Page 53 of Commanding Flame and Shield
Safe. She played a quick recap of the chaos in the hospital in her mind, as she rounded the end of the bed and fell to her knees.
Badass, kid.He managed an exhausted chuckle, but winced, reaching a crimson hand towards his wound, his bicep flexing beneath letters more scar than tattoo, only to be slapped by a focused Saraya. Her flaming hair had been thrown back into a messy bun at the nape of her neck, blood clumping pieces together. Her face was streaked in red, and focus hardened her brown eyes. Aren smirked, somehow still capable of amusement, and pulled his hand away, allowing his head to fall to the bed below him. He turned his face back to us and narrowed his eyes.
Impossible. What did it mean by that?
Arrogant shit didn’t think he could be defeated? I don’t know.
There’s more to it than that. It had to do with August.
Alvara nodded, and then slowly shook her head.I don’t know. Rest, Aren. All we need you to do is heal. Do you hear me?
He nodded slowly and relaxed his head deeper into the pillow. His eyes closed, and he seemed to work to keep his breath steady as the prayer continued.
Ansel and Lana were suddenly standing beside us, and Lana raised a trembling hand to her mouth, shaking her head. Denying what her eyes were telling her, as a healer with blood smeared up to his elbows turned for another vial of something. Ansel wrapped his arms around Lana, pulling her to him. His silver eyes were grave as he assessed the laceration, and pools of blood the Commander had spilled. He locked eyes with me, questions of the encounter flooding in his open mind.
“St. Raphael, of the glorious seven who stand before the throne….”I heard Fae's chiming voice join the choir of prayer. And then she was standing beside Lana, her arm wrapping around her sister's waist and pulling their frames together.
“Heal or cure the victim of attack. And guide our steps when doubtful of our ways…”
All of Grayshell rang in an eerie silence for a moment. Then, somewhere below us, the prayer began again, gathering momentum as the rows of onlookers raised their voices for the second time.
Saraya’s eyes glistened as she prepared a poultice. She fought back her tears, drawing air in though her nose in desperation. As she removed the thin sheet of fabric and lifted the gauze that had been held to Aren’s chest, I staggered back. Helpless.
The wound had already fouled. It sliced right through the inked cross over his heart, already oozing a sick yellow pus. The edges were raised in a livid blister, as though burned by fire. Spiderwebs of black reached away from his heart, through his veins clear into his arms. Webs of raised black coursing down his muscled biceps. Ansel let out a sharp huff of air as the panic swelled in the room. Alec arrived and fell to his knees by Alvara. His blood-spattered face was drenched in tears, and he bowed his head onto the bed by Aren’s great leg. Saraya rushed to apply the sloppy black poultice.
The surreality of the moment struck all at once, as my mind grappled with the image of the unyielding giant laying, broken, in an infirmary bed. This could not be. Never a scratch. Not a movement missed. Sixteen hundred years old.
As though her mind had been fighting with the same realization, Alvara sobbed, “I’m so sorry!” The floodgates had opened at the sight of the wound, and her face glistened in her agony. “I failed. I missed it. I missed him. I’m so sorry!”
Ally, this is not your fault. Don’t you do that. Aren shook his head incrementally and grunted as he lifted his bloody hand to tuck her dark hair behind her ear. She leaned her face into his crimson-soaked palm, tears pouring in a steady stream, leaving streaks down the drying red on his hand and arm. Her lips quivered, and for the first time since I’d met her, she looked fragile. More vulnerable than when she had been in that very bed herself.
“Sixteen hundred years, and a few decades…” He sucked a rasping breath. “Damn impressive run.” Aren’s mouth quirked, and then he winced.
“Don’t you dare.” Alvara’s words were a command, and his body seemed to tense as she spat them.
She is becoming the Commander.
A vice closed around my ribs as I watched from the sideline. Sparks popped between my fingers, charged for a conflict my power couldn't solve. Alvara threw her hands out over him, her palms glowing with white-hot light above the wound. A cry of effort escaped her lips, and she narrowed her eyes in focus. The spiderwebs receded back up his arms towards the wound, but it quickly zapped her energy.
She shook her head in panic and forced out another few bursts before her hands began shaking. Alec gently pushed her aside and repeated the motion until his life force diminished, too. Someone brought her water, which she gulped down in seconds. The webs had retreated significantly, and the team each took turns lending him their strength until the creeping lines were contained to his chest.
I stepped forward to do the same, but Saraya reached her hands out and shook her head. “Not yet. We have not trained you to heal. You could burn him.”
My eyes stung in frustration, but I pulled my hand back. Aren’s frosty eyes locked on mine, and they softened a bit.Thanks for watching her back.
Always, Commander.
He grinned softly and then rested his eyes again. But Alvara’s gaze was a dagger on me, and when our eyes met, hers widened. Fear? No. Something else. She wasdetermined.
“August,” her voice sounded in a steely command that locked my resolve. I was to her side in a few strides, the team shifting out of the way nervously. She felt like a bomb, posed to explode and take us all with her.
“Heal or cure the victim of attack…” The echoing prayer finished again, and without hesitation, they sang out the first words for the third time. The hallway vibrated with potent anticipation, and I could feel the warmth of the flow of their energy now.
“Anything,” I whispered. I knelt beside her.
“Heal him.”
I leaned back, staring at her in disbelief. “I...I don’t—”
