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Cracking one eye open, Isaiah saw her beaming face on the armchair across from him. The Elemental had taken the liberty of stealing another one of his shirts and knotted it at her midsection. Her long, stick-straight ebony hair was a brilliant halo around her face, illuminated from behind by the desert sun.
She was a sight for sore eyes, even if he went back to shielding them from the sun a bare moment after seeing her.
“How’s the headache?” Jaeda called from beside him, the healer moving closer.
“Piercing,” came his muted response. Trying to shake off the fog and battle through the pain, he blinked a few times to adjust to the light. “I need to get some damn window shades.”
“Then we wouldn’t be able to spy on you,” Jaeda bit back with a coy smile. “You want me to try to heal your migraine?”
Jaeda’s ability to fight some of the recoil’s aftermath remained sketchy at best, but occasionally, it helped take the edge off. This time, however, Isaiah simply shot her a look. “You’ve done enough, Jaeda.”
“I haven’t the slightest idea what you mean.” Innocent, Jaeda shrugged her shoulders.
Raising a single eyebrow, he questioned without malice, “Do I look like a fool?”
“Debatable.”
Isaiah’s lips curved without his conscious thought before he swiveled his head to regard the Elemental who’d made the comment. “You do realize that I could make you believe you’re a deformed duck for the rest of your life, don’t you?”
“A deformed duck, huh?” Rukia tapped her chin before turning a mischievous look back to him. “Honestly, I’d expect better. That’s quite unimaginative.”
The quiet smile that’d laced his mouth broadened as Isaiah held her gaze, no clever comeback forming on his tongue. Fortunately, Rukia wasn’t the only one in the room.
Isaiah sobered before locating Derikles. “How long was I under?”
“Twenty-four hours,” his second confirmed. “There were no intrusions or disruptions into the territory during the time you were in recoil. Jaden mustn’t have made the timing of his challenge widely known.”
“Better than the alternative.”
Looking guilty, Derikles cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “Sovereign, you should know that Zanza ‘ported to Munich and I didn’t catch it immediately. Your headache is most likely compounded by the fact that you bled out for several minutes before Rukia alerted us.”
Isaiah softened. “Derikles, it was bound to happen. Stop beating yourself up.”
The tension in Derikles’ shoulders ebbed the barest fraction before Isaiah scrubbed a hand through his hair. Though the pain of his migraine didn’t subside in the slightest, he manifested a shirt onto his torso before standing and looked at the assembled Raeths in the room.
“Go home. Rest. I appreciate the support.”
“Hell, I always get a kick out of watching you destroy challengers.” Xedrix smirked, saluting him with two fingers before teleporting out. Tien gave him an affectionate nod of affirmation before following suit.
Derikles stepped closer, locking eyes with Isaiah. “No one threatens our people and lives. I’m glad you dusted him.”
“He was no youngling that I could have let live.” Isaiah ground his teeth in agitation, reflecting on the battle. “Jaden knew the risk before he spoke the words.”
Isaiah seldom let challengers escape with their lives. If they were of sound mind and of an acceptable age, they signed their death warrants when they challenged his rule.
He hadn’t lost. Yet.
“Good to have you back, sovereign,” Derikles nodded to him before heading towards the front door.
Jaeda approached, her long blonde hair coiled into an intricate braid. Touching his arm fondly, she gave him a warm smile. “Take care, Isaiah. Let me know if you change your mind about the headache.”
“Rest, Jaeda,” he said. “I’ll be fine.”
Watching her retreat, Isaiah rolled his shoulders. Stiffness continued to live in the right one, a parting gift from his late challenger. Behind him, he heard a rustle of movement as Rukia rose from her perch on the armchair.
“I’m glad to see Derikles hasn’t drowned.”
“My sainthood was never in question. Please hold the applause.”
