Page 43 of Dead Wrong

“We’re a long way from the Cradle. What exactly were you doing in a rebel camp, Cirian?”

“Me?” Cirian questioned, his pace slowing. “Haven’t you heard the rumors? I was there to speak with Rudderkin, of course.”

Relief washed over me like a wave. Maybe Cirian wasn’t there to kill me after all. At least, not at this very moment.

“Didn’t get a chance to make the meeting, though,” he continued. The circles under his eyes were purplish and bruise-like, especially in the dim light. His skin seemed tight, pulling across the sharp angles of his face like a drum. “Your mother saw to that nicely.”

“So, you’re part of the Rebellion too?” I asked, wanting to be certain.

“In a sense,” Cirian replied, coming to a stop. “Lynette said your mind was fractured. It’s a shame, really. Just when you decided to become interesting, you flush all that away and dig yourself an early grave.”

I deflated with a sigh. “Thank you for reminding me. Gods, I long for the day that I can feel like a complete person again and not this tattered mess.” I winced as Cirian stepped over a log, jostling one of the deeper wounds in my shoulder.

Cirian was silent as we went, his brow furrowed.

“Have I said something?” I asked, confused.

“No one ever feels entirely whole, Tobias. You may not remember it now, but even with your memories in order, I would imagine you’d feel the same.”

“Isn’t that a cheery thought?” I asked, shifting in his arms once more. The throbbing in my ankle was impossible to ignore, but I did my best. “As if I don’t have enough to look forward to.”

“Enough with the bravery,” said Cirian, walking a few paces to the base of a large oak tree and gently setting me against the trunk. Once I was out of his arms, I noticed just how much blood coated Cirian’s pale clothing.

“Gods, are you alright?” I asked, leaning forward enough to earn another wince.

Cirian looked down at his tunic, his lips parting with a grin. “This is your blood, Toto. I’m afraid I escaped rather unscathed.”

That certainly did explain my lightheadedness. I swayed at that moment, falling back against the abrasive bark.

“Easy,” Cirian coaxed me, long fingers drifting down my leg till they brushed against my swollen ankle. “Don’t worry. I’m going to make it all better, Toto.”

I rolled my eyes, muttering a string of curses under my breath at this infuriating man. Cirian’s hands began to glow with a pulsating aura of blue light, not unlike the color of thread woven through his tunic. A groan built in my throat as the pain in my ankle dulled, and a strange sensation crawled up my leg as tendons popped into their proper place. I felt function return to my foot in a swell of relief.

Once Cirian seemed satisfied with the work on my ankle, his hands drifted upward toward the wounds across my chest that still oozed dark blood. With the steady confidence of a battle-worn healer, Cirian tore open my shirt, letting the fabric fall in pieces to the ground and leaving my torso exposed to the cool night air. Again, Cirian’s warm hands found my flesh, knitting together wounds one after the other till only the bloodstains remained.

Immobilized as I was, I watched Cirian as he worked, transfixed by the intensity of the man’s focus. Cirian had always been strikingly handsome, with an arrogance that often lent itself to pulchritude. But in close proximity, under the constant attention of his umber eyes, I felt a stirring that rattled me at my core.

Maybe the blood loss had rendered me witless.

“That should hold you together,” announced Cirian, wiping the bloom of sweat from his brow with a deep exhale. He stood once more, looming over me like another of the dark forest’s trees.

A stiff breeze passed over us, an overwhelming shiver creeping over me as I longed for the warmth of the shirt that lay in tatters on the ground. Cirian reached up to his neck, loosening the fastenings of his tunic before removing it. He held it out to me with a smirk that bordered lewdness.

“What is that for?” I asked.

“To stop your shivering,” Cirian explained, the sheen of his pale skin capturing what little light shone through the cover of tree branches. “I wouldn’t want you to catch your death.”

I snorted an unexpected laugh. “Was that a joke, Cirian? Here I had I thought for so many years you were incapable of humor.” Taking the offered garment, I pulled it around my exposed shoulders, reveling in the residual warmth. Fresh juniper filled my nostrils, but I resisted the urge to bring the fabric closer to take in more of the heavenly scent.

“A simple oversight, I assure you,” said Cirian with a chuckle. “Besides, it’s covered in your blood. I think it only fair it belongs to you now.” He offered me a hand, a mirthful smirk playing across his lips.

After quick contemplation, I took it, the tall man lifting me to my feet with ease. The only lingering discomfort was a strange numbness in my foot, but otherwise, I felt right as rain. Even the splitting headache that had come upon me when I tried to wield my magic had subsided.

Was it just another symptom of my fracturing?

“Are you ready to push on?”

Cirian watched me closely, his fingers still wrapped around my hand.

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