Sharol delicately wiped my eyes with a clean rag she had somehow found while I was crying, before moving to the rest of my face and neck.
“I don’t have a bathtub, but there is a large basin in that bathroom with a bit of water left in the pitcher. Use it to clean up what you can. Then I want you to sleep.” Her words were soft and comforting, cajoling.
“But your bed,” I mumbled. “And the patients.”
She smiled sadly at me. “I can hold down the fort for a few hours. You need to rest and recuperate. The patients will still be there later, and our jobs will start all over again.”
I nodded mutely at her. She was right, of course. I was no help to anyone right now.
She slowly peeled her arms from around me and handed me the cloth, which I clutched in my hands.
“Are you okay if I leave you alone now?” I nodded again and she stroked my face gently. “It doesn’t ever go away, the memories,” she clarified when I looked at her. “But it does get easier with time.”
She stood quietly and spun to the door, waiting to leave until I had also pushed myself to a stand. I started the short walk to the bathroom, my feet shuffling across the floorboards. Satisfied that I was moving and not going to sit and wallow all night, Sharol moved her hand to the door.
“For what it’s worth,” she paused on her way out, “you’re not useless just because you don’t have magic. That isn’t what defines you, Fay. What you did for those people? How you helped them and comforted them when all you wanted to do was shut down? That’s worth more thananymagic.” I couldn’t meet her eyes, so I just nodded again and offered what I hoped was a reassuring smile.
Sharol waited for another beat before swinging the door open fully and stepping into the common room. The sounds of pain briefly infiltrated the small sanctuary before the door shut just as quickly.
I let out a sigh and rubbed my nose again before making my way into the bathroom. Even though I was the only person in the space, I shut the door, needing just a minute of complete privacy. I made quick work of stripping out of my clothes and throwing them into a corner of the room. I used the chamber pot and quickly scrubbed my skin using as little water as I could. I wanted to save some for Sharol, especially after the kindness she’d shown me.
I emerged minutes later, naked as the day I was born, to the smell of a vegetable broth and a hunk of bread. The bowl of hot soup was sitting on top of a fresh linen shirt and pants. Both were a bit large on me, but they were clean and comfortable. I made quick work of the broth and bread, not caring about the scalding feeling on my tongue as I drank it down as fast as possible. Once I had mopped up the remaining bit of soup with the bread, I set the bowl back down on the stool before crawling into the bed.
It didn’t smell like my bed and there was no Cotton to lay on my feet, but I didn’t care. I pulled the heavy quilt up to my chin and settled down. My eyelids sagged over scratchy, tired eyes, and I longed to give into the pulland sleep off this living nightmare. Just before I was pulled under, I had a quick jolt of relief that instantly soured.
I hadn’t seen Holt. Or Ben.
Which meant they either died or escaped.
With my last vestiges of consciousness, I prayed to any god who would listen that it was the latter and, as I was finally pulled under, I swore I heard them answer.
Chapter 31
Faylinn
Iwoke hours later, confused and groggy. I reached down to pet Cotton, only to realize the weight on my feet wasn’t my cat at all, but a familiar looking box. I squinted my sleep-encrusted eyes as best I could to make out the contents.
Two books. A cactus. The bread was gone, but I guessed Sharol used it to feed the inn’s occupants.
Suddenly the events from yesterday came rushing back in full force, threatening to pull me back under into relentless grief and pain.
The Librarian. The Mages in the street. The attacking rebels. The wounded. The dead. So many dead.
As the memories came back, my heart rate increased, and my breath came in rapid pants. I forced myself to close my eyes and take deep, measured breaths.
I’m safe. I helped people. There is only so much I can control.
Once I felt like the weight of the grief and memories wasn’t going to drag me back into the dark place of last night, I opened my eyes and threw the covers off.
The faster I could get through this, the better.
I made quick work in the bathroom, only using the chamber pot and splashing water on my face, before I tried to tame my curls into a haphazardbraid. I thought about changing out of the clothes Sharol gave me, but one look at the pile in the corner had me completely rethinking that idea. I settled for tying the shirt at my waist so it wouldn’t drag lower throughout the day and exited the room.
Immediately the sounds and smells of the common-room-turned-Healer-den hit me like a sharp blast of air. But it was different than yesterday. Yes, the smells of decaying and burnt flesh and alcohol permeated the space, and there were still the moans and groans of people in pain or dying. But there were other new noises offering a much needed contrast and reprieve. Children in various states of healing ran around, playing tag and giggling. Families talked quietly together over small meals. Women consoled each other, and a group of men and women—most likely those who started the fight against the rebel forces yesterday—talked animatedly in a corner.
As I scanned the crowd, a sense of something akin to pride wormed its way into my soul.
We survived.
