Cyrus felt like he'd been drifting for an eternity, half-aware and right at the familiar edges of the Fade.
He couldn't be dreaming, because that wasn't something he was capable of any longer. He'd suspected for close to a year now that the next time he would ever be here was whenâ
Even weakened, he was sharp, and the natural conclusion clicked into place immediately, but without any sense of urgency. He was dying. Or dead. Or just... suspended somewhere between the two. The ground felt solid beneath his feet, and when he looked down, it was to find that he couldn't see any of it for the yawning darkness that surrounded him. He couldn't see his own body, either, but he could still feel it. His fingertips were cold, and his chest ached fiercely, though it felt like a distant thing somehow, almost like someone else's pain. He could hear voices, too far to make out the words and running together, like time hadn't separated quite properly into distinct moments. Like everything was happening at the same moment and always.
He found it odd that he wasn't more curious about this. Very clearly, he stood now at the cusp between life and death. Perhaps he should have tried to see more, or explored further, or at the very least plotted the course of action most likely to end well for him, but he just... didn't. He had no particular desire to go anywhere or do anything, and so he lingered, more passive than he'd ever been, and waited.
When at last his eyes cracked open, definitively on the material side of the Veil, it was with the same unusual sanguinity. He was in pain, to be sureâit felt like a small star had imploded inside his chest, tearing apart his insides and burning them all at once, but that's all it was. Pain. No panic accompanied it, and so when he drew his breath, he did it carefully, stopping when his wounded body reached its obvious limit and exhaling slowly, through his teeth. He didn't try to move, except to blink a few more times and adjust to the light.
âWhat do you know?" His voice cracked a little; no doubt he really needed water. âSeems I've a heart after all. Can't imagine it would hurt this much otherwise." Grimacing, he turned his head slightly to the side. He didn't seem to be alone.
"You're awake!" It was Astraia's voice that said it, breathlessly as though she'd been running, but all she did was rise from a chair nearby in the room. There were others, too. Zahra, asleep. Stellulam, awake but not the type to practically jump at him as Astraia did. She stopped at his bedside, lighting a magelight spell in one hand, the other finding Cyrus's brow and gently tugging his eye open a little wider. Checking one, then the other. Opening his mouth and looking in there, too. Gazing over the wounds on his chest, focusing intently. When at last she seemingly confirmed that nothing was amiss, she broke into a wide smile. It looked as though she'd even shed a tear or two.
"Don't try to move, please. I'll get Asala." She started backing up towards the door. "She saved you, I just... helped a little. Watched. I'll get her." She pulled the door open, and disappeared outside, soft footsteps fading away at a moderate run.
He grimaced in her wake, but she was probably right that it was the wise thing to do. Certainly Asala was the healing specialist on hand. Cyrus blinked, letting his eyes readjust after the examination with the light, then brought them to rest on Stellulam. Offering half a smile, he shifted one arm to extend his hand slightly towards her. âAlmost got myself into too much trouble this time, didn't I?"
She made an exasperated little noise, but didn't hesitate to move her chair closer and take his hand. "Cy, you scared us half to death, is what you did." She fussed a bit with his hair, pushing a few sweat-curled locks back from his forehead, but he knew quite well she was mostly doing it as a way of reassuring herself that he was really there. And a way of letting him know she was really there. It had been that way since he'd been waking up from nightmares instead of near-death experiences, both of them stuffed into her bunk because they'd needed to know they weren't alone.
Stellulam looked from up close like she'd seen better days; there was a distinct sense of being drained to her, and her red-rimmed eyes betrayed just how miserable 'half to death' was. The silver chain Asvhalla had given her was still around her neck, the attached pendant beneath her tunic rather than over it. "The others made it back okay, just so you know. I don't know exactly what happened, still, but apparently what Faraji did to you was the worst of it. The spell nicked your heart; for a while all of us had to work on it just to make sure we could heal it fast enough. Another inch to the left..." She didn't seem to be able to finish the thought aloud, but its conclusion was obvious enough.
Cyrus released a breath he hadn't quite registered he was still holding, squeezing Stellulam's hand gently. Not that he had the strength to do so firmly, at the moment. âIt wasn't." He shifted, too infuriatingly weak to lift his other arm and so settling for brushing his thumb across her knuckles instead. âAnd I'm here. Don't act like I'm the only one who does stupid things in the name of heroics, Stellulam. We both know you're far more guilty of that than I." Frankly, he wouldn't even call his actions anything particularly heroicâthey were just instincts and desperation. But there was no point quibbling over the semantics.
She frowned at that, but decided now was not the time to argue with any of it, semantics or otherwise.
He had to pause for a bit there; talking was already starting to wear him out. Perhaps he'd be unconscious again by the time Astraia got back. âWhat about the... the people, in the house? The prisoners?"
"Prisoners?" She fairly obviously had no idea what he was talking about. Perhaps fortuitously, it looked like Zahra was beginning to stir, however. She might well have an answer his sister did not.
The soft snoring coming from the corner of the room came to an abrupt stop. Zahra stretched her arms above her head, having seemingly heard snippets of the conversation, but clearly pretending that she hadnât. Perhaps, she hadnât even been asleep. It certainly looked that way. Heavy bags hung beneath her eyes, indicating that sheâd forgone sleep, as well. She rubbed at her eyes, red-rimmed, either with fatigue, or sentiments she wouldnât readily admit, stubborn as always.
She smiled when she looked at Cyrus, grin bare-bone and tiredâobviously relieved that he was awake, happy that he hadnât drifted off into the darkness, leaving them all behind. Her smile wavered, and set into a line when she realized what they were talking about. The space between them, growing ever longer. Stellulamâs words trailed off into nothingness, because she wasnât sure what he was referencing. What theyâd seen there, in the estate. She licked her lips, and glanced at the floor, squirming up in her chair so that she was sitting properly.
âCy, we couldnâtâŠâ she gave her head a shake, and tried again, âWe didnât have time. If we stayed any longer, you wouldâve died.â The implications were clear, that if theyâd stayed to help the others escape, Cyrusâs chances of survival wouldâve been significantly reduced. Or, he wouldnât have had a chance at all. The choice was obvious. Even so, she seemed to be fighting with the outcome since returning to the Riptide. She didn't seem to want to elaborate. That they hadnât been able to save them⊠well, Zahra wasnât one for failures, and that had been something of one. âIâm glad youâre alive,â she exhaled softly, raking the mess of curls from her face, âTalk later, ya?â
With that, she swept out of the room, boots clopping down the hallway.
He was hardly content to leave it at that, but for the moment it seemed he had little choice. Still, he had nothing but time as long as he had to lay around here and recover, so perhaps he could put it to productive use by formulating ideas.
With a bit of a sigh, he squeezed Estella's hand again and offered her half a smile. âI would never decline your company if you wished to provide me with it, but... I think you should sleep, Stellulam. Who knows what waits for us after our voyage back, hm? Need our Lady Inquisitor in top shape, no doubt."
She favored him with a halfhearted smile, but nodded after a moment. "All right," she said quietly, clasping his hand briefly with both of hers. "But you remember to be patient and sleep, too, Cy. I don't want to hear from Astraia that you're moving around too soon." Releasing his hand, she leaned over to briefly press a kiss to his cheekbone, ruffling his hair a little as she pulled away. In her wake, he was left to silence.
Not too long after, footsteps began approaching the door. They shuffled as they made their way down the hall, though carried an unmistakable hurried quality to them. Only one person could put so much worry into simply walking. Asala soon entered the room, either forgoing or forgetting to knock first. The sight of a finally conscious Cyrus seemed to have smoothed out some of the concerned wrinkles out of her face, but a good deal remained yet. Dark heavy bags rested beneath her eyes, denoting her propensity to trade sleep for a watchful vigil at his bedside. It was a common visual for her, when one of them inevitably ended up injured. She smiled at him and glided to a chair beside him.
She opened her mouth in order to say something, then closed it after deciding against it. He could see her mind work behind her tired gaze, as scrounged for the words to say something. It lasted no more than a moment before she tilted her head and decided against it, and merely stated, "This will... tickle, but it is better than the alternative." Her healing spells then flicked to life in her hands, taking on the warm pinkish glow of compassion. It tickled and itched a bit like she said it would when the spell touched him, but with it it replaced some of the pain, at least enough for him to breathe without it hurting overmuch.
Cyrus didn't respond overmuch to it, turning his head to the other side to face the wall next to his bed instead. No doubt it would be a while before he made anything like a full recovery, but as long as he'd be good enough to get himself to the boat they'd be taking out of Minrathous, it didn't much matter. To Asala herself, he said nothing. A tight nod of acknowledgment at the beginning, then deliberate silence afterwards.
Asala only answered with a thin frown of her own and did not attempt to broach the silence. Instead it felt like she focused all of her attention into her spells. A comfortable warmth spread out from where she concentrated her spells and the tickling never became intolerable, and at times could even be considered quite pleasant.
That was, of course, the nature of the magic, so he didn't think much of it, taking advantage of the silence to let his thoughts wander and his senses go out of focus. He needed to sit down with Zahra and figure out exactly what was going on with the Contee familyâif as he suspected they'd deposed everyone further down the tree than Corveus, it shouldn't be that difficult to convince him to release the prisoners. He could have them brought to his own estate; he was sure the staff would be willing to help care for them as they recovered. Particularly if he allocated enough funds for the purpose. He could pull from Vantaniaâthe last indigo crop had been superlative. More than the larger country estate required to maintain and house the residents and the surrounding township.
Perhaps some day, he'd visit again, but for now, Cyrus considered himself lucky that his ancestors had chosen a tradeâdye and textilesâthat was always in demand. Things ran themselves, with or without his direct supervision.
Eventually Asala tilted her head as she began to speak again. "Are you--" she stopped herself, turning away for a moment and shaking her head. Apparently, whatever she was going to say didn't seem like such a good idea as she was saying it. "Is... something wrong," she decided on, glancing at his chest perhaps in hopes that he would realize she meant it in a way other than the obvious.
For a moment, he considered not answering the question, inane as it was. Unfortunately, his sharp tongue was always quicker than his sense of restraint. More fool, him. âYou mean aside from the barely-patched hole in my chest?" It was clear enough from his tone how little he thought of the query, but he flattened it out after, until it was hollow and almost without inflection. âNo. Everything is as normal."
The response caused Asala's head to dip and break her gaze on him, her eyes alighting on the spell in her hands. The frown on her lips deepened, and her eyelids fluttered for a moment. Despite her literal nature, it was clear that Asala did not believe him for a moment, but the terseness of his response seemed to affect her. The warmth wavered for a moment, before it evened back out again. "I am... I'm sorry," she said quietly.
âOh?" The flatness gained a small edge of derision. Sorry, she said. As though she had the first idea what she'd done. âWhat for, pray tell?" He shifted his eyes to the ceiling and let them rest there, hoping that both the conversation and the healing would soon be done, so that he could go back to his thoughts, which were much preferable to the present topic.
"Everything..." she said even quieter this time, nearly approaching a whisper. There was pain in her face, though it did not seem that all of it was due to his sharp words. "I... " She began, before taking another look at Cyrus. Unlike the numerous other times where she hesitated in her words, this one felt more deliberate. A conscious decision where she carefully thought about it, before finally deciding against it. Whatever she had wanted to say, she apparently determined something and said nothing more. She held him in her gaze for a second more before slowly reverting her eyes back to her spells, shaking her head sadly.
âEverything, is it?" He resisted the urge to roll his eyes, but it was a near thing. âWhile I've no doubt you are capable of a great deal, I hardly think all the world's ills are to be laid at your feet. Would you like to try again?" Let her squirm. She deserved to. If she didn't bloody well know what she'd done wrong, then he wasn't interested in an empty apology anyway.
There was another sigh, though this one had more substance with it and lacked the submission the others had. She glanced back up to him, her eyes having gathered a strength that had replaced the sadness that had been in them before. She seemed tired, and not just in general, but his constant derision. "I was unaware that you wished to hear what I had to say," she stated with that certain firmness she could be found with every so often. She looked at him for a bit more before intently returning to her work, "If you truly wish to know, then..." her lips fell into a thin line as she tilted her head again, like she was trying to force the words.
"I hate that this is the first conversation we've had in what feels like ages, and I hate that it is under these circumstances. But most of all," she said, clenching her fists as she spoke and the warmth of the spell wavering as she did. She winced as if the words themselves were causing her pain. "I hate seeing you like this." She deflated a bit after that, her head sinking into her shoulders, though her hands unclenched. She seemed even more tired than when she first entered. "Not just the physical injuries either. Those I can heal with time..." she said, quieter, though with the same firmness.
"But those in here," she said, stretching out a finger to gently brush not against the most recent one, but rather, an inch to the left. "These I cannot heal, no matter how much I wish I could. I just..." she trembled a wistfully before she continued. "Do not know how. And I am... sorry that I don't," she said softly.
Cyrus's lip curled. He brushed her hand away with his own, weakened though it was. âDon't touch me." He could tolerate what was necessary for healing, but anything beyond that was unwanted, and he was willing to insist. âYou have a damn funny way of showing that you care, not appearing for nearly a year after it happened." No, more than a year by this point, with no conversation beyond the incidental contact of two people who still inhabited the same public spaces from time to time. âDon't you dare pin the blame for the state of things on me. I wasâ" His voice cracked.
He didn't want to lay himself bare, did not want to be vulnerable. Not in front of someone he knew now he could not trust with it. But the vicious, vindictive, worst part of him wanted her to know. Exactly what she'd done. Exactly who she was just like. Exactly how far she had to go before she could call herself compassionate and have it ring anything but hollow to his ears.
âI wanted to die, and you couldn't even be bothered to visit." He made direct eye contact with her for the first time since she'd entered, eyes narrow and bright with moisture he refused to acknowledge. He'd always had the most difficulty masking the feeling in them. Even when he could smooth the feeling from the rest of his face, his eyes often betrayed him. He struggled to keep his breathing steadyâa labor in more than one way, considering his condition. âI didn't need you to heal me. I just neededâ" He cut himself off. That was too much. He refused to name the feeling, even in the service of forcing her to understand. His next words were still harshened by the jagged edge of his rasping tone, but there was no longer any vulnerability to be found in them.
âGet out. I'm recovered enough for someone else to handle the rest."
She sat quietly and took it, her eyes on the floor in front of her and her hands clutching her knees. She accepted all of his words, and winced with every blow, but she did not try to deny it or fight it. Unlike his ignored tears, the ones on Asala's cheeks were clear and bare for him to see, and when he told her to, she quietly rose and took her leave. When she reached for the doorknob, she hesitated for a moment but quickly shook her head and pulled, and slipped out.
He sighed harshly into the empty room, his body going boneless and slack as some of the built-up tension evaporated all at once.
It just figured that he'd feel more like shit now than he had before. Somehow, he always ended up the villain, even in his own damn life. Even when he was trying to be better. But like a wounded animal, he'd lashed out blindly, using even his pain as more weaponry, bitter vengeance on someone who probably didn't deserve it. Asala had hurt him; that didn't mean he should have turned even this blunted form of his ire against her. Running a hand down his face, Cyrus raised his eyes back to the ceiling. He was exhausted now, but he knew sleep would not take him for hours yet. Perhaps someone would be kind enough to induce it with a spell or potion.
A minute, or two, or some indeterminable amount of time later, there was a soft knock on the doorframe. "Hello, Cyrus."
Chryseis looked to have been sleeping up until recently, judging by the messy state of her hair, hastily patted down, and the robe she'd given little thought to arranging when she threw it over herself. She looked tired, about as much as he'd ever seen her look, but not nearly as tired as he felt. "If you'd prefer to be alone, I'll go, but... I'm going home tomorrow, and now that you're awake I expect you will be too."
He honestly wasn't sure. Perhaps it would be better if he was alone, in this state. Then again, having the time and space to dwell had never been particularly helpful to him. Whatever else she may be, Chryseis was his friend, or something close enough to it. âIt's fineâtake a seat if you like. Seems I always look terrible when we talk, but at least it's not my fault this time." He tried for humor, unable to tell if it worked or fell flatâhis ability to process emotion seemed to be hitting its limit for one day. The docks at Redcliffe seemed like ages ago, though it hadn't really been that long.
"Could be worse," she suggested quietly. "The magic stayed away from your face." She sank into the seat at his bedside, her own attempt at humor failing to reach her as well.
"A lot has happened in the last few years. Understatement. It... has given me much to think on. I hope you'll forgive me for saying so, but I barely recognize you as the man I spoke with back in Redcliffe. I look in the mirror and find I'm much the same." She didn't look it, at the moment, not really, but no doubt she knew herself, and was able to speak with authority on the subject.
She frowned. "When we were caught in that magic of my father's there, you had one concern and one concern only. The cynical magister would say that you had one weakness. Now it would seem you've let yourself have many. My... former slave seems to think I'm in need of a change, before I crumble in on myself. No doubt he's been able to see you change, as you so clearly have, literally throwing your heart in front of people you barely know." She seemed to find the idea ridiculous, and yet there was something to the way she said it. Something that had her mystified, that this person she'd once known could do such a thing.
"Perhaps this isn't a question you can answer, but... is it worth it? What you've been through, the way you've changed?"
Cyrus swallowed thickly. âIn my defense, I was wearing armor at least." His tone was strained; he reached up and probed the site of his injury with his fingers. It twinged, but certainly not enough to account for the entirety of the ache he felt. The room disappeared for a moment as his eyes closed, but heavy as they weighed, they reopened automatically.
The actual answer to her question, when it came, was soft. âI don't know. You're right that I... have more weaknesses now. And some of them have already bitten me, so to speak. Places where I've erred, made myself vulnerable in the wrong way, or at the wrong time, or to the wrong person." A thing he was still recovering from, if his acidity when confronted with just such a person was anything to go by. âBut I... when it goes right, this... thing I'm trying to do, the person I'm trying to become, it feelsâbetter. Better to look someone in the eye and know their life means just as much as yours than to look down on them from some great height." He scoffed at himself, though he knew not whether he directed it at his words now or how he'd been then.
âIt's less lonely, if nothing else."
"I see." She fell silent for a moment, considering his words. "I'm not sure if I can live that way here, like you've done in your frozen mountain hovel. This city has always operated on its own set of rules, and they're hard to break. But... I can't leave it. It's the one thing I've never given up on, even if my methods have often rivaled our enemies."
She let a deep breath go through her, in and out. "Maybe it's worth it to break the rules. Maybe it's the only way things will change. Feel better, as you say." She frowned again, looking at his condition. "Is there anything I can do for you, Cyrus?"
He offered half a smile. She probably wasn't wrong, about any of it. âActually, if you don't mind putting me to sleep, I could really use a bit more, I think." He huffed quietly, meeting her eyes with a steadiness he figured probably wasn't like him.
âIf it's worth anything... I think you have it in you. To break the rules. Or change them. Change you, if that's something you want. If I can do even this much..." He shrugged, then flinched when it pulled at his injury.
"I'm... glad you think so." She half-smiled herself, and for just a moment she looked quite a bit younger. She lit the sleep spell in her hand, lifting it slowly towards his head. "Until next we meet. Take care of yourself, Cyrus."
Her fingers touched lightly against his forehead. The magic worked rapidly, and the room soon faded, until naught but dreamless darkness embraced him once more.
He couldn't be dreaming, because that wasn't something he was capable of any longer. He'd suspected for close to a year now that the next time he would ever be here was whenâ
Even weakened, he was sharp, and the natural conclusion clicked into place immediately, but without any sense of urgency. He was dying. Or dead. Or just... suspended somewhere between the two. The ground felt solid beneath his feet, and when he looked down, it was to find that he couldn't see any of it for the yawning darkness that surrounded him. He couldn't see his own body, either, but he could still feel it. His fingertips were cold, and his chest ached fiercely, though it felt like a distant thing somehow, almost like someone else's pain. He could hear voices, too far to make out the words and running together, like time hadn't separated quite properly into distinct moments. Like everything was happening at the same moment and always.
He found it odd that he wasn't more curious about this. Very clearly, he stood now at the cusp between life and death. Perhaps he should have tried to see more, or explored further, or at the very least plotted the course of action most likely to end well for him, but he just... didn't. He had no particular desire to go anywhere or do anything, and so he lingered, more passive than he'd ever been, and waited.
When at last his eyes cracked open, definitively on the material side of the Veil, it was with the same unusual sanguinity. He was in pain, to be sureâit felt like a small star had imploded inside his chest, tearing apart his insides and burning them all at once, but that's all it was. Pain. No panic accompanied it, and so when he drew his breath, he did it carefully, stopping when his wounded body reached its obvious limit and exhaling slowly, through his teeth. He didn't try to move, except to blink a few more times and adjust to the light.
âWhat do you know?" His voice cracked a little; no doubt he really needed water. âSeems I've a heart after all. Can't imagine it would hurt this much otherwise." Grimacing, he turned his head slightly to the side. He didn't seem to be alone.
"You're awake!" It was Astraia's voice that said it, breathlessly as though she'd been running, but all she did was rise from a chair nearby in the room. There were others, too. Zahra, asleep. Stellulam, awake but not the type to practically jump at him as Astraia did. She stopped at his bedside, lighting a magelight spell in one hand, the other finding Cyrus's brow and gently tugging his eye open a little wider. Checking one, then the other. Opening his mouth and looking in there, too. Gazing over the wounds on his chest, focusing intently. When at last she seemingly confirmed that nothing was amiss, she broke into a wide smile. It looked as though she'd even shed a tear or two.
"Don't try to move, please. I'll get Asala." She started backing up towards the door. "She saved you, I just... helped a little. Watched. I'll get her." She pulled the door open, and disappeared outside, soft footsteps fading away at a moderate run.
He grimaced in her wake, but she was probably right that it was the wise thing to do. Certainly Asala was the healing specialist on hand. Cyrus blinked, letting his eyes readjust after the examination with the light, then brought them to rest on Stellulam. Offering half a smile, he shifted one arm to extend his hand slightly towards her. âAlmost got myself into too much trouble this time, didn't I?"
She made an exasperated little noise, but didn't hesitate to move her chair closer and take his hand. "Cy, you scared us half to death, is what you did." She fussed a bit with his hair, pushing a few sweat-curled locks back from his forehead, but he knew quite well she was mostly doing it as a way of reassuring herself that he was really there. And a way of letting him know she was really there. It had been that way since he'd been waking up from nightmares instead of near-death experiences, both of them stuffed into her bunk because they'd needed to know they weren't alone.
Stellulam looked from up close like she'd seen better days; there was a distinct sense of being drained to her, and her red-rimmed eyes betrayed just how miserable 'half to death' was. The silver chain Asvhalla had given her was still around her neck, the attached pendant beneath her tunic rather than over it. "The others made it back okay, just so you know. I don't know exactly what happened, still, but apparently what Faraji did to you was the worst of it. The spell nicked your heart; for a while all of us had to work on it just to make sure we could heal it fast enough. Another inch to the left..." She didn't seem to be able to finish the thought aloud, but its conclusion was obvious enough.
Cyrus released a breath he hadn't quite registered he was still holding, squeezing Stellulam's hand gently. Not that he had the strength to do so firmly, at the moment. âIt wasn't." He shifted, too infuriatingly weak to lift his other arm and so settling for brushing his thumb across her knuckles instead. âAnd I'm here. Don't act like I'm the only one who does stupid things in the name of heroics, Stellulam. We both know you're far more guilty of that than I." Frankly, he wouldn't even call his actions anything particularly heroicâthey were just instincts and desperation. But there was no point quibbling over the semantics.
She frowned at that, but decided now was not the time to argue with any of it, semantics or otherwise.
He had to pause for a bit there; talking was already starting to wear him out. Perhaps he'd be unconscious again by the time Astraia got back. âWhat about the... the people, in the house? The prisoners?"
"Prisoners?" She fairly obviously had no idea what he was talking about. Perhaps fortuitously, it looked like Zahra was beginning to stir, however. She might well have an answer his sister did not.
The soft snoring coming from the corner of the room came to an abrupt stop. Zahra stretched her arms above her head, having seemingly heard snippets of the conversation, but clearly pretending that she hadnât. Perhaps, she hadnât even been asleep. It certainly looked that way. Heavy bags hung beneath her eyes, indicating that sheâd forgone sleep, as well. She rubbed at her eyes, red-rimmed, either with fatigue, or sentiments she wouldnât readily admit, stubborn as always.
She smiled when she looked at Cyrus, grin bare-bone and tiredâobviously relieved that he was awake, happy that he hadnât drifted off into the darkness, leaving them all behind. Her smile wavered, and set into a line when she realized what they were talking about. The space between them, growing ever longer. Stellulamâs words trailed off into nothingness, because she wasnât sure what he was referencing. What theyâd seen there, in the estate. She licked her lips, and glanced at the floor, squirming up in her chair so that she was sitting properly.
âCy, we couldnâtâŠâ she gave her head a shake, and tried again, âWe didnât have time. If we stayed any longer, you wouldâve died.â The implications were clear, that if theyâd stayed to help the others escape, Cyrusâs chances of survival wouldâve been significantly reduced. Or, he wouldnât have had a chance at all. The choice was obvious. Even so, she seemed to be fighting with the outcome since returning to the Riptide. She didn't seem to want to elaborate. That they hadnât been able to save them⊠well, Zahra wasnât one for failures, and that had been something of one. âIâm glad youâre alive,â she exhaled softly, raking the mess of curls from her face, âTalk later, ya?â
With that, she swept out of the room, boots clopping down the hallway.
He was hardly content to leave it at that, but for the moment it seemed he had little choice. Still, he had nothing but time as long as he had to lay around here and recover, so perhaps he could put it to productive use by formulating ideas.
With a bit of a sigh, he squeezed Estella's hand again and offered her half a smile. âI would never decline your company if you wished to provide me with it, but... I think you should sleep, Stellulam. Who knows what waits for us after our voyage back, hm? Need our Lady Inquisitor in top shape, no doubt."
She favored him with a halfhearted smile, but nodded after a moment. "All right," she said quietly, clasping his hand briefly with both of hers. "But you remember to be patient and sleep, too, Cy. I don't want to hear from Astraia that you're moving around too soon." Releasing his hand, she leaned over to briefly press a kiss to his cheekbone, ruffling his hair a little as she pulled away. In her wake, he was left to silence.
Not too long after, footsteps began approaching the door. They shuffled as they made their way down the hall, though carried an unmistakable hurried quality to them. Only one person could put so much worry into simply walking. Asala soon entered the room, either forgoing or forgetting to knock first. The sight of a finally conscious Cyrus seemed to have smoothed out some of the concerned wrinkles out of her face, but a good deal remained yet. Dark heavy bags rested beneath her eyes, denoting her propensity to trade sleep for a watchful vigil at his bedside. It was a common visual for her, when one of them inevitably ended up injured. She smiled at him and glided to a chair beside him.
She opened her mouth in order to say something, then closed it after deciding against it. He could see her mind work behind her tired gaze, as scrounged for the words to say something. It lasted no more than a moment before she tilted her head and decided against it, and merely stated, "This will... tickle, but it is better than the alternative." Her healing spells then flicked to life in her hands, taking on the warm pinkish glow of compassion. It tickled and itched a bit like she said it would when the spell touched him, but with it it replaced some of the pain, at least enough for him to breathe without it hurting overmuch.
Cyrus didn't respond overmuch to it, turning his head to the other side to face the wall next to his bed instead. No doubt it would be a while before he made anything like a full recovery, but as long as he'd be good enough to get himself to the boat they'd be taking out of Minrathous, it didn't much matter. To Asala herself, he said nothing. A tight nod of acknowledgment at the beginning, then deliberate silence afterwards.
Asala only answered with a thin frown of her own and did not attempt to broach the silence. Instead it felt like she focused all of her attention into her spells. A comfortable warmth spread out from where she concentrated her spells and the tickling never became intolerable, and at times could even be considered quite pleasant.
That was, of course, the nature of the magic, so he didn't think much of it, taking advantage of the silence to let his thoughts wander and his senses go out of focus. He needed to sit down with Zahra and figure out exactly what was going on with the Contee familyâif as he suspected they'd deposed everyone further down the tree than Corveus, it shouldn't be that difficult to convince him to release the prisoners. He could have them brought to his own estate; he was sure the staff would be willing to help care for them as they recovered. Particularly if he allocated enough funds for the purpose. He could pull from Vantaniaâthe last indigo crop had been superlative. More than the larger country estate required to maintain and house the residents and the surrounding township.
Perhaps some day, he'd visit again, but for now, Cyrus considered himself lucky that his ancestors had chosen a tradeâdye and textilesâthat was always in demand. Things ran themselves, with or without his direct supervision.
Eventually Asala tilted her head as she began to speak again. "Are you--" she stopped herself, turning away for a moment and shaking her head. Apparently, whatever she was going to say didn't seem like such a good idea as she was saying it. "Is... something wrong," she decided on, glancing at his chest perhaps in hopes that he would realize she meant it in a way other than the obvious.
For a moment, he considered not answering the question, inane as it was. Unfortunately, his sharp tongue was always quicker than his sense of restraint. More fool, him. âYou mean aside from the barely-patched hole in my chest?" It was clear enough from his tone how little he thought of the query, but he flattened it out after, until it was hollow and almost without inflection. âNo. Everything is as normal."
The response caused Asala's head to dip and break her gaze on him, her eyes alighting on the spell in her hands. The frown on her lips deepened, and her eyelids fluttered for a moment. Despite her literal nature, it was clear that Asala did not believe him for a moment, but the terseness of his response seemed to affect her. The warmth wavered for a moment, before it evened back out again. "I am... I'm sorry," she said quietly.
âOh?" The flatness gained a small edge of derision. Sorry, she said. As though she had the first idea what she'd done. âWhat for, pray tell?" He shifted his eyes to the ceiling and let them rest there, hoping that both the conversation and the healing would soon be done, so that he could go back to his thoughts, which were much preferable to the present topic.
"Everything..." she said even quieter this time, nearly approaching a whisper. There was pain in her face, though it did not seem that all of it was due to his sharp words. "I... " She began, before taking another look at Cyrus. Unlike the numerous other times where she hesitated in her words, this one felt more deliberate. A conscious decision where she carefully thought about it, before finally deciding against it. Whatever she had wanted to say, she apparently determined something and said nothing more. She held him in her gaze for a second more before slowly reverting her eyes back to her spells, shaking her head sadly.
âEverything, is it?" He resisted the urge to roll his eyes, but it was a near thing. âWhile I've no doubt you are capable of a great deal, I hardly think all the world's ills are to be laid at your feet. Would you like to try again?" Let her squirm. She deserved to. If she didn't bloody well know what she'd done wrong, then he wasn't interested in an empty apology anyway.
There was another sigh, though this one had more substance with it and lacked the submission the others had. She glanced back up to him, her eyes having gathered a strength that had replaced the sadness that had been in them before. She seemed tired, and not just in general, but his constant derision. "I was unaware that you wished to hear what I had to say," she stated with that certain firmness she could be found with every so often. She looked at him for a bit more before intently returning to her work, "If you truly wish to know, then..." her lips fell into a thin line as she tilted her head again, like she was trying to force the words.
"I hate that this is the first conversation we've had in what feels like ages, and I hate that it is under these circumstances. But most of all," she said, clenching her fists as she spoke and the warmth of the spell wavering as she did. She winced as if the words themselves were causing her pain. "I hate seeing you like this." She deflated a bit after that, her head sinking into her shoulders, though her hands unclenched. She seemed even more tired than when she first entered. "Not just the physical injuries either. Those I can heal with time..." she said, quieter, though with the same firmness.
"But those in here," she said, stretching out a finger to gently brush not against the most recent one, but rather, an inch to the left. "These I cannot heal, no matter how much I wish I could. I just..." she trembled a wistfully before she continued. "Do not know how. And I am... sorry that I don't," she said softly.
Cyrus's lip curled. He brushed her hand away with his own, weakened though it was. âDon't touch me." He could tolerate what was necessary for healing, but anything beyond that was unwanted, and he was willing to insist. âYou have a damn funny way of showing that you care, not appearing for nearly a year after it happened." No, more than a year by this point, with no conversation beyond the incidental contact of two people who still inhabited the same public spaces from time to time. âDon't you dare pin the blame for the state of things on me. I wasâ" His voice cracked.
He didn't want to lay himself bare, did not want to be vulnerable. Not in front of someone he knew now he could not trust with it. But the vicious, vindictive, worst part of him wanted her to know. Exactly what she'd done. Exactly who she was just like. Exactly how far she had to go before she could call herself compassionate and have it ring anything but hollow to his ears.
âI wanted to die, and you couldn't even be bothered to visit." He made direct eye contact with her for the first time since she'd entered, eyes narrow and bright with moisture he refused to acknowledge. He'd always had the most difficulty masking the feeling in them. Even when he could smooth the feeling from the rest of his face, his eyes often betrayed him. He struggled to keep his breathing steadyâa labor in more than one way, considering his condition. âI didn't need you to heal me. I just neededâ" He cut himself off. That was too much. He refused to name the feeling, even in the service of forcing her to understand. His next words were still harshened by the jagged edge of his rasping tone, but there was no longer any vulnerability to be found in them.
âGet out. I'm recovered enough for someone else to handle the rest."
She sat quietly and took it, her eyes on the floor in front of her and her hands clutching her knees. She accepted all of his words, and winced with every blow, but she did not try to deny it or fight it. Unlike his ignored tears, the ones on Asala's cheeks were clear and bare for him to see, and when he told her to, she quietly rose and took her leave. When she reached for the doorknob, she hesitated for a moment but quickly shook her head and pulled, and slipped out.
He sighed harshly into the empty room, his body going boneless and slack as some of the built-up tension evaporated all at once.
It just figured that he'd feel more like shit now than he had before. Somehow, he always ended up the villain, even in his own damn life. Even when he was trying to be better. But like a wounded animal, he'd lashed out blindly, using even his pain as more weaponry, bitter vengeance on someone who probably didn't deserve it. Asala had hurt him; that didn't mean he should have turned even this blunted form of his ire against her. Running a hand down his face, Cyrus raised his eyes back to the ceiling. He was exhausted now, but he knew sleep would not take him for hours yet. Perhaps someone would be kind enough to induce it with a spell or potion.
A minute, or two, or some indeterminable amount of time later, there was a soft knock on the doorframe. "Hello, Cyrus."
Chryseis looked to have been sleeping up until recently, judging by the messy state of her hair, hastily patted down, and the robe she'd given little thought to arranging when she threw it over herself. She looked tired, about as much as he'd ever seen her look, but not nearly as tired as he felt. "If you'd prefer to be alone, I'll go, but... I'm going home tomorrow, and now that you're awake I expect you will be too."
He honestly wasn't sure. Perhaps it would be better if he was alone, in this state. Then again, having the time and space to dwell had never been particularly helpful to him. Whatever else she may be, Chryseis was his friend, or something close enough to it. âIt's fineâtake a seat if you like. Seems I always look terrible when we talk, but at least it's not my fault this time." He tried for humor, unable to tell if it worked or fell flatâhis ability to process emotion seemed to be hitting its limit for one day. The docks at Redcliffe seemed like ages ago, though it hadn't really been that long.
"Could be worse," she suggested quietly. "The magic stayed away from your face." She sank into the seat at his bedside, her own attempt at humor failing to reach her as well.
"A lot has happened in the last few years. Understatement. It... has given me much to think on. I hope you'll forgive me for saying so, but I barely recognize you as the man I spoke with back in Redcliffe. I look in the mirror and find I'm much the same." She didn't look it, at the moment, not really, but no doubt she knew herself, and was able to speak with authority on the subject.
She frowned. "When we were caught in that magic of my father's there, you had one concern and one concern only. The cynical magister would say that you had one weakness. Now it would seem you've let yourself have many. My... former slave seems to think I'm in need of a change, before I crumble in on myself. No doubt he's been able to see you change, as you so clearly have, literally throwing your heart in front of people you barely know." She seemed to find the idea ridiculous, and yet there was something to the way she said it. Something that had her mystified, that this person she'd once known could do such a thing.
"Perhaps this isn't a question you can answer, but... is it worth it? What you've been through, the way you've changed?"
Cyrus swallowed thickly. âIn my defense, I was wearing armor at least." His tone was strained; he reached up and probed the site of his injury with his fingers. It twinged, but certainly not enough to account for the entirety of the ache he felt. The room disappeared for a moment as his eyes closed, but heavy as they weighed, they reopened automatically.
The actual answer to her question, when it came, was soft. âI don't know. You're right that I... have more weaknesses now. And some of them have already bitten me, so to speak. Places where I've erred, made myself vulnerable in the wrong way, or at the wrong time, or to the wrong person." A thing he was still recovering from, if his acidity when confronted with just such a person was anything to go by. âBut I... when it goes right, this... thing I'm trying to do, the person I'm trying to become, it feelsâbetter. Better to look someone in the eye and know their life means just as much as yours than to look down on them from some great height." He scoffed at himself, though he knew not whether he directed it at his words now or how he'd been then.
âIt's less lonely, if nothing else."
"I see." She fell silent for a moment, considering his words. "I'm not sure if I can live that way here, like you've done in your frozen mountain hovel. This city has always operated on its own set of rules, and they're hard to break. But... I can't leave it. It's the one thing I've never given up on, even if my methods have often rivaled our enemies."
She let a deep breath go through her, in and out. "Maybe it's worth it to break the rules. Maybe it's the only way things will change. Feel better, as you say." She frowned again, looking at his condition. "Is there anything I can do for you, Cyrus?"
He offered half a smile. She probably wasn't wrong, about any of it. âActually, if you don't mind putting me to sleep, I could really use a bit more, I think." He huffed quietly, meeting her eyes with a steadiness he figured probably wasn't like him.
âIf it's worth anything... I think you have it in you. To break the rules. Or change them. Change you, if that's something you want. If I can do even this much..." He shrugged, then flinched when it pulled at his injury.
"I'm... glad you think so." She half-smiled herself, and for just a moment she looked quite a bit younger. She lit the sleep spell in her hand, lifting it slowly towards his head. "Until next we meet. Take care of yourself, Cyrus."
Her fingers touched lightly against his forehead. The magic worked rapidly, and the room soon faded, until naught but dreamless darkness embraced him once more.