Page 104 of What Fools These Immortals Be
“I’m sure he can take it,” Meilyr replies.
It’s all the warning I get. These fae are strong, stronger than any vampire I’ve met, and it’s hardly difficult with how many there are for them to grab one of my arms and extend it away from my body. When they start to pull, I swallow down the impotent sound I want to make. It will not help.
“Ican’t,” Maurice says. He’s looking at me now, begging me to understand, and I do, Ido, because I have that responsibility too; a responsibility bigger than either of us.
Meilyr’s smile is humourless. He gets to his feet, and for a moment, the pressure stops as the fae holding me react with what I assume is surprise. I cannot make a sound. I cannot allow this to hurt Maurice more than it clearly already is.
He does his best to lunge at Meilyr as he passes by, but another fae is there, hands on his shoulders, pressing him back into the chair. I stare up at Meilyr. What does he see in my face?
Whatever it is, it is not enough to stop him. The fae hold my arm fast again. I do not struggle. I already know I cannot escape them.
It is slow because he wants this to hurt, wants me to suffer, and I am certain I feel the bonebendbefore it breaks. Maurice’s scream of rage covers my own pained cry, nausea rushing over me in an urgent wave.
“I’llkillyou,” Maurice snarls. The fae still have hold of my arm and Meilyr has not looked away from my face, not for a second.
“You may well try,” Meilyr says eventually. “Think about that, and the answer you want to give me to the question I asked you earlier.”
He waves a hand, and I stumble as the fae drag me up and away, back to the cellar. They do not throw me down the stairs this time, and I am grateful for small mercies. Reijo hisses through his teeth when I fall against the wall, cradling my broken arm in the other, and sink to the floor.
It is not healing, and I don’t know if that is down to my own weakness or something Meilyr did to me.
I blink, and Maurice is crouched before me, looking as though he has been there for longer than the second or so I believe has passed.
“Njáll,” he murmurs, hands still bound but hovering above my body, like he doesn’t know where to touch. “Njáll, I’m so sorry. I don’t think you’re healing.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Maurice
Thereisnoquestionabout it. Njáll is not healing. A broken arm won’t kill him, but it has been a long time since his body went into shock this way, I’m fairly sure, and he is not handling it well. All the colour has seeped from his mouth, making him look even paler, his eyes bright and feverish in comparison.
“I’m… I’ll be fine.”
He’s holding his broken arm so carefully, but I need to line the bone up to be sure that when itdoeseventually heal, it does so correctly. I can’t break the arm again if that happens. Ican’t.
“Can I—” My voice comes out panicked. I don’t dare turn my head and look at any of the fae. Reijo’s gaze bores into me already. I can feel it. “Can I see?”
Njáll blinks slowly. Sweat beads at his hairline. “Yes.”
He doesn’t move, and I do not ask him to. I adjust my crouch, running my hands gently over his good arm before I touch the broken one. He lets out a pained moan at the contact, but I don’t flinch back, even though I want to.
I can dothis. Maybe I can’t kill Meilyr with my blessing gone—maybe I wouldn’t have managed it before—but I can help Njáll with this.
He groans again when I grip his arm more tightly, and it’s difficult in the cuffs, metal digging into my wrists, but that is a momentary discomfort, and I can endure it. “Hold here,” I say, gesturing, and Njáll’s movements are a little faster this time.
Another cry, when I line the bone up again, and Njáll drops his head back against the wall, breathing hard. I shake my head. We’re not done. “I need your jacket. We need to bind it until it heals.”
I’d give him mine, but I can’t get it off and I don’t think he can manage it right now, either. Minutes pass while I urge Njáll forwards, get the jacket off one shoulder, then carefully over his broken arm, and it’s just as difficult to wrap the arm—never mind that I have nothing to use as a splint—but the pressure seems to relieve at least a little of the pain.
“You need to feed,” Reijo says. He doesn’t wilt in the face of my glare. The tip of his chin is stubborn, and his gaze quickly moves from me to Njáll.
“You’re weak,” Njáll replies. He still sounds almost breathless. I reach up and wipe sweat from his brow and his gaze meets mine.
“So are you,” Reijo says, and I’m thankful that he says it instead of me.
“Drink from me,” I say to Njáll, and he shakes his head just like he did when I said it before.
“Just need sleep,” he mutters.
