Page 106 of Close Quarter
Rhys swallowed and nodded, then shoved the blade back in the Aether. Silas's sword followed.
"Now, what can I do to help you?"
The amount of element Rhys poured into Silas's body was quite extraordinary. Had he not taken so much of a beating in the past thirty-six or so hours, he'd have had no trouble healing himself.
But now? "Give me your hand. The one that touched the daemon knife."
Rhys extended his right hand, palm up. "It burned. But not like fire."
"Onyx, edged in black diamond, forged in daemon-fire." Silas examined his palm. No nicks.
Good. "I'm going to heal you. See if you can sense what I'm doing with the element."
It was a long shot, but Rhys had become more sensitive to the energy around them. And everything else he knew about Quarters had proved wrong--perhaps Rhys could consciously manipulate the element after all.
He'd done enough of that without thought.
Though a simple healing, it took more of him than he'd expected to lay the element out and bind it to Rhys's flesh, coax skin to grow and heal. By the time he had finished, his unbroken arm trembled.
Rhys laid his now-healed hand on Silas's forehead. "You're going into shock."
"Probably. Could you feel what I did?"
For a moment Rhys looked as if he might slap Silas. Then he nodded. "Yeah. I think so."
"Good. Do it to me, where the knife entered."
He leaned back against the bench and closed his eyes. "It'll be harder. There's poison. Blood is tricky because it moves."
"I have no idea what the hell I'm supposed to do." Panic tinged Rhys's voice higher.
"I'll help as best I can." Which wouldn't be much at all. "You've done this before. From across the ship." He opened his eyes and looked at Rhys. "I trust you."
Rhys furrowed his brow and placed his hand over the knife wound. "Fine." A distant, internal gaze followed.
Then the pain came, burning his veins. Not the sting of death or poison, but of every cell cleansing itself all at once. Silas bit his tongue to keep from vocalizing. Like everything else about Rhys, his healing was brash and bold. He probably sculpted in a fury too.
It was a very good thing he'd been unconscious when Rhys had healed him the first time. With his good hand, he gripped Rhys's arm.
"Enough."
Rhys lifted his palm and blinked. "Shit. I hurt you." He brushed a hand against Silas's cheek.
Only then did Silas feel the trail of wetness left behind on his own skin. Tears. His own.
"What you lack in finesse, you make up in power.
It only stung a bit."
"Liar," Rhys murmured.
"No." He shifted on the bench. "Now, you're going to hurt me. We need to set my arm."
All color drained from Rhys's face. Still, he studied the bones. "I think I know what to do. All those anatomy classes."
"Good. Give me a moment." Silas braced himself, drew up a glamour to cover sound, then nodded.
Rhys yanked. Twice.
