he wasnât precisely yelling. He looked like he wanted to, though. Cyrusâs expression had morphed from irritated to livid, and looked like it was about to tip a degree further, too.
Sheâd rarely seen him so upset. Cyrus was a man of extremes; he always had been, and she knew that. But though Estella had supposed he must have many emotions she rarely saw, sheâd not thought him a person with much anger in him at all. Which actually made this a little alarming to her. Sheâd gone tense, too, but not because she was angry in return. Rather, the volume in his voice was bringing on an adverse reaction in her, one that was old and instinctive, and she swallowed several times. This was Cyrus. Her brother. He wasnât going toâ
She slammed the proverbial door on the thought and forced herself to breathe, clenching her hands in her lap but keeping eye contact. âI⊠of course I did. I knew what could happen, butâŠâ She suspected this was the part where she was supposed to say I knew I could do it, but she found herself unable to. She was a poor liar on the best of days, and heâd see through her like she was made of glass. âBut I knew that wasnât likely. Asalaâs an amazing healer; sheâs saved my life more than once already. And you⊠you were there. I know you can heal, too.â It wasnât, as far as she knew, something heâd ever been especially interested in, but the basics were part of any Imperium magical education.
It sounded like a lame excuse, and it probably was. That it was all technically true didnât help her sound any more convincing, she was sure. She tried something else, quickly, before he could interject. âBesides, I⊠I canât let myself think like that, about whether Iâm going to die or not. The way I did it, no matter what happened, the fewest possible people would die. Either just one, or⊠well.â She wasnât sure exactly what would have happened if sheâd been the one to die, but most likely the Avvar would have honored the duel, called their gods the victors, and let the rest of them take the scouts back. It was still only one death.
Even if it was hers.
âJust one.â He seemed to be quite apt to repeat her words back at her with very different tone, and this time it was somewhere between derision and⊠something else. Something more urgent that was difficult to identify. He ran both hands over his face, looking quite like he had no idea what to do with himself but needed to do something. The indecision lasted for only a moment, and then he was marching toward her, laying his hands on her shoulders and gripping, not hard enough to cause her pain, but quite firmly. She could feel through the contact that his hands were actually trembling.
âYou stupid, stupid girl.â Whatever anger was in him seemed to have faded back to a simmer, leaving in its place a wounded look that she had only ever seen once on his face, the day he told her to run and not look back. âIt would not have been just one life, it would have been your life. You canât do this to me. Do you have any idea what would have happened if youâdâŠâ He couldnât seem to even finish the sentence, moving his hands so that he held either side of her face, tilting her head back so that eye contact was forced. His own met hers, seemingly searching for something, or perhaps imploring her to understand.
âIt isnât just one life, itâs yours.â If possible, he said it more emphatically the second time.
His distress was evident, and Estella flinched at the clear strength of his feelings on the matter. And yet, for all she knew what he was trying to convey to her, she could not bring herself to agree. He cared about her, loved her a great deal. She loved him too, of course. And she could even understand why he wanted her to acknowledge this thing he was trying to tell her: if it were him, she would have worried too. But⊠she also would have trusted him to succeed, and she could not deny a twinge of pain in her heart when she realized he likely had not expected that she would. Then again⊠she hadnât known, either. Maybe it was just because she had so much evidence of how skilled and talented he was, and he had none for her, because there wasnât any to be had.
So she could understand, why he wanted her to agree, why he wanted her to treat her life like it mattered more than someone elseâs. But she couldnât. âCyrus⊠when it comes right down to it, my life is just one life. Iâm just a normal person.â Even if something like being especially skilled or powerful or likely to contribute to the world or something made someoneâs life worth a bit more, which she wasnât sure it did, she wasnât any of those things. Estella was really only one person, and sheâd accepted that a long time ago. Some people had to be normal, or average, or below it, in order for there to be an average. By most math, one life for many was a good trade to make.
âWrong.â His response was immediate, and he shook his head violently, releasing her face and backing up a few paces. âWrong, wrong, wrong.â His emotions had apparently flipped kilter again, and the anger built to a second crest. âIf you donât believe it because I tell you, go out there and ask the commander. Ask Marceline, ask anyone who makes strategic decisions. Ask any of your friends. For godsâ sake, ask anyone in your entire damned Inquisition!â He really was yelling now, and gesticulating wildly to emphasize it, thrusting one hand out to point at the places beyond her walls.
âAny single one of them with half a brain to think about it will tell you that your life is worth whatever they have to pay to keep it! If it wasnât so before because they cared about you, it is now, because theyâre relying on you to save them all!â His emotions seemed to be having a strange effect on his magicâthe air around him began to distort and warp as though it had suddenly become very hot, like the way it rose off the sand in a desert and shimmered. The tang of thunderstorms was on the air as well, but he wasnât casting anything.
âAnd donât you dare tell me that youâre disposable because thereâs another Herald! You are absolutely fucking indespensible, do you hear me?! How many people have to tell you before youâll believe it, even just a little bit?! Because Iâll parade every single one of them through here if I have to, Stellulam, until you promise me that you wonât do something so stupid again!â His eyes were unusually bright, and the faintest hint of moisture gathered at the edges of them. His hand formed into a fist, and he slammed the side of it into her door, which splintered, not due to the impact alone, but rather the magic it discharged, unformed and purely concussive in nature.
A high-pitched yelp came from behind the door after Cyrus's savage lash. The damage done to it was enough to break the seal, letting the door lazily swing open to reveal a very startled Asala. Her hand clutched the collar of her borrowed cloak, though whoever she'd gotten it from was clearly a lot smaller than she was, considering the fit. Inside the grip she had on it she held a small red vial.
She didn't say anything at first. She only stared into now open room with widened eyes and a look of anxiety on fer face. It wasn't clear how long she had been standing behind the door, nor how much of their exchange she had heard. "Uh..." Asala murmured. "Am I... Is this a b-bad time?"
Estella gulped in a large breath, using the opportunity Asala had so unknowingly presented to steady herself. Cyrus was⊠she didnât think he was going to like anything she could say, because she couldnât promise him, with full genuineness, what he wanted her to promise. She would know it was false, and because she did, he would, and she suspected that would only make matters worse than they actually were. Suspected, but couldnât say with certainty, because in all the years theyâd been alive, sheâd never seen him lose his composure like this. It meant she wasnât really sure what to expect.
Sheâd started to shake, she realized belatedly, and steadied herself as well as she could, lifting her eyes to smile thinly at Asala. Maybe what they needed was time to cool off, both of them. Though honestly, she wasnât⊠she didnât know exactly how she felt about this. It broke her heart to upset him so much, but she still didnât believe sheâd done anything wrong, and she wasnât sure talking any more about it would do anything but upset the both of them.
âNo, Asala, itâs not.â She felt herself automatically sliding her usual expression over her features; reserved politeness with a hint of confidenceâsheâd been faking it for so long it was almost effortlessâand turned her eyes briefly to her brother. âI believe Cyrus was just leaving.â
He stiffened for a moment at her words, wearing his true feelings much more openly than she was wearing hers, but then he finally looked over at the door, as though noticing it for the first time, and grimaced. Then his face smoothed over, too, and he swallowed once. The look he gave Estella was one that informed her quite clearly that he was not going to let the matter go, but when he spoke, his voice had regained its normal volume and tone.
âYes. I suppose I was.â He nodded faintly at Asala, though he scarcely seemed to notice her, really, merely stepping around her to get out the door and depart.
She turned to let him through, then remained in the hall and continued to gaze down it, no doubt watching Cyrus depart. Eventually, she entered the room, not bothering to close the damaged door behind her. Asala pulled the few errant strands of her hair obscuring her face behind her horns and took a knee in front of Estella. She gave her a comforting smile before gently setting the red vial on the table beside her. "Take that, please," she asked.
Then she reached for Estella's leg with gentle fingers, and began to firmly message it as if testing the bone. "Have you had any acute pain lately?" Asala asked, though her attention was primarily focused on the limb.
Downing the contents of the vial, Estella made a slight face at the aftertaste and shook her head. âNo,â she murmured, though she still looked at the empty doorway. Pursing her lips, she forced herself to focus on Asala and what she was doing. âIt just aches, especially when I put weight on it, obviously.â Still, even that wasnât a stabbing pain, just a slight flare in the general soreness. She knew from experience being injured that it was healing as expected, or, well, generally in a good manner, anyway.
She almost wanted to ask Asala, how sheâd made amends with Meraad, if theyâd ever argued, but something about this was too fresh to be seeking that sort of advice yet, and Estella wondered if it wasnât something sheâd have to figure out by herself. Usually, making amends involved apologizing, but she doubted Cyrus cared whether she apologized. He just wanted her to do the thing heâd been trying to convince her to do in the first place, and she couldnât give him that. So amends, as such, werenât going to be easy.
She fiddled with the empty potion vial, and swallowed thickly. Now, of all times, she could feel the hot prickles at the back of her eyes that meant she wanted to cry. But she wouldnât, couldnât let herself, so she let out a shaky breath instead and tried to focus on the pain in her leg. It was better than the pain in her chest.
Asala was silent for a time afterward, concentrating on the leg in her hands. At least until she stopped for a moment, and simply held it. It looked as if she was thinking on something. Estella could tell when she decided, because she loosened her grip on her leg. "He... cares about you," she said, with hesitation in her voice. She then looked up at her and, for once, held her gaze, though the uneasiness remained in her face. "We all do."
With that, she returned her attention to the limb, something she appeared to be more comfortable in dealing with. She gave it one more once over before she stood and nodded. "You will be fine. Just... Give it time."
Estella smiled, just a little, aware that Asala was probably talking about more than her wound, and appreciative of the sentiment. She was probably even correct. âI know he does.â It was almost the root of the problem, really, that Cyrus cared so much. He was like that with everything he came to care about, which is why she suspected he tried to avoid it as often as possible. âAnd⊠and I hope youâre right. Thank you.â It was something she found herself saying a lot to Asala, now that she thought about it, but then⊠perhaps that was only natural, considering the circumstances.
She tilted her head to the side, changing the topic to something more comfortable, probably for the both of them. âSo, doctor⊠do you think Iâll be able to take a walk tomorrow, at least?â
"I'm... not a... doctor?" She said, the look of confusion that's become a staple of who Asala was gracing her features once more. However, she didn't allow the comment to sit for too long, apparently brushing past it. It appeared that she was beginning to ignore most of these things.
She nodded afterward, a smile on her lips to replace the confusion. "Yes. If you rest today, you will be able to walk tomorrow." She then shrugged and rubbed her arms. "But... you should put off running for another day or so." she added apologetically.
Estella sighed, but supposed it could be a lot worse. She wasnât usually stupid enough to aggravate her injuries, though, and she nodded slightly. She trusted the other womanâs advice, and smiled as Asala stood, giving her a soft goodbye as she exited. The door still worked, mostly, and once she was alone again, Estella closed her eyes and breathed a deeper exhale, scrubbing over her face with both hands.
When had everything become so complicated?
At least theyâd all still been there, and alive, and no further confrontation with the Avvar was necessary. She believed sheâd done the right thing, though of course as usual she probably should have done better at it. But the scouts were safe and no members of her party were dead, and the Avvar who hadnât wanted to be there in the first place had been able to leave, and that was⊠well, it was truthfully a much better outcome than sheâd been expecting.
Estella currently sat at the small desk crammed into the little clericâs cell she used as a room, the charcoal pencil in her hand moving only occasionally, because she was thinking more than she was sketching, at the moment. Her leg ached a lot still, and theyâd only made it back to Haven the day before, so she limped a fair bit yet, but considering how many places her bones had been broken in, that was really a small miracle of magic. She was on strict instructions not to wear herself out by doing anything too strenuous, but she had to admit the enforced inactivity was probably going to drive her up a wall eventually. Sheâd slept most of the previous day, and now that she no longer felt like she was going to topple over and die at any moment, she admitted she was bored. Even when she wasnât on a job, Estella preferred to be active, to train or at least walk around, and there werenât any especially interesting books around for her to get lost in, either.
So she was drawing, mostly to give her hands something to do. It was a skill Commander Lucien had taught a few of the others, and that they in turn had tried to teach her, but though she could draw simple things relatively well, she was still having trouble with faces and architecture and things like that. Even her renderings were quite inferior to Cyrusâs, she mused, but, well, that was just to be expected. She liked doing it, anyway, and since there was really nothing else to do, she figured she might as well.
A sharp knock on her door drew her out of her reverie, and she called for the person on the other side to enter. Sheâd suspected it might be Asala, by to check on her again, but when the door opened to reveal Cyrus, she wasnât all that shocked.
His expression, initially difficult to read, shifted almost immediately upon his entry, and he shut the door behind him with a click. A thundercloud seemed to pass over his features, darkening them for a brief moment, and his eyes narrowed as he took a deep breath. He otherwise looked as he always didâas though they hadnât been traipsing through a bog and then traveling as swiftly as horseback would carry them back to Haven.
He looked at her for a moment, flinty and intent, his displeasure clear from the look on his face. Crossing his arms over his chest, he leaned back against her door. âJust whatââ He cut himself off, exhaling through his nose and visibly clenching his jaw. âWhat were you thinking, Stellulam?â
It didnât take a genius to figure out what he was referring to, and she turned her body in her chair so that she was sitting sideways on it, folding both of her hands in her lap and looking down at them for some time. She didnât need to look up to know that he was still skewering her with his stareâhe had a way of doing that. He could look at a person, at her, and make her feel either like she was the thing at the center of his entire universe or⊠like she was a bug on the end of a needle, and half as smart. Right now it was definitely the latter, so she didnât meet his eyes.
She supposed it was a fair question. The Estella he knew would never have done something like that. Estella hadnât even known she would do it herself, before she did it. But her thought process had actually been quite rational, and so maybe if she explained it, he would understand. âI was thinking⊠I was thinking that the Hand was Avvar. I donât know a lot about them, but I know they value honor. Or, well, if they donât, their culture does, and so heâd be bound to accept a challenge issued to him. I was thinking the only person he really cared about killing was me. I was thinking that his people didnât look like they wanted to be there, and no one should ever have to die for something they donât believe in.â
She did chance meeting his eyes then, and grimaced. Maybe that part was more emotional than rational, but still. âIt just⊠it wasnât necessary to risk anyone else. I knew if it really came down to it, then the rest of you would be able to win, so either way the scouts would be safe.â Sheâd done the right thing. She had.
Cyrus, however, didnât seem to think so, at least not the way she did. He scowled deeply, then dropped his hands to his sides, moving one up to run through his hair in an irritated motion that seemed to be more for preventing him from doing something else, though it was hard to say what. âThe scouts.â He repeated the words softly, a faint note of incredulity in his tone. âDid you even once consider that the relevant difference between these two scenarios might be the fact that in one of them you were dead?â
Her brotherâs entire body was tense; his volume had risen a fair bit over normal inside modulation, though he wasnât precisely yelling. He looked like he wanted to, though. Cyrusâs expression had morphed from irritated to livid, and looked like it was about to tip a degree further, too.
Sheâd rarely seen him so upset. Cyrus was a man of extremes; he always had been, and she knew that. But though Estella had supposed he must have many emotions she rarely saw, sheâd not thought him a person with much anger in him at all. Which actually made this a little alarming to her. Sheâd gone tense, too, but not because she was angry in return. Rather, the volume in his voice was bringing on an adverse reaction in her, one that was old and instinctive, and she swallowed several times. This was Cyrus. Her brother. He wasnât going toâ
She slammed the proverbial door on the thought and forced herself to breathe, clenching her hands in her lap but keeping eye contact. âI⊠of course I did. I knew what could happen, butâŠâ She suspected this was the part where she was supposed to say I knew I could do it, but she found herself unable to. She was a poor liar on the best of days, and heâd see through her like she was made of glass. âBut I knew that wasnât likely. Asalaâs an amazing healer; sheâs saved my life more than once already. And you⊠you were there. I know you can heal, too.â It wasnât, as far as she knew, something heâd ever been especially interested in, but the basics were part of any Imperium magical education.
It sounded like a lame excuse, and it probably was. That it was all technically true didnât help her sound any more convincing, she was sure. She tried something else, quickly, before he could interject. âBesides, I⊠I canât let myself think like that, about whether Iâm going to die or not. The way I did it, no matter what happened, the fewest possible people would die. Either just one, or⊠well.â She wasnât sure exactly what would have happened if sheâd been the one to die, but most likely the Avvar would have honored the duel, called their gods the victors, and let the rest of them take the scouts back. It was still only one death.
Even if it was hers.
âJust one.â He seemed to be quite apt to repeat her words back at her with very different tone, and this time it was somewhere between derision and⊠something else. Something more urgent that was difficult to identify. He ran both hands over his face, looking quite like he had no idea what to do with himself but needed to do something. The indecision lasted for only a moment, and then he was marching toward her, laying his hands on her shoulders and gripping, not hard enough to cause her pain, but quite firmly. She could feel through the contact that his hands were actually trembling.
âYou stupid, stupid girl.â Whatever anger was in him seemed to have faded back to a simmer, leaving in its place a wounded look that she had only ever seen once on his face, the day he told her to run and not look back. âIt would not have been just one life, it would have been your life. You canât do this to me. Do you have any idea what would have happened if youâdâŠâ He couldnât seem to even finish the sentence, moving his hands so that he held either side of her face, tilting her head back so that eye contact was forced. His own met hers, seemingly searching for something, or perhaps imploring her to understand.
âIt isnât just one life, itâs yours.â If possible, he said it more emphatically the second time.
His distress was evident, and Estella flinched at the clear strength of his feelings on the matter. And yet, for all she knew what he was trying to convey to her, she could not bring herself to agree. He cared about her, loved her a great deal. She loved him too, of course. And she could even understand why he wanted her to acknowledge this thing he was trying to tell her: if it were him, she would have worried too. But⊠she also would have trusted him to succeed, and she could not deny a twinge of pain in her heart when she realized he likely had not expected that she would. Then again⊠she hadnât known, either. Maybe it was just because she had so much evidence of how skilled and talented he was, and he had none for her, because there wasnât any to be had.
So she could understand, why he wanted her to agree, why he wanted her to treat her life like it mattered more than someone elseâs. But she couldnât. âCyrus⊠when it comes right down to it, my life is just one life. Iâm just a normal person.â Even if something like being especially skilled or powerful or likely to contribute to the world or something made someoneâs life worth a bit more, which she wasnât sure it did, she wasnât any of those things. Estella was really only one person, and sheâd accepted that a long time ago. Some people had to be normal, or average, or below it, in order for there to be an average. By most math, one life for many was a good trade to make.
âWrong.â His response was immediate, and he shook his head violently, releasing her face and backing up a few paces. âWrong, wrong, wrong.â His emotions had apparently flipped kilter again, and the anger built to a second crest. âIf you donât believe it because I tell you, go out there and ask the commander. Ask Marceline, ask anyone who makes strategic decisions. Ask any of your friends. For godsâ sake, ask anyone in your entire damned Inquisition!â He really was yelling now, and gesticulating wildly to emphasize it, thrusting one hand out to point at the places beyond her walls.
âAny single one of them with half a brain to think about it will tell you that your life is worth whatever they have to pay to keep it! If it wasnât so before because they cared about you, it is now, because theyâre relying on you to save them all!â His emotions seemed to be having a strange effect on his magicâthe air around him began to distort and warp as though it had suddenly become very hot, like the way it rose off the sand in a desert and shimmered. The tang of thunderstorms was on the air as well, but he wasnât casting anything.
âAnd donât you dare tell me that youâre disposable because thereâs another Herald! You are absolutely fucking indespensible, do you hear me?! How many people have to tell you before youâll believe it, even just a little bit?! Because Iâll parade every single one of them through here if I have to, Stellulam, until you promise me that you wonât do something so stupid again!â His eyes were unusually bright, and the faintest hint of moisture gathered at the edges of them. His hand formed into a fist, and he slammed the side of it into her door, which splintered, not due to the impact alone, but rather the magic it discharged, unformed and purely concussive in nature.
A high-pitched yelp came from behind the door after Cyrus's savage lash. The damage done to it was enough to break the seal, letting the door lazily swing open to reveal a very startled Asala. Her hand clutched the collar of her borrowed cloak, though whoever she'd gotten it from was clearly a lot smaller than she was, considering the fit. Inside the grip she had on it she held a small red vial.
She didn't say anything at first. She only stared into now open room with widened eyes and a look of anxiety on fer face. It wasn't clear how long she had been standing behind the door, nor how much of their exchange she had heard. "Uh..." Asala murmured. "Am I... Is this a b-bad time?"
Estella gulped in a large breath, using the opportunity Asala had so unknowingly presented to steady herself. Cyrus was⊠she didnât think he was going to like anything she could say, because she couldnât promise him, with full genuineness, what he wanted her to promise. She would know it was false, and because she did, he would, and she suspected that would only make matters worse than they actually were. Suspected, but couldnât say with certainty, because in all the years theyâd been alive, sheâd never seen him lose his composure like this. It meant she wasnât really sure what to expect.
Sheâd started to shake, she realized belatedly, and steadied herself as well as she could, lifting her eyes to smile thinly at Asala. Maybe what they needed was time to cool off, both of them. Though honestly, she wasnât⊠she didnât know exactly how she felt about this. It broke her heart to upset him so much, but she still didnât believe sheâd done anything wrong, and she wasnât sure talking any more about it would do anything but upset the both of them.
âNo, Asala, itâs not.â She felt herself automatically sliding her usual expression over her features; reserved politeness with a hint of confidenceâsheâd been faking it for so long it was almost effortlessâand turned her eyes briefly to her brother. âI believe Cyrus was just leaving.â
He stiffened for a moment at her words, wearing his true feelings much more openly than she was wearing hers, but then he finally looked over at the door, as though noticing it for the first time, and grimaced. Then his face smoothed over, too, and he swallowed once. The look he gave Estella was one that informed her quite clearly that he was not going to let the matter go, but when he spoke, his voice had regained its normal volume and tone.
âYes. I suppose I was.â He nodded faintly at Asala, though he scarcely seemed to notice her, really, merely stepping around her to get out the door and depart.
She turned to let him through, then remained in the hall and continued to gaze down it, no doubt watching Cyrus depart. Eventually, she entered the room, not bothering to close the damaged door behind her. Asala pulled the few errant strands of her hair obscuring her face behind her horns and took a knee in front of Estella. She gave her a comforting smile before gently setting the red vial on the table beside her. "Take that, please," she asked.
Then she reached for Estella's leg with gentle fingers, and began to firmly message it as if testing the bone. "Have you had any acute pain lately?" Asala asked, though her attention was primarily focused on the limb.
Downing the contents of the vial, Estella made a slight face at the aftertaste and shook her head. âNo,â she murmured, though she still looked at the empty doorway. Pursing her lips, she forced herself to focus on Asala and what she was doing. âIt just aches, especially when I put weight on it, obviously.â Still, even that wasnât a stabbing pain, just a slight flare in the general soreness. She knew from experience being injured that it was healing as expected, or, well, generally in a good manner, anyway.
She almost wanted to ask Asala, how sheâd made amends with Meraad, if theyâd ever argued, but something about this was too fresh to be seeking that sort of advice yet, and Estella wondered if it wasnât something sheâd have to figure out by herself. Usually, making amends involved apologizing, but she doubted Cyrus cared whether she apologized. He just wanted her to do the thing heâd been trying to convince her to do in the first place, and she couldnât give him that. So amends, as such, werenât going to be easy.
She fiddled with the empty potion vial, and swallowed thickly. Now, of all times, she could feel the hot prickles at the back of her eyes that meant she wanted to cry. But she wouldnât, couldnât let herself, so she let out a shaky breath instead and tried to focus on the pain in her leg. It was better than the pain in her chest.
Asala was silent for a time afterward, concentrating on the leg in her hands. At least until she stopped for a moment, and simply held it. It looked as if she was thinking on something. Estella could tell when she decided, because she loosened her grip on her leg. "He... cares about you," she said, with hesitation in her voice. She then looked up at her and, for once, held her gaze, though the uneasiness remained in her face. "We all do."
With that, she returned her attention to the limb, something she appeared to be more comfortable in dealing with. She gave it one more once over before she stood and nodded. "You will be fine. Just... Give it time."
Estella smiled, just a little, aware that Asala was probably talking about more than her wound, and appreciative of the sentiment. She was probably even correct. âI know he does.â It was almost the root of the problem, really, that Cyrus cared so much. He was like that with everything he came to care about, which is why she suspected he tried to avoid it as often as possible. âAnd⊠and I hope youâre right. Thank you.â It was something she found herself saying a lot to Asala, now that she thought about it, but then⊠perhaps that was only natural, considering the circumstances.
She tilted her head to the side, changing the topic to something more comfortable, probably for the both of them. âSo, doctor⊠do you think Iâll be able to take a walk tomorrow, at least?â
"I'm... not a... doctor?" She said, the look of confusion that's become a staple of who Asala was gracing her features once more. However, she didn't allow the comment to sit for too long, apparently brushing past it. It appeared that she was beginning to ignore most of these things.
She nodded afterward, a smile on her lips to replace the confusion. "Yes. If you rest today, you will be able to walk tomorrow." She then shrugged and rubbed her arms. "But... you should put off running for another day or so." she added apologetically.
Estella sighed, but supposed it could be a lot worse. She wasnât usually stupid enough to aggravate her injuries, though, and she nodded slightly. She trusted the other womanâs advice, and smiled as Asala stood, giving her a soft goodbye as she exited. The door still worked, mostly, and once she was alone again, Estella closed her eyes and breathed a deeper exhale, scrubbing over her face with both hands.
When had everything become so complicated?