Page 97 of Guardian of Exile

23

The next time Nyx woke, it was to much more comfortable surroundings. Namely her bed and a distinct lack of anything pressing going on around her. She stretched, feeling better than she had in months. Tristen’s magic had pushed every single ache and pain out of her body, and part of her felt guilty for feeling so good.

She knew the feeling wouldn’t last. Neither would her solitude. She was a little surprised Griff wasn’t waiting by the bedside for her to wake up, but she took advantage of her solitary state to jump in the shower, washing away dried sweat and what was probably Loclyn’s blood. At least she could be relatively certain Loclyn probably hadn’t had any blood-borne diseases, and if he had, Tristen’s magic would have purged them.

After she’d showered and dressed, she walked back into her room to find not only Griff waiting for her, but Jevryn as well. “You look like hell,” she told the latter. The cuts on his face were still angry, and though his left eye was no longer swollen shut, it was still bruised and purple. His eye color, at least, had returned to gray. “Why do you look like hell?”

“I have neither the time nor the inclination to regale you with the events that led to my current condition.”

She blinked. “You arguably have the time, but since you clearly don’t have the inclination, I’ll let it pass.” For now.

“I believe that response is enough to ascertain that you are recovered from nearly falling into death’s embrace.” His tone turned grave. “If you ever again find yourself losing consciousness in A-Queltr, you must leave.”

“You might have told me that when you taught me how to get there.”

Jevryn’s jaw clenched. “I did.”

“No, you told me not to let my physical body fall asleep while I was in there.”

“I had thought the correlation to unconsciousness would be obvious.”

“Why couldn’t you pull me out?”

“For me to do so, you must be awake. You lost consciousness before I could, and as you were losing it I had the barest of moments to follow you into your own sanctuary before the pathway closed. But understand that I could not see that path. No Salyrian can see another’s. Any Salyrian can, however, sightlessly step onto another Salyrian’s path into A-Queltr if it is open, because we can sense at the end that which calls us all. But once inside, there is no way out, unless the person whose path you have foolishly taken chooses to lead you back out.

“So I was forced to follow you in before you were lost, but it was your connection to A-Queltr. I could not navigate it. The only way out for me, at that point, was through you.”

It hit her, then, how close she’d come to dying. Not only that, but how close she’d come to taking her father with her. If she’d passed out and Jevryn had too…it would have been the end for both of them.

She dropped onto her bed and buried her face in her hands.

“What are you doing, na’tria?”

“Contemplating my own mortality,” she said into her hands. “And yours. You aren’t supposed to be able to die.”

“We are all able to die. Though I do admit, my brushes with death have become significantly more frequent since you came into my life.”

She lifted her head to glare at him, was reminded that he was covered in cuts and bruises, and ceased glaring. Since she was currently uncomfortable with the notion of him dying, she asked, “Why hasn’t Tristen fixed you?”

Jevryn sighed. “He has not ‘fixed me’ because I informed him that under no circumstances was he allowed to do so.”

“Why would you do that?”

“You are a very trusting creature, na’tria. I am not. Shamans see too much, when they heal. They must. And I am not inclined to allow them to.”

Nyx crossed her arms. “But you allowed him to on my behalf?”

“Would you have said ‘no’?”

“That’s beside the point.”

“On the contrary, it very much is the point. You have already allowed one Shaman to come to your aid. I did not feel you would take issue with a second. Especially considering it appears that intimacy is not an issue you have with him.”

Nyx blinked. Had he just…? Yes, yes he had. “Did he say something to you?” For fuck’s sake, couldn’t a woman have a one-night-stand without her father, of all people, being informed of it?

“No. You, however, just did.”

Had he just done the alien parental equivalent of “Do you have any idea how late you were out last night?” to get her to tell him? And how had he known to even ask? Did parents have some sort of preternatural ability to suspect when someone had slept with one of their children?