59. Chapter 59

Chapter 59

“ G ood gods, ” Wren breathed.

The blood, the bodies, the carnage—Mikael hoped Ari had warned her.

The healer pressed her hand to her chest, muttering something quietly before she dropped to Cyril’s side. Wren was in her damn nightclothes still, the pastel pinks a grotesque contrast to the pooling blood she settled into without a second thought.

“Move, Your Highness. Let me see her, let me see—”

She shooed Mikael’s hands away from the protective hold they had settled in around Cyril’s body. Against every one of his frantically screaming instincts, he rested her back against the wall.

Wren skimmed her long, scarred fingers from Cyril’s head, right down to her toes. She uttered quiet curses and tsked noises of disappointment as faint pulses of energy radiated from her hands. Assessing the scale of her injuries, as he’d seen healers do before.

“You poor, sweet girl. What happened to you…” Wren murmured, entirely to herself.

She looked at Cyril with a sort of sadness he rarely saw on the woman’s face. Wren had been in charge of the infirmary for…well, far longer than Mikael’s own life. He was sure she’d seen everything.

Mikael watched with bated breath as Wren tugged up Cyril’s tattered blouse and settled her hands over the charred and weeping flesh of her side. The faintest traces of soft, blue light emanated from around her fingers.

Even though Mikael knew that mending of this magnitude could not be rushed, it still felt like Wren didn’t move from that spot for an eternity.

But when Cyril started to stir, just a shift of her weight and a soft, whimpering noise, Mikael’s vision blurred.

“Shh. Shh. I know it doesn’t feel good,” Wren said, her attention entirely fixed on her hands. “But it won’t be long, okay?”

Cyril whimpered again, and Mikael had never been more conflicted by a noise. The notion of her being in any amount of pain brought him near agony, but noise meant life . It meant what was so dangerously close to being snuffed out was stirring again. And he needed that more than anything.

“She’ll be alright, Your Highness.” Wren still hadn’t looked up from the unseen work happening beneath her hands, but Mikael could see a sad sort of smile on her face. “Maybe not the same as she was, but she’ll recover.”

“Thank you, I…” Mikael’s voice broke.

None of them would be the same as they were before, would they?

Not after this.

Wren nodded. “I cannot mend everything at once. She just won’t tolerate”—a quiet sob left Cyril, and she shifted uncomfortably, a muscle flickering in her jaw—“that much, not with the extent of her injuries. I’ll have her organs in good working order, and knit the bone in her leg back together. She won’t have any gaping wounds, either, I’ll make sure of that. But her head—”

Mikael had been following along slowly, fixated on the brief flickers of gold as Cyril’s eyes fluttered open and closed.

“Did you— bone ? Her leg?” He blinked at Wren.

That…no.

No, that wasn’t possible.

“Her femur is broken. Badly too.” They both glanced at the cauterized mess of flesh on her thigh. “It almost feels like force magic, but I…” Her eyes drifted toward the bodies strewn on the floor behind them. She shook her head. “I don’t know for certain.”

“Cyr, she’s…” Mikael blew out a slow breath. “She’s part nymph.”

Wren blinked at him before she stared back at her hands, shaking her head.

“Gods, of course she is. Malia…I forgot. Definitely force magic, then. There’s no other way. The poor girl, I can’t even imagine—” Wren’s dark brows climbed and her entire expression softened. “Hi, sweet thing, it’s alright. We’re almost done.”

Tears tracked through the crusted blood on her cheeks, but Cyril’s eyes were half open and drifting between Wren and Mikael. Her hand lifted from the thickening blood on the floor, her fingers flexing towards him.

Mikael took it without a second thought, pressing it to his face and kissing her palm, gore be damned.

The corner of her mouth quirked and her eyes fell back shut.

“Just going to get these bones started on healing and we’ll be done for now. But I have instructions for you, Your Highness.” Breathless, Wren sat back on her heels and started pulling her magic down through Cyril’s leg.

“Of course, anything.”

“Take her straight back to the palace, get her out of these filthy clothes and into a bath. I’ll send for some salve and bandages to dress her wounds once she’s clean. None of them should be open still, but they are raw beneath the surface and have much healing to do. Get some fluids in her and put her to bed.” That soft blue glow dimmed from the room and Wren let out a ragged breath. “Her body is so drained that it’s refusing to heal on its own right now. So I will come and see her tomorrow and do a bit more work if she still isn’t recovering by then. She needs rest though, and lots of it, alright?”

“Of course.” Mikael nodded. Wren could have asked him to do literally anything for Cyril, to aid her recovery, and he would have done it without question. “Is there anything else before…?”

He looked to Cyril as she groaned softly and shifted against the wall, but Wren just smiled and stood, saying, “Take her home now, Your Highness.”

Mikael didn’t need to be told twice.

“I’ll never be able to thank you enough, Wren,” he said, easing a hand behind Cyril’s back. “She’s…”

Everything.

His entire fucking world.

But Mikael’s voice wavered, and he had to focus on breathing.

“No need for thanks, Mikael. I can tell how special she is to you.”

Wren didn’t know the half of it.

Just like Mikael had never truly known what precious cargo felt like until he was cradling Cyril’s half-conscious body in his arms and carrying her out of that fucking hellhole.

A tense, heavy silence swept through the commotion of the guards swarming the warehouse’s main floor as Mikael crested the steps up from the basement. Wren followed just a step behind, and with a flash of light and a beat of wings, she was gone.

Gunner pushed straight through to the front of the crowd and asked, “She’s…alright…?”

Mikael nodded, and it felt like the entire building released a collective sigh of relief for the woman who had become their barracks mother.

He motioned for Gunner to follow him outside.

“Can I…” Gunner swore and blew out a shaky breath. “Is there anything I can do? Here, the palace? Should I ride with you? I can—”

Mikael just shook his head.

“Stay for the sweep, please. Make sure any weapons found down there are brought to the barracks. I need to make sure she gets any of hers back.”

Mikael knew how many things of hers came from Bronson, birthday and solstice gifts and the like, and he didn’t think that was a blow she’d be able to handle. He had a feeling the times they were about to face would be trying enough on their own.

“Of course, I’ll— Oh, oh gods, alright. ” Gunner looked downright terrified as Mikael eased Cyril into his arms and she groaned in discomfort. “It’s okay. It’s okay. ”

Those protesting, unhappy noises continued as Mikael mounted his horse and Gunner helped to haul Cyril up in front of him. Not an ideal mode of transportation by any stretch of the imagination, but with a horse lead tied around them and his arm across her chest, holding her firm to him, Mikael was ready to get the fuck out of Brynnhold.

Gunner patted his arm and walked the few steps back to the group gathered just outside the warehouse door.

“Get her home safe, boss,” he said, splaying his hand over his heart.

Salutes went up as Mikael nudged his horse into motion and rode like hell.