Page 167 of The Mercy of Dawn
“It took you long enough,” his mother hissed, trying to peer past him and into the room as light poured into the entryway. “She’s there?”
“Because you would’ve climbed up there so much faster...” Mikael closed the door behind him, scrubbing a hand over his face. “And yes, she is, but she has a wicked cut on her hand that needs dealing with. Can you get a medkit while I get her fire going again?”
All the annoyance slipped from his mother’s face.
“Oh. Of course, let me—” She had already taken a step away when she stopped. “She’s alright though, besides…?”
Mikael shook his head.
“No, she’s not. I mean…” He exhaled a shaky breath. “Physically, yes, I think so. But mentally…”
His mother smiled empathetically.
“That’s to be expected. I know it’s difficult to see someone you care about grief-stricken like that, but she’ll get through it in time—”
“That’s not what I mean.” Mikael sighed. “It’s like…she’s not all here.” He tapped his temple. “Like she’s dazed or something…”
Runa pursed her lips and nodded like that made complete sense to her.
“Go deal with the fire and I’ll be back with a kit.”
Chapter 40
It took Mikael a few tries to get the fire back up to roaring, but the faint gleam of interest that picked up in Cyril’s eyes was worth every false start. He’d apologize at a later point for the half of an empty journal he sacrificed for kindling.
Warmth seeped steadily into the room, and Cyril gave no protest when Mikael stood her up, wrapped her in a throw blanket, and settled her on the sofa.
And now, as he sat on the arm beside her, wondering where the fuck his mother was, Cyril leaned against him. Silent, still, with the same vacancy in her face as she watched the fire, but that subconscious pull was still there. It made his chest ache.
A braver man would have filled that silence, but Mikael didn’t know where to start. Especially not after seeing the state of Bron’s body yesterday morning. Condolences felt meaningless for such a ruthless tragedy.
Instead, he undid the tie left clinging to the ends of Cyril’s hair and carded his fingers through it, working apart the remnants of her braid. She made a noise so soft and meek that Mikael almost missed it, and leaned a bit more heavily against him.
A few minutes later, the room flooded with light as his mother nudged the door open.
She came well prepared, with a bowl in one hand, a gently steaming mug in the other, and a medkit tucked under her arm. Not surprising in the least that his mother would prioritize tea during this.
“Give this to her to drink,” she said, extending the mug to him as she closed the door with her foot. “It’ll warm her up and help settle her a bit too.”
A waft of pungent peppermint filled his nose as he took the mug from her and the bowl as well. He eyed the steaming mug as he asked, “Mint tea?”
“Amongst other things.” A smile tugged at his mother’s lips as she waved her hand effortlessly and dim faelights gathered in the air all around the room. He’d seen her do it a thousand times in his life, but it never failed to spark a bit of awe. “It’s pleasant, I promise. I wouldn’t be cruel.”
No, but she would dose unwitting people with her tinctures.
He wasn’t going to argue with her now.
Mikael walked back to the couch and set aside the bowl of clean water. A little glimmer of interest sparked in Cyril’s eyes again as she watched him, and the small smile she gave him nearly took him out at the knees.
“Drink this,” he said, maybe a little more desperately than he hoped, as he took her uninjured hand and wrapped it around the mug.
Cyril gave it a curious glance, sniffed, and then drank without a word. The mug didn’t leave her lips until she was handing it back to him empty.
And Mikael? Well, he felt like a fucking idiot now for overlooking the fact that the damn woman might have been thirsty. Gods only knew how long she’d been sitting here with nothing. Every bit of training he’d ever received as a guard went out the window with her.
“Thank you,” she said breathlessly.
Mikael inclined his head towards his mother. “All her.”
