51. Chapter Fifty-One

“I’m fine, Kieran,” I swore, rolling my eyes at the arm he’d extended. “I really don’t need an escort, I can make it home just fine on my own.”

My words were immediately contradicted by the sharp intake of breath and the wince I couldn’t mask as I pushed myself up on the infirmary bed.

Kieran’s eyes flashed.

“I’m fine,” I repeated. “Seriously, the clerics did incredible work, I’m just a little bit tender, is all.”

“Will you just take my arm, you stubborn little brat?” he snapped.

I shook my head. I couldn’t keep imposing on him like this, he was busy as Hel these days.

“You’ve done enough, Kier. You’ve probably missed enough work already as is,” I groaned. “Did you even get any sleep last night?”

The guardsman stared at me incredulously.

“Are you seriously asking about my well-being right now, Asher? You just got sliced up by a deadly daemon less than twelve hours ago, and you’re stressing out over my beauty sleep?”

“Yes.” I said stubbornly. He didn’t sleep enough.

He sighed heavily again, looking at me as if I were the bane of his existence.

“Jeremiah and Hans are perfectly capable of holding down the fort for me, Arken. And I stepped out for a few hours while you slept. They’re both worried sick over you, by the way.”

I frowned. Worried sick? Over me?

“And yes, I got a few hours of sleep while they were treating your wounds. Ask Fen if you don’t believe me. Now will you please stop being so stubborn, and let me take you home?”

Right on cue, High Scholar Helvig made her way into the room with a few small vials and a fresh change of clothes in hand. As she handed off the soft chemise, sweater and tights, I realized that Kieran must’ve sent for them himself, because they were perfectly sized.

“I’m afraid I can’t let you leave without an escort, Ms. Asher,” Fen said brusquely, backing Kieran up. “But if you’d like me to kick this one out and send for another, just say the word.”

I grinned, half tempted to have her do it just to fuck with Kieran—who was still hovering like a mother hen. He scowled.

“Don’t you dare,” he warned.

Fen just smiled, and shook her head.

“I want you to take this first vial in about half an hour, and then take the other two at twelve-hour intervals,” she instructed.

I glanced over at Kieran, and could see him making a mental note on those timings so he could get on my ass about them. I was secretly grateful for that, knowing my own short-term memory would be lacking in my exhaustion.

“The tinctures will help expedite healing, and should also eliminate any pain or tenderness entirely. And then this,” Fen said, holding up a small tin of some sort of salve, “should lessen the scarring over time. I must apologize for that again. We couldn’t seal your wounds early enough to avoid scarring altogether because of the toxins.”

“It’s fine,” I said softly, trying not to peek over at Kieran again. “I sort of like scars.”

Fen glanced back at Kieran, giving him a strange look, one that he steadfastly ignored.

“Are you feeling well enough to walk a bit, Arken? Do you want to head home now, or do you need more rest?” he asked.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

“How many more times do I have to tell you that I’m fine, Kieran?”

“At least seven more,” he quipped back.

“Oh, I am going to murder you,” I warned.

“You can hardly even stand up straight. You really think you can start swinging on me?” he challenged.

“Please do not,” Fen added, and I cracked a smile.

“Only because she asked,” I told Kieran.

“It’s not the first time she’s saved my ass, and I’m sure it won’t be the last,” he muttered.

Our walk back to my apartment started off quiet, the two of us processing the chaos of the last twenty-four hours.

“Before I drop you off, remind me to send a sprite off to my commander, will you? I promised to keep him posted on your recovery after the attack.”

“Of course,” I said, disregarding my vague curiosity on why his commander would care about my well-being.

Though…

“Speaking of mail sprites. How did you do that, Kieran?”

“Do what, exactly?” Kieran asked, keeping his gaze fixed on the road ahead.

“That thing, with the raven. At first I thought it was just your mail sprite… but it looked different. And then it felt as though you were speaking inside my mind. I didn’t know anyone could do that. I don’t think I’ve ever even heard of such a thing,” I explained.

I tried my best to keep my tone even, feigning disinterest even though I was burning with curiosity. There were several things about that night that I couldn’t comprehend, and this was probably one of the tamest of the questions I had.

Kieran sighed.

“Yeah, about that. Do me a favor, Ark. Can you avoid… sharing that with the class, so to speak? I hate to ask this of you, but if you could avoid bringing that up, even with your friends…”

Every now and again, a request like this would crop up. Kieran never looked particularly happy to ask me to keep secrets, but I figured it just sort of came with the territory when your best friend was essentially a spymaster.

“Oh. Of course, yeah. I wouldn’t dream of it. Can I ask why?”

For a moment he was silent, continuing to stare off into the crowd ahead.

“It’s… Well. It’s not a common practice, basically. It’s an extremely complex form of arcana that takes a great deal of energy and focus. As far as I’m aware, they actually don’t teach it here. It’s considered to be too dangerous.”

“You seemed to handle it perfectly fine,” I replied.

“Training, Little Conduit. A great deal of training.”

“But not from the scholars.”

“No, not from them.”

The change in his posture was so subtle that I doubt anyone else would have noticed, but I knew him well enough to notice how he’d stiffened. It was as if he knew what I would ask next. Perhaps I should have held my tongue in that case, but I couldn’t help but ask the obvious question.

“And not from the guard.”

“No.”

“If not from them, or the scholars, Kier… then who taught you?”

All of the light and life behind his eyes seemed to flicker briefly like a flame in the wind. Like it was on the verge of being snuffed out as he opened his mouth to speak, and my stomach churned with regret. I shouldn’t have asked.

“My birth father.”

I blinked, taken aback.

“Oh. You don’t often speak about your family,” I breathed. I had not been expecting this, not at all.

“There’s not much to speak on, Arken. Most of my family is dead.”