Zephyr, ever the healer, seemed to take the Arbiter’s words as decree. She immediately set to work, moving from champion to champion with quiet efficiency as she offered to tend to their wounds. Leona waved her away with a shrill laugh—idiot—but Elyria accepted the assistance with gratitude.
“How did this happen?” Zephyr asked in a soft voice, prodding at a gash on Elyria’s lower back that she hadn’t been able to reach.
“Same story as everyone here, I’d imagine,” Elyria replied, relief sweeping through her as she felt her skin knit back together. “Some little monster caught me by surprise.”
Next to Elyria, Kit rolled her mismatched eyes. “It happened because she was too busy pushing me out of the way to watch her own back,” she said with a rough laugh. “Because she has apparently forgotten I am a fully grown fae, more than capable of defending myself.”
“I just don’t like you having all the fun,” Elyria replied, trying her best to keep her tone light.
Kit’s gaze softened. They hadn’t really spoken about the fact that Elyria was here. Hadn’t had a chance to. But had they been alone, Elyria thought Kit might actually admit she was grateful Elyria had entered the Crucible for her.
Then Kit’s expression hardened, and Elyria immediately second-guessed that thought.
“You don’t need to protect me, Ellie. I can handle myself.”
“I know you can.” Elyria struggled to keep her voice even. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to keep trying.” She waved her arm, gesturing to their general surroundings. “Clearly.”
The corners of Kit’s mouth twitched upward—a small smile. “You’re impossible.”
Elyria shrugged, feigning nonchalance, even as warmth spread through her chest at Kit’s thawing toward her. She supposed that fighting their way through an arena of death together was as good a way to work through their issues as any. She wondered whether she should say more—or if it would push Kit away again, reigniting their fight.
And then she thought,fuck it.
Chances were high she would die in this stars-damned Crucible anyway. The rules were different now. Might as well say what she wants. Might as well tell the truth.
“I know I have a lot of lost time to make up for,” Elyria said, her voice soft. “I hope this shows you how serious I am about doing so.”
Kit’s eyes glistened but she just nodded, an acceptance that lifted a weight from Elyria’s shoulders. They fell into a comfortable silence as Zephyr finished healing the wound on Elyria’s back and made quick work of the numerous shallow cuts and scrapes decorating Kit’s limbs.
“Oh.” Zephyr halted Elyria as she was getting ready to move on. “Did you also want me to...”
Elyria followed her gaze and saw that her pant leg had ripped, exposing a sizable section of her left thigh.
Shit.
“What the fuck is that?” Kit asked sharply, her gaze narrowed on the grotesque checkerboard of scars that were now visible.
“It’s nothing.” Elyria hastily pinned the torn flap of her pants back in place with a tendril of magic.
Kit knocked her hand away. “That’s not fucking nothing, Elle. What the quartered hell happened to you? Is your entire leg like that?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Elyria snapped, her tone sharper than she intended.
Turning her head, warm brown eyes met her own for a split second before they darted away. Had Cedric been watching their exchange? Aflush of embarrassment crept up Elyria’s neck. The idea of him seeing the evidence of her at her most vulnerable, most exposed, tied her insides in knots. She hated the feeling.
How much had he seen? How much had he heard? He was a fair distance across the room, so chances were he couldn’t see much, but the last thing she wanted was for those eyes to fill with pity. She didn’t need any more of his judgment. She didn’t need him thinking she was weak. And she certainly didn’t need him knowing about her past—anything more than he already thought he knew. Least of all, anythingtrue.
“Ellie?” Kit’s voice pulled her back, though Elyria could still feel the burn of Cedric’s lingering gaze.
“It’s nothing, truly. An old wound,” she lied. “Nothing Zephyr can do about it anyway.”
“Well, that’s not—” Zephyr cut herself off. “I mean, that is...I don’t mean to be presumptuous,” she said meekly.
“No, go ahead. What were you going to say?” Elyria prodded.
“I just...I have a poultice that I think will help with the scarring, if you would like.”
“Stars above,” Elyria exclaimed, a beaming smile erupting on her face. “Yes, yes, I would like. I would like very much.”
