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“Where is Hattie?” I whispered. My hands shook as I brought them up to cover my face in an attempt to hide the tears that gathered at my eyelids.
“I’m sure Hattie is fine. She’s a big girl and she can take care of herself,” Graceson said, adjusting Randsin at his side.
But could she? She had run after King Ganglin, so wild and reckless. I was supposed to be the reckless one. Even after I had asked her to stay, she had still darted away. Worry sickened me, turning like food poisoning inside my stomach.
Daethian’s hand drew long, soothing circles over my shoulder blades. He licked his lips, pausing, “Look we can’t do anything more until you rest. Let’s find a bed. Get some sleep.”
The skin on the back of my calf had knitted itself back together, but the wound was still incredibly pink and the muscle strained to keep from giving out at every movement. My neck stung every time I twisted my head. Burns that would likely scar.Adrenaline still pumped inside of me, rest might not even come.
“Here,” he whispered, planting his hand between my shoulders, helping me to stand. “There are a few rooms back down this hall used for guests. Let’s get you laid down.”
Graceson let out a long sigh as he pulled Randsin forward with a grunt. What was left of Graceson’s wings were tucked close to his back, strips of the reptilian flesh moving with any small breeze. Sweat glistened against his forehead, but he didn’t quit moving. He would have to soon though. There would be a point when he couldn’t push through the pain any longer.
Daethian’s trusted arms circled me. Fatigue made me lean into every inch of his warm body before I dragged myself away. His attention shifted between me and those that lingered in the room. Muscles in his jaw corded when he caught me flinch in pain as I looped an arm under Randsin’s other side to support his weight.
“You shouldn’t be doing that,” he scolded while we eased from the room and down the hall.
My eyes narrowed, but I ignored the chide.
“Daethian,” my voice came out with hardly a sound, but he caught it and his lips pinched in acknowledgment. “There are bigger things to worry about than me.” I breathed through the stress on my body, changing the subject. “How did you get here? You were supposed to be in the Acture Court.”
He cleared his throat, pointing toward a door. “In here.” The wood was smooth, detailed with intricate designs that had been burned into it by an artist who had taken their time on their work. The fanciest door I had ever been allowed to walk through.
It was clear as we entered that this room wasn't meant to house guests, but was made and designed to fit someone with particular interests, someone who lived here. Plush and perfectly white bedding was still pushed away and unmade. Nymphs hadn’t gotten to making the bed back up before all hell had broken loose.
Sheer scarlet curtains hung over the three large windows that ran nearly the entire length of the wall, only stopping where a wardrobe was still propped open. The longer I looked the more the material looked like dripping blood. I had to blink the image away.
An array of clothing, of all shades and colors, poked out like the inhabitant had only just begun to peruse their options. Glitter and bits of sheer materials caught my attention. Gowns. This had been a woman's room. A mistress, perhaps? A lady of the court?
There were many women in King Ganglin’s court, but only one came to mind that had yet to be married. The seamstress. She had been sought out by so many people that King Ganglin decided to keep her for himself, offering her an opportunity to stay here should she fancy making his own attire. No matter how much the Fae tried to not care about their appearance, they were still unmatched in their vain nature. The urge to own and wear one of the many gowns I had seen her in, or seen her create, was a nagging and impulsive thought that often distracted me.
My teeth pressed together hard as I tried to breathe through the pain of my calf stretching with each step. Daethian sighed, giving me the gentlest of squeezes. He turned his head away to talk.
“There is a room across the hall that is in good condition,” he called to Graceson.
“He is going to need to see a healer before long,” Graceson shouted weakly in response.
“You’re going to need to see a healer.” Daethian’s shout was rough.
We all needed a healer. After the war that had raged on this land, not only had the building begun to crumble around us, but many of us were broken too. Had anyone stayed who had medical experience? I prayed to the Mother that they had.
Daethian set me on the edge of the bed, lowering himself to untie my boots. From this angle, it was easy to see a bruise that ran down the length of his neck and under his shirt to his shoulder.
“Are you avoiding my question?” I tried again.
His easygoing smile disappeared as he looked back up at me. Both hands held my ankle. “Ryker Avery, where you go, I am bound to go too. I’ll chase you to the ends of the earth if I have to.” He paused, his tongue racing over the fullness of his lower lip. “King Windre received a tip that you had been attacked on the way home. I traveled with no rest to get here, only arriving as the fighting began.”
“Weren’t you busy helping him? Was King Windre upset?” He had left it all to come find me in the pits of hell, even when there was a bigger picture to look at, even when I was barely somebody.
But hadn’t I been willing to do that for him? Yes. I was willing to steal and hurt and try whatever I could to get sent to a place I thought would try to break me, just so he wouldn’t have to bear it alone.
“I didn’t give King Windre the option.” He glanced back down at my feet, slipping the boots off one by one.
Even though I felt too worn out to smile, my lips still turned up at his words. “I’m glad you came. This would have been a lot scarier without my best friend.”
Daethian hummed. “You’re my best friend, too. Now, rest.” He grunted and stood. His frame, tall and wide, filled the space between the bed canopy and me. The musky scent of him lingered with something I couldn’t name but came and went too quick to place.
With his tattered and dirty shirt, and the peek at his muscular stomach as his arms hung from the canopy posts, he looked less like a sidekick and so much more like a hero. My gaze traveled back up to his face. The seriousness of his reciprocal attention made my body go still.
