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“For as long as he needs.” Derikles’ apathetic comment sounded from across the room as he contemplated his next chess move, but Jaeda shot him a look.
“He’ll be unconscious for at least the next twenty-four hours,” the healer explained, her hands still working above his chest. “Maybe longer.” She glanced over at Circe. “How severe is that one, Circe?”
“It’s through the muscle layer, but no deeper.” The younger Raeth pursed her lips. “It’d probably seal itself within the hour if he weren’t in recoil, but it won’t take long to heal.”
“Good.”
Rukia tucked an errant piece of her hair behind her ear, peering over Jaeda’s shoulder as she continued melding muscle and bone in the healing process.
“How much does the recoil slow the healing process?”
“With what it does to him, he heals almost as if he were mortal.” There was despair in Jaeda’s voice.
It didn’t sit well with Rukia, knowing Isaiah was vulnerable. When she spoke, her voice was heavy with dread. “So, he’s basically human right now. Easy to kill.”
Five pairs of Raeth eyes darted to her with a vengeance, the air stagnating in the room. Derikles immediately stood from his perch above the chess board, an aura of malevolence surrounding him as he glared daggers into her.
“Are you threatening him?”
Undaunted, Rukia shook her head. “No. I just need to know if he’s vulnerable.”
“He is,” Derikles spat, his lip curling as if he hated admitting his sovereign was weak. “Fortunately, he has us.”
“You’re not the only one who cares for him.” Rukia doubled down on her former statement, holding his gaze.
Morbid humor on his tongue, a dark chuckle sounded from the Raeth. “Isaiah doesn’t have long-term romantic relationships, so if you think that’s what this is, you’re fooling yourself.”
“No?” Rukia quipped with a raise of her eyebrows. “Perhaps I’m simply using him.”
A slow, malicious smirk lit Derikles’ face. “Yes, you’re using him. Keep telling yourself that, Elemental.”
Rukia held her ground, maintaining eye contact even though she had no retort. When Derikles returned to the chess board, she dropped her gaze to the ground.
Whatwasshe doing here? Isaiah had brought her to his territory because she’d asked him to take her away from Paracel, but she still had no idea why she was running.
Wrapping her arms around herself, she quietly went to stand next to the windows that overlooked the township below Isaiah’s home. It was peaceful here, at least when she wasn’t squabbling with Isaiah’s seconds. And Utah was so unlike the lush green grasses of her home, the humid summer air.
She’d run from it all. From the thought that Gideon wouldn’t wake. From the burden of leadership she’d never wanted. From the critical gaze of a man who called her betrayer.
Tears burned at the back of her eyes. How had it all gone so wrong? She had replayed the scene over and over in her mind, desperate for a way she could’ve saved him.
Scrubbing a hand over her face, Rukia shivered. She had no friends here. She couldn’t even count Isaiah as a friend, truly. What could she classify him as? A lover? Certainly not. They’d shared the intimacy of two kisses, and there’d never been any acknowledgement of something deeper.
Rukia paused at the very idea of it. Not because she rejected the notion, but because she yearned for it. When she’d seen him struck down on the field of battle, her heart nearly split in two. Throat thick with disbelief, she’d stopped breathing, the torment of seeing him maimed a knife in her flesh.
And when he’d killed the other man with a single, conclusive action, she’d beenrelieved.
Suddenly weary, Rukia turned from the window and paced over to the armchair that sat opposite the unconscious Isaiah.
By now, the desert sun was beginning to set, casting lengthy shadows across the shapes of the living room. Xedrix had disappeared whilst she’d stared aimlessly out the windows; Derikles and Tien were nearing the end of their rather intense-looking game of chess.
The healers maintained their practice over Isaiah’s inert form, but Jaeda rocked back on her heels only minutes after Rukia had claimed the armchair. Standing, she affectionately patted Circe’s shoulder.
“We’ll pick up tomorrow, Circe.”
“It’s almost healed, Jaeda,” the other healer responded. “A couple more minutes and he’ll be good as new.”
Jaeda nodded and collapsed onto the smaller sofa that sat perpendicular to where Isaiah lay. Closing her eyes, Jaeda rested her head back against the frame, clearly exhausted from the effort of healing Isaiah’s massive wound.
