62. Chapter 62

Chapter 62

C yril wasn’t sure if it was every nerve in her body being alight with discomfort, or the intense smell of rain that pulled her to consciousness.

Whatever it was, she wanted no part in any of it.

Her eyes burned something fucking fierce as she fought to will them open, a lovely accompaniment to the aching muscles she was becoming all too aware of.

“Mika?” she rasped as she tried to blink away the gritty blur in her eyes.

It had to be him, sitting in a chair beside the bed, with his face resting on his propped-up fist.

No answer.

Cyril blinked again, the dim room gradually coming into focus in agonizingly slow waves. The pale linens, the feminine wallpaper, the—this was her room.

Why in the hells…

“Mika?” she repeated, her voice little more than a scratchy whisper. She pushed up onto her elbows, despite the screaming protest of her arms.

That got his attention.

Mikael straightened up, his dark circle-framed eyes going eyes wide for just a moment before all of his features softened.

“Hey, wrath.” His voice was ragged, but his smile warmed something in the very foundation of her being.

She tried to push herself up on trembling arms, and he was there in an instant, easing her up and stuffing pillows behind her back.

The sudden verticality made her head throb.

“Is the window open?” Her neck hurt too much to bother looking for herself.

Mikael blinked at her and shook his head. “Do you want me to open it?”

“No, I—” The entire room felt like it shifted, and Cyril squeezed her eyes shut. “I smell rain…”

Not like a summer shower, either.

No, it smelled like a storm, like the very cusp of a torrential downpour.

The mattress dipped beside her and Mikael took one of her hands from her lap, threading his fingers with hers.

“Cyr, you, uh…” Mikael cleared his throat, and Cyril braved opening her eyes again. The uneasy look on his face was unsettling as all hells. “You had a head injury, like a really, really bad one. Amongst…other things.”

Her confusion must have been clear, because Mikael added softly, “You don't remember, do you? Being attacked?”

Attacked?

Her breathing became a little uneven.

She searched Mikael’s face for some sort of reassurance, but she only found worry there, in the tension in his jaw and the tight, sad smile he offered her.

Awareness crept its way up her spine.

Awareness that her mind fought to keep at bay, but it was there, clawing its way out.

Glimmers of blood and bodies, of pain and fear , and—

Oh gods .

“Do you remember?”

Mikael’s knuckles brushed along her cheek and Cyril tried to swallow down the phantom taste of copper in her mouth, but her throat felt like it was full of shards of glass.

“The warehouse?”

Mikael nodded.

“I…” Fuck, her mind felt like broken glass too. Fragmented glimmers of memories strewn about that hurt like hells to piece back together. “What happened?”

“Well, you went into the warehouse on your own…” Mikael said slowly.

Fuck. She did, didn’t she?

She could remember the untrustworthy roof and that damn drainpipe. The endless rain too.

“And I’m not exactly sure what transpired after that, but Gunner and Ari found you in pretty fucking rough shape.”

Cyril wanted to laugh, because she still felt in pretty fucking rough shape , but a fit of coughs took hold of her lungs instead. Mikael had a glass of water in front of her before she’d even realized he moved.

It felt like the best damn thing she’d ever drank.

“Who attacked me?” she asked after Mikael had taken the glass and settled back down on the edge of her bed.

He hesitated.

“One of Reyna’s sisters. And…” Mikael looked so fucking conflicted. “Well, it looks like a lesser demon did most of the damage.”

Cyril’s eyes narrowed.

Her childhood was filled with tales of lesser demons, most of which ended in her being eaten by one if she didn't behave or finish her meals. But she learned quickly as an adult what a crock of shit that was.

“A lesser demon, here? ”

“I know,” Mikael sighed. “Carinae is supposed to be too rife with environmental magic for them to survive, so they don’t stray far from the mortal lands. Not usually, at least.” He shrugged. “For every answer we got, a half dozen more questions popped up. But you don’t need to worry about any of that right now. You have a lot of recovering to do.”

She had so many questions, so many things that weren’t adding up in her mind. But the heavy undertow of whatever the fuck happened to her was already tugging at her body, muddying her thoughts.

Cyril couldn’t argue with him.

And truthfully, only one thing mattered right now. He was sitting right in front of her and she just wanted him closer. Cyril extended her sore and bruised hands towards Mikael and he took them with a smile so genuine she felt the corners of her own mouth lift.

Despite her lack of full lucidity, she could tell something was bothering him. His smile couldn't hide the tension causing the crease between his eyebrows, or the way his glacial eyes carefully studied her face.

She opened her mouth, ready to tell him to get out with it or lie down with her, but Mikael said, “I almost lost you, Cyr. And I…” He blew out a shaky breath. “I realized that I’ve never —”

Mikael closed his eyes and swore as a set of knocks came from her bedroom door. He looked back at her with resignation and muttered something about privacy as he hauled himself off her bed.

Cyril heard Runa before she saw her.

“Sorry for intruding! I heard voices and thought I should check in.” The queen rounded an unimpressed Mikael, squeezing his arm. She grinned when her eyes landed on Cyril. “How are you feeling, sweetheart?”

“Like I got trampled…”

Runa laughed , a sound that did nothing to help Cyril’s now-pounding head.

“All things considered, Cyril, that is remarkably good.” Runa settled into the spot Mikael had just occupied on the edge of Cyril’s bed, giving her calf a gentle squeeze. “When Wren came by again yesterday to do more work on your leg, she said the progress on your injuries was promising, and you should feel substantially better every day.”

Cyril blinked.

“ Yesterday ? When did…”

“You’ve been out for a good day and a half,” Mikael clarified, coming to rest on his forearms against the back of the armchair at her bedside. That addressed half of her confusion at least.

“...And my leg?”

It ached something fierce, but so did the rest of her damn body.

A hesitant glance bounced between Mikael and his mother before he fumbled out, “Broken, badly.”

Runa glared at him before adding, “Wren knit everything back together though. She said it’ll be uncomfortable for a bit, but you should…”

Cyril didn’t even catch half of it, too busy staring down at the outline of her legs beneath the plush duvet.

Broken .

Another thing that should not have been in the realm of possibility.

Maybe her mind was doing her a favor by not remembering that.

“...Cyril?”

She blinked at Runa. “Sorry. What?”

“It would be good to get up and move around, even a bit.” The queen smiled at her in that warm, motherly way of hers. “Maybe just a trip to the bathroom and back? I’ll help you.”

Cyril definitely had needs that needed tending to, like the aching bladder she had paid little heed to in the grand scheme of things that ached.

“I would appreciate that,” she said quietly, and Runa was already up and helping to pull back Cyril’s duvet.

But Mikael was there too, and things felt suddenly crowded.

“I can take her,” he said, trying to sidestep his mother, but she swatted at him and shooed him away.

“Sometimes, Mikael”—Runa helped Cyril to turn and ease her legs off the side of the bed—“it’s a little more dignifying to have another woman help you with these sorts of things.”

Cyril realized then that she was not wearing clothes that belonged to her. Nevermind the mottled bruises and pinkish-red scars that peppered her bare legs and the bandage wrapped around her thigh, she had expected those.

But the shirt and shorts were softer than anything she had, and they were…blue? A dark, midnight blue, she was certain she owned nothing of the like.

She ran her fingers along the neatly stitched hem of the shorts.

“Whose clothes are these?” Cyril asked, cutting right through the bickering that continued between the two people who both blocked her path to the bathroom she needed to use with increasing urgency.

“Ah, those are mine. I didn’t want to go rifling through your things while Mikael got you cleaned up. Not quite a perfect fit, with how much wider and shorter I am than you, but…” Runa shrugged. “Good enough for our purposes. Now let’s get you up.”

Mikael gave her a tight smile as he settled on the foot of her bed. Apparently he accepted defeat in the battle over who would take Cyril to the bathroom like she was a gods damned child.

She didn’t have it in her to care at this point.

Cyril planted her hands on the edge of the mattress, took a slow, grounding breath, and anchored her feet onto the floor. She dug her toes into the plush carpet that lined either side of her bed and didn’t even try to stem the slew of hoarse profanities that left her lips as she pushed herself upright.

Truthfully, if Runa hadn’t been there to catch her around the waist, Cyril would have dropped right back to the mattress, likely wet herself, and tried to pretend the day never happened. But Runa held her steady as every fiber of muscle and joint in her body screamed in protest.

“Now give me this”—Runa pulled Cyril’s arm across her shoulder, tucking herself like a brace against Cyril’s side—“and we’ll go slowly.”

Cyril didn’t even need to look to know Mikael was already up and within arm’s reach as Runa nudged her into those first few uneasy steps. That steadying, reassuring presence of his permeated the air around her and, while it certainly didn’t make walking any easier, it gave her the confidence she wouldn’t take out Runa if her legs gave way.

Her feet had just grazed the cool, moonstone tile of the bathroom floor when Runa snipped, “Privacy, Mika.” and closed the door behind them.

Runa ushered her a few more steps across the room before she started easing her grip on Cyril. “Do you need me to help you?”

“No, no , I—” Cyril cleared her throat. “I can handle the rest.”

She wasn’t entirely confident in that statement, but Runa nodded and let Cyril step away from her. She used the counter as a guardrail, sliding her hands along the cool stone surface as she half-shuffled, half-limped her way across.

Cyril swayed and froze in front of the mirror.

She had a black eye that made the one Dion gave her look like it was done with love. A scabbed-over split had taken up shop in the center of her bottom lip too, and her throat— gods .

She didn’t want to let her eyes hover too long on the bruising that wrapped around it, to let any bit of what caused that work its way into her mind. But she leaned forward, her hair slipping over her shoulder, and—

“Runa?” she whispered.

The queen had already given Cyril the decency of turning her back to her. Cyril heard her feet pad across the floor.

“What is— Oh .”

Runa stood beside her, her look of confusion shoved out by a sad smile. She ran her fingers through the hacked-off ends of Cyril’s hair with a gentle touch.

“Your braid was cut, in the…well, when you were…attacked, I assume. I know it looks rough right now, but I’ll have someone come….”

Runa’s words breezed over Cyril as she pulled her attention from the mirror that was forcing a crushing weight of reality onto her shoulders she wasn’t ready to bear. The bruises on her legs were an easier sight to digest, so she focused on those as she willed her feet back into uneasy steps and prayed she could tend to her needs before her body gave out.

She did, thankfully. But by the time she made it back to the sink to wash her hands and force a glass of water into her system, she was shaking.

The wave of pain that grew in her body from the moment her damn feet touched the ground had something to do with it. But so did the battered face that greeted her in the mirror again.

Cyril forced her eyes shut.

“Can you get Mika?” she asked.

The soft whine of the hinges that followed gave Cyril her answer.

She heard Runa’s voice next, then Mikael’s, then a third she didn’t recognize—and didn’t care to recognize, truthfully—as she gripped the edge of the counter and tried to breathe .

A count of five in, a count of five out.

The voices kept mumbling away in her room and, gods …she wasn’t going to be able to keep herself upright much longer. Even with her weight shifted off her healing leg, the pain pulsing through her was brutal.

A count of five in, a count of five out.

A count of five—

“Cyr?”

A shuddering breath left her.

Her grip on the counter wasn’t trustworthy, but she extended an arm towards Mikael’s voice anyway. A silent ask to please fucking help her, and to not make her put it to words. Her voice wasn’t trustworthy either.

Mikael’s hand grazed her back, slipping under her arms, just a moment before his lips met her temple, and he said, “I’ve got you.”

Something that sounded awfully like a sob crawled out of her chest.

“You’re alright, wrath. You just need rest, and a lot of it.” His voice was soft and soothing, but she shook her head.

She wasn’t alright.

Not in body, not in mind.

She wasn’t alright at all.

But Mikael was already gathering her up into his arms and carrying her out of the bathroom.

Cyril expected to see Runa, but she did not know why in the hells Ari was in her room now, or why the two of them were talking near the door. That other voice had a body and face now at least, even if his eyes went fucking wide as they snagged on Cyril.

“What’s Ari doing here?”

Cyril’s question was quiet as Mikael eased her back into bed, and her very bones sighed with relief at the lack of verticality. Her eyes slipped shut almost immediately.

“Well, it’s twofold,” Mikael said as he pulled the covers up over her. She wished he would just crawl into bed with her already, he looked like he needed sleep as much as she did. The mattress dipped as he sat beside her. “He was wondering how you were doing, and…”

His pause went on for far too long.

When Cyril willed her eyes back open, Mikael was looking over his shoulder at his mother and Ari. Runa was taking slow steps back towards the bed.

“ And? ” she asked.

“Ari and I have to go, Cyr.” Mikael’s attention turned back to her, and at the confusion that must have settled into her features, he added, “The families of the guards…they don’t know yet. We planned on leaving tomorrow morning, but there’s a storm coming in and we—”

Something hot and wet slid down Cyril’s cheeks, and Mikael froze.

“You have to go ? How…” Cyril wiped at her face—tears. She was crying . The tightness in her chest hit her then, and the unevenness of her breathing. “How long?”

Mikael hesitated. His smile was tentative, rueful.

“Four or five days to get to everyone and back, I think. But my mother will be here with you, for anything you need.” He glanced to where Runa now stood at the foot of her bed. Cyril could barely see her through the tears that clouded her vision.

“You’ll be sick of me by the time he’s back, I promise.”

That did nothing to settle the unease that crept its way up Cyril’s spine.

The dreadful, looming reality that she was awake, and she was afraid, and Mikael was leaving her.

“Kaia and Gunner have been desperate to see you too, when you feel up for it.” Mikael’s fingers brushed her cheek as he tucked her hacked-off hair behind her ear. “But focus on getting enough rest, alright? You’ve been through hell.”

The panicking part of her mind was screaming at her to plead with him. To ask him to stay, to not leave her when she needed him. Just like everyone always did.

But Cyril could only nod.

“I…” he sighed, shaking his head.

She didn’t get to ask why he looked like he wanted to crawl out of his skin before he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can, I promise.”

Cyril hesitated before she nodded. “Okay.”

Mikael’s beautiful, glacial eyes were full of remorse as he leaned in once more to kiss her forehead.

Then he left her.

If he even bothered to look back before he slipped out of the door with Ari, Cyril didn’t know. She was too busy easing her pissed-off body onto its side.

Runa rounded the other side of Cyril’s bed and said nothing as she climbed up onto it and sat back against the headboard. She opened her arm in an invitation, and Cyril took it without a second thought, shifting over and settling her head onto the queen’s lap.

The tears came in full force then.

“I know how badly it hurts when you need them and they are bound by duty like that,” Runa finally said with a sort of gentleness that did nothing to help Cyril’s emotions running rampant, “but I promise you, it gets easier.”

Cyril drew a shaky breath and blew it out slowly.

A part of her felt empty in the most painful way, like Mikael carved out a piece of her when he walked out that door. She wasn’t sure how that could ever ease, how it could not feel like a void lingered in his absence. But Cyril was too exhausted to consider the implication of the ache tethered deep in her chest.

Runa’s fingers skimmed through her hair idly, and the queen said, “Get some rest.”