Page 62 of Song of the Dragon Rider
“You—!” Jacob started, but I cut him off.
“It’s okay, Jacob,” I said with a chuckle. “This is how we engage.”
Garrick smirked. “Looks like someone was flogged. Why didn’t you call a healer?”
I raised a brow. “Do you think a healer can heal me as quickly as you can?”
Garrick narrowed his gaze on me as if I’d just revealed one of his closely-guarded secrets. “My lady,” he growled, “using magic to heal is not recommended.”
“Are there any side effects?” I knew my body better than anyone. If I could handle the side effects, I’d go through with it. No questions asked.
Jacob's concern deepened, his eyes flicking between Garrick and me, clearly unsettled by the conversation about magical healing. “What are the side effects?” he echoed, crossing his arms defensively.
Garrick shifted uncomfortably, his one eye scrutinizing me closely. “It depends on the severity of the injuries and the amount of magic used. It can range from minor fatigue to... more severe, long-term consequences.”
I nodded, ready to accept the risk. “I can handle fatigue. What are the possible long-term consequences?”
Garrick hesitated, then sighed. “In some cases, the healed tissue might not integrate perfectly with the natural body tissues, causing chronic pain or even re-opening of wounds under stress.”
“That's a risk I'm willing to take,” I insisted, glancing at Jacob to gauge his reaction.
Jacob looked torn, his duty to protect clashing with his respect for my choice. “Arya, this isn't just about you. If something goes wrong, how would I explain it to Father? The emperor—”
“I know,” I cut him off, a little sharper than I intended. “But lying here, bleeding and broken, is worse and it gives my enemies an opportunity to pounce again.”
“Enemies?” Jacob parroted as if he couldn’t believe his baby sister, of all people, had enemies.
Garrick cleared his throat and stepped forward. “If you're sure, my lady, I'll proceed. But we'll need privacy.”
Jacob’s reluctance was unmistakable as he hovered near the door, his gaze fixed on Garrick with evident distrust. “I'm not comfortable leaving her alone with you,” he stated firmly, his tone brooking no argument.
Unfazed by the tension, Garrick met Jacob's gaze evenly. “Young master, I understand your concerns, but the lady's condition requires privacy and concentration. I assure you, no harm will come to her under my care.”
“Youassure me?” Jacob scoffed, his protective instincts flaring. “And why should I trust the word of a warlock? Especially one known as 'the Betrayer'?”
I interjected, trying to ease the mounting tension. “Jacob, Garrick has helped us before. He’s here because I trust him, not because he wishes me harm. Please, this is necessary.”
“I don’t care if he’s helped the immortals themselves, Arya. I don’t trust him!” Jacob shouted.
“Young master,” Maeve finally spoke, reaching for his arm. “I know I have no right to comment, but Garrick truly is trustworthy. He has helped my lady plenty of times. We can stand outside the room just in case. Yes?”
After a tense moment, Jacob slowly exhaled, his shoulders slumping in resignation. “I'll be right outside the door. At thefirst sign of trouble, I'm coming in,” he warned before finally stepping out with Maeve, though his lingering look told me he was far from reassured.
Once we were alone, Garrick approached where I lay on the bed with a small, intricately carved wooden box in his hands. He opened it with care, revealing several small vials filled with luminescent liquids that seemed to pulse with their own inner light. He selected one with contents that shimmered like liquid gold.
He pulled back the covers to expose my back. “This will hurt more than the flogging itself, but it'll be quick,” Garrick warned, his voice low. “The magic is potent, and it needs to merge with your essence to fully integrate.”
I nodded. “Go ahead,” I said, bracing myself and gritting my teeth in anticipation.
Garrick uncorked the vial and began a low, melodic chant that filled the room with vibrating energy. The air thickened and a subtle glow emanated from the vial as he held it over my wounds. With precise movements, he tipped the vial and the glowing substance trickled down in a thin stream onto the raw, inflamed stripes across my back.
The sensation was immediate and overwhelming; it felt as if a scalding wave had washed over me, searing yet strangely cleansing. I clenched my fists and bit back a cry as the liquid fire sank into my flesh, knitting the torn skin with a fierce, burning heat that gradually subsided into a dull throb. I gritted my teeth to avoid screaming and alerting Jacob and Maeve.
Garrick handed me a strip of leather. “Bite down so you don’t chip a tooth,” he said, and I did just that.
As the last of the liquid was absorbed, the glow dimmed and the room grew quiet once more.
“The worst has passed.” Garrick began to put his things away. “You’ll feel your skin and muscles begin to slowly knit back together. You must not move until it is complete.”
