Page 11 of A Kiss of Healing & Honor (Darkstone Academy #4)

I stiffened, my heart lurching guiltily in my chest.

Gwydion had many fascinating Fae powers, but he couldn’t read my mind… could he?

“No idea what you’re talking about,” I muttered, avoiding my fellow apprentice’s gaze. “She’s my friend. And our fellow apprentice.”

He sighed. “Don’t lie to me, Ilhan. I know you too well for that. I’ve seen the way you look at her, the way your whole face lights up when you speak with her. And ever since she’s been gone…” He made an eloquent gesture.

“Even if I do have feelings for her, it doesn’t matter,” I said harshly. “What can ever become of it? Even if my father would ever approve of his heir joining himself to a half-Dragon woman, Jacinthe is an imperial princess. The domina-regent would never allow a match with a traitor’s son.”

“My friend, it sounds like you’ve given this matter considerable thought.” Gwydion smirked at me, and I realized I’d just betrayed myself.

I shrugged, determined never to confess the true source of my reservations.

I’m a virgin, I thought bitterly. How can I ever match up to Tama, Boreas, and you, Gwydion?

His grip on my shoulder tightened, and his icy touch seeped through my damp clothing. “Don’t underestimate yourself, Ilhan. You’re brave and honorable and dedicated to healing. Jacinthe is lucky to have you as one of her soul-bonded. As for your father…” He clicked his tongue, his expression suddenly fierce. “Don’t let fear of his disapproval keep you from what you want. This is your life, Ilhan. Follow your desires, no matter where they lead.”

I remembered the bits and pieces Gwydion had told me of his own father, and shuddered.

My father was an unyielding, authoritarian patriarch with questionable loyalties. But the Dark Fae King Pwyll was an actual monster.

“I don’t know if I can love her the way she deserves,” I blurted, and instantly hated myself for showing my weakness. I added, “Besides, she needs you and Tama and Boreas more than she needs me.”

Gwydion’s expression softened. Then he surprised me by pulling me into a fierce hug. “Is that what you think?” he murmured. “Because you’re wrong.”

I felt the burning cold of his lips pressing a quick kiss on my cheek. “Jacinthe needs you. We all do. We’re all bound to brotherhood through her. And we respect you for your strength, Ilhan. We’ll figure out how to get her back. Tama and Boreas may have failed, but we still have options. I trust in you and Alondra to help me come up with a plan.”

He released me and turned back to his grim task of suturing Boreas’ wounds.

Gwydion trusts me? Respects me?

Disbelieving, I stared at his back for a long moment. Then I gathered up my supplies and set about patching up Boreas as best I could.

∞∞∞

Two hours later, Gwydion and I had stopped the worst of Boreas’ bleeding with styptic charms and stitched up his deeper wounds to prepare for the healing spells that would knit together torn muscles and skin.

Alondra had stationed herself next to Boreas’ head, and was feeding him handfuls of raw minced meat and warm broth whenever he regained consciousness long enough to swallow.

Relief washed over me when Armand and Bevitrice emerged from Armand’s office at last, carrying a large sheet with a sketch of a Wind-Walker’s wing bones and musculature.

“I believe we can heal him well enough to allow him to fly again,” Armand announced.

“We’ll need everyone’s help in pinning and rebuilding his shattered radius and ulna before we can start the healing spells for his bones and muscles,” Bevitrice added.

She spread the sketch out on the worktable and motioned us over.

Gwydion, Alondra, and I gathered around, paying close attention as she pointed to various details in the sketch and explained what needed to be done. Stripped of skin and plumage, a Dragon’s wing looked very similar to a giant human arm and hand, with an elbow, a crude wrist, and metacarpals and phalanges supporting the wingtips.

The cannonball had hit Boreas’ wing in a glancing blow, gouging a large hole and shattering the equivalent of his forearm. Despite the horrendous appearance of his injury, he’d actually been lucky. A direct strike would’ve left him with no wing at all.

I was dispatched to the infirmary storeroom for a set of the slender metal rods, sturdy screws, and wires used to repair difficult fractures in our human patients.

When I returned, Mage Armand was performing a numbing spell on Boreas’ injured wing.

Boreas himself lay unresisting on the hard stones, drifting in and out of consciousness. His meek demeanor was deeply disturbing and showed how little strength he had left after losing unknown quantities of blood.

Once the numbing spell was complete, we set to work.

It was a long, unbelievably difficult and complicated surgical procedure. Armand and Bevitrice worked together smoothly, pausing frequently to consult with each other and to study the sketch, spread out on the worktable and anchored by several empty wound-wash jugs.

As senior apprentices, Gwydion and I assisted as best we could, handing the two mages drills and pliers as required, holding retractors to keep the flaps of a wound open so that they could work unimpeded, cleaning the deep gashes with wound-wash, extracting splinters of bone, and suturing together muscle and skin over repaired bones.

The courtyard was shrouded in shadow and Alondra had brought mage lights to illuminate Boreas’ sprawled body when I put in the final suture.

We’d missed the midday meal, and my stomach growled loudly as I stretched, my sore back and shoulders popping. The sky overhead blazed with crimson and orange clouds.

“Excellent work, apprentices,” Mage Armand said. He looked as weary as I felt. “I believe we’re ready to begin the healing spells now. Do you agree, Mage Bevitrice?”

She smiled at us. “Prince Gwydion, Lord Ilhan, I believe you both just earned passing grades in my Advanced Surgery class. If you can do this—” she swept her hand over Boreas’ outstretched wing, “then our class exercises for the rest of this term should prove no challenge to you. As for you, Lady Alondra, you show great promise. Mage Armand chose his apprentices well.”

Warmed by her unexpected praise, Gwydion, my sister, and I exchanged triumphant grins.

“Now I must ask you to lend me your powers for the healing spell,” Armand said. He surveyed us and frowned. “After supper, I think.”

“I agree,” Bevitrice said. “I’m famished, and I hate doing magic on an empty stomach.”

On cue, the bell rang, summoning the academy’s staff and students to the Great Hall for the meal.

It was strange to sit at our usual table minus Boreas, Tama, and, of course, Jacinthe. We all ate and drank as quickly as we could, and curtly answered the questions peppering us from all sides.

Yes, the Dragon lying in the infirmary courtyard was Boreas. And yes, he was still alive.

No, we didn’t know the whereabouts of Lady Margitts or Mage Ysandre.

Yes, Princess Jacinthe had vanished as well.

And no, the merman had most definitely not eaten the three of them. Nor had the Dragon.

It was a relief when the dessert course was finally served. I saw Mage Armand and Mage Bevitrice slip away from the head table and vanish through the buttery door behind the dais.

I gulped down a cup of spiced cider and crammed a custard tartlet in my mouth, then rose to leave.

Pursued by a buzz of speculation and yet more questions, Gwydion and Alondra tailed me out of the Great Hall.

It was a relief when the heavy door closed behind the three of us, cutting off the clamor.

I paused at the top of the steps for a moment and took a deep, cleansing breath of cool night air, trying to center myself for the spell ahead.

“Brother, do you think Boreas will ever fly again?” Alondra sounded anxious.

“I trust in Mage Armand’s skill,” Gwydion answered for me.

I nodded. “It might take some time for all his feathers to grow back, but I think his muscles and bone will heal like new.”

“Good.” My sister looked relieved. “He looked so happy when he took to the air this morning. It would be terrible if he—”

“Suffered the consequences of his arrogance and folly?” Gwydion interrupted in an edged tone.

Alondra stared at him in shock. “I thought you liked him!”

“I do like him,” Gwydion said. “But your brother was right about needing a plan to rescue Jacinthe. Boreas was a fool to race off and attack the duke’s ships like that. And Tama was just as foolish, only luckier.”

“I—I guess so.” Alondra’s shoulders slumped. “But I still feel sorry for him.”

“I do, too,” I said. “Let’s go help the mages heal him.”

Back in the infirmary courtyard, Boreas now lay in the center of a large healing circle chalked on the courtyard’s flagstones. Mage Bevitrice took up the cardinal point of the east, while Gwydion took the north, Alondra the south, and I the west.

Standing inside the circle, next to his giant patient, Mage Armand closed his eyes and chanted the invocation.

As the rest of us took up the Sabaean verses for the healing of fractures, Armand’s hands glowed with the rich green of growing things.

The air in the courtyard thrummed with power, and I fed it more, feeling the warm energy rushing through my body and out along the chalked lines connecting me to Mage Armand. The others were doing the same.

Tendrils of verdant energy snaked out from us to join the vines of light sprouting from Armand’s fingers. I watched as those glowing vines and tendrils entwined around Boreas’ shattered wing, enclosing it in a cage of healing magic.

It’s working! I thought exultantly. To the best of my knowledge, no human Mage-Healer had ever tried treating a Dragon before.

Blood-stained feathers rippled as fractured bones and torn muscles knitted themselves back together, the sutured skin sealing itself in long, dark-pink lines.

Within minutes, Boreas’ wing was whole once more, the bones straight. Patches of bare but unbloodied skin marred his once-magnificent plumage, but his row of primary and secondary flight feathers gleamed smooth and unblemished in the cool blue mage-light.

Next, Mage Armand moved to Boreas’ wounded side and set about healing the deep puncture wounds and broken ribs there.

I gritted my teeth, continuing to pour every ounce of my powers into the spell. The world narrowed to a single point of focus, the pulsing emerald light that bound us all together in a web of healing energy.

But as Mage Armand continued to work, I felt my power beginning to wane. At the other cardinal points around the circle, I saw both Gwydion and Alondra sway on their feet, their faces drained of color.

“Hold on, apprentices,” Bevitrice gritted out, her voice strained with effort. “Just a little longer. He’s almost done.”

And then it was finally over. Armand dropped to his knees and sagged against Boreas’ feathered side. His lined face sagged with exhaustion, and Mage Bevitrice looked equally drained.

Boreas stirred. His great golden eyes flickered open.

Then, slowly, he stretched out his newly healed wing and flexed it.

“I owe you my thanks,” he rumbled.

“Thanks are not required,” Gwydion said, in a faint but still sharp voice. My fellow apprentice looked almost transparent with fatigue. “But to restore the balance between us, you will help us rescue Jacinthe.”

“I was going to do that anyway, Friend Gwydion,” Boreas replied mildly.

“Yes, but this time, you’re going to follow our orders.” Gwydion crossed his arms and glared at the Dragon. “Understood?”

I silently blessed my Fae friend in the name of the Divine Mother.

“That’s right,” I said, then added with more confidence than I felt, “by the time you’re ready to fly again, we’ll have an actual plan drawn up.”

Boreas heaved a great, sulfur-scented sigh. “Very well,” he grumbled. “I’ll help you… if your plan isn’t stupid.”

“It won’t be any more stupid than whatever you did to get hurt like that,” Alondra promised sweetly.