Chapter 88: Care

Chapter 88: Chapter 88: Care

"There is a restorative power in gentle hands—a language older than speech that heals what words cannot reach." — Louisa May Alcott

The subterranean alcove had grown still.

The crushing weight of old memories had settled, leaving behind a fragile quiet.

Lyra knelt beside the crate, one hand resting lightly against Riven’s shoulder. Slowly, she leaned back and searched his unmasked face with her violet eyes.

The sharp, imperious composure she usually wore as Crown Princess was gone.

For once, she wasn’t thinking about court politics, royal duties, or the countless responsibilities waiting for her upstairs.

She was thinking about him.

"Your hand," she whispered.

Riven glanced down.

"You can’t leave those burns untreated."

"I’ll deal with it."

Lyra gave him a look.

"Of course you will."

Before he could respond, she rose to her feet and brushed the dust from her skirt.

"Wait here."

She disappeared through the heavy stone door before Riven could protest.

He stared after her.

Then he looked at his hand.

The skin across his palm and fingers was blistered and raw, alternating between angry red and patches of pale, damaged flesh. Even the slightest movement sent a pulse of pain through his forearm.

He had endured worse.

That was what he told himself, anyway.

Above him, Nyx clicked her beak softly.

Riven glanced up at her.

"What?"

She tilted her head, her violet eyes fixed on his injured hand.

"Don’t start."

Nyx chirped.

Riven sighed.

"Traitor."

A few minutes later, the door opened again.

Lyra returned carrying a dark glass jar and a stack of clean linen bandages. She crossed the room and knelt in front of him, placing the supplies between them.

"Give me your hand."

Her tone had recovered some of its usual authority, but the panic was gone.

Riven extended his right arm.

Lyra took it carefully, supporting his wrist with one hand while unscrewing the jar with the other.

A cool fragrance drifted through the chamber, carrying hints of crushed silverleaf and mountain mint.

Inside the jar was a luminous green salve.

Riven eyed it suspiciously.

"That looks unpleasant."

"It’s medicine."

"That doesn’t answer my concern."

"Would you prefer to let your hand rot?"

He considered that.

"No."

"Then stop complaining."

A faint smile touched Riven’s lips.

Lyra dipped two fingers into the salve and gently spread it across his palm.

The moment it touched his skin, a sharp hiss filled the chamber.

Grey steam curled from the wound.

Riven’s muscles seized.

Pain shot through his palm and up his forearm, sharp enough to make his vision blur for an instant. His hand jerked instinctively, but Lyra caught his wrist before he could pull away.

"Hold still."

Her voice softened immediately.

"I know it hurts."

Her thumb rested against the uninjured skin of his wrist.

"Just a little longer."

Riven clenched his jaw.

He had endured lashes, infected wounds, and nights in the badlands when the cold seemed determined to strip the flesh from his bones.

He could endure this.

Yet somehow, sitting still while Lyra carefully treated his hand felt strangely unfamiliar.

He watched her work.

Her silver blonde braids had begun to loosen, and a few strands had fallen across her forehead. Her formal clothes were gathering dust against the damp stone floor.

She was the Crown Princess.

A future queen.

She could have summoned a healer. She could have ordered a servant to handle the task. She could have returned upstairs and left the matter to someone else.

Instead, she was kneeling in a forgotten drainage chamber, carefully treating the injured hand of a boy who had spent most of his life with nothing.

"You shouldn’t be down here doing this," Riven murmured.

Lyra didn’t look up.

"Doing what?"

"This."

He glanced at the bandages.

"You have administrative briefs. Tutors to manage. An entire royal household that probably falls apart if you disappear for an hour."

"My administrative briefs can wait."

"And your tutors?"

"They can survive without me."

"Can they?"

"Riven."

He raised his uninjured hand in surrender.

"All right."

Lyra shook her head, though the faintest hint of amusement touched her expression.

Then her gaze fell upon the scars crossing his wrist.

Her fingers slowed.

One long scar ran along the side of his arm, pale against his skin. Another disappeared beneath the edge of his sleeve.

She had seen them before.

She had simply never known how many stories they carried.

"You went through all of that alone," she murmured.

Riven’s gaze drifted toward the opposite wall.

"The mines. The badlands. Everything that happened to you."

Lyra swallowed.

"Whenever you were injured, there was no one to help you, was there?"

Riven considered the question.

"Some times I couldn’t get to a healer."

His voice was matter of fact.

Lyra stopped applying the salve.

For several seconds, she said nothing.

Then she slowly raised her head.

"That is not how you have to live anymore."

Riven met her gaze.

"You aren’t in the badlands anymore."

Her voice was gentle, but there was an unmistakable firmness beneath it.

"And you don’t have to treat every injury by yourself."

She glanced down at his hand.

"Not while I’m here."

Riven studied her face.

He searched for the familiar signs of political calculation. A hidden expectation. Some future favor she might ask in return.

He found none.

Only concern.

Only warmth.

Only Lyra, looking at him as though his pain mattered just as much as anyone else’s.

The knot in his chest loosened.

Not completely.

But enough for him to notice.

He looked away before she could see too much of his expression.

"You’re going to make it difficult for me to maintain my reputation."

Lyra blinked.

"What reputation?"

"Uncooperative. Unapproachable. Generally unpleasant."

A small smile tugged at her lips.

"Don’t worry. You’re still doing an excellent job."

Riven let out a quiet laugh.

It surprised him.

The sound was brief, but it eased something between them.

Lyra smiled too, and for a moment, the chamber felt less oppressive.

She returned to his hand, carefully smoothing the last of the salve over his knuckles before wrapping his palm and fingers in clean white linen.

Her movements were precise and practiced.

She secured the bandage with a neat knot, then checked that it wasn’t too tight.

"There."

She turned his hand gently to inspect her work.

"That should protect the burns while the salve does its job."

Riven looked down at the bandages.

"How long until I can train again?"

Lyra’s smile vanished.

"Absolutely not."

"I was asking about the hand."

"And I answered."

"That wasn’t an answer."

"You are not going back to that spell tonight."

Riven looked at her.

She looked back.

Neither moved.

Finally, he sighed.

"Tomorrow?"

"Riven."

"Fine. I’ll consider it."

"You will rest."

"I’ll consider resting."

She narrowed her eyes.

He almost smiled.

Almost.

Then Lyra’s expression softened again.

She kept hold of his hand for a moment longer than necessary.

"You scared me."

The words were quiet.

Riven’s smile disappeared.

Lyra lowered her gaze to their joined hands.

"When I saw you sitting here, I thought something terrible had happened. I thought..."

She stopped, pressing her lips together.

Riven waited.

He could have made a joke. He could have brushed the matter aside and assured her that he was fine.

Instead, he gently turned his hand so that his fingers rested against hers.

"I’m sorry."

Lyra looked up.

Riven rarely apologized without qualifying it.

"I shouldn’t have pushed myself that far without knowing what the spell would do."

He hesitated.

"And I should have been more careful."

Her expression softened.

"Yes, you should have."

"I’ll be more careful next time."

"That is not quite the same as promising not to do anything reckless."

"I wouldn’t know how to make that promise."

Lyra gave him a tired, disbelieving look.

Then she laughed softly.

The sound eased the last of the tension from her shoulders.

She rose to her feet, brushing the dust from her skirt, but kept her attention on him.

"Get some actual rest tonight. No midnight training. No experimenting with dangerous spells. No sneaking back into this chamber after I leave."

Riven glanced toward the spell tome.

Lyra followed his gaze.

"Riven."

"I didn’t say anything."

"You didn’t have to."

He looked back at her.

"Understood."

She studied him suspiciously.

"Are you agreeing because you mean it or because you want me to leave?"

"Both can be true."

"Unbelievable."

Despite herself, Lyra smiled.

She reached down and squeezed his uninjured shoulder.

"Shadow Orb can wait until tomorrow."

Riven looked at his bandaged hand.

For once, he didn’t argue.

"All right."

The answer seemed to catch Lyra off guard.

Her expression softened into something almost fragile.

"Good."

She collected the empty jar and remaining bandages, then turned toward the door.

Just before leaving, she looked back.

"Riven?"

He raised his head.

"Thank you for telling me."

His chest tightened.

He hadn’t expected her to say that.

He had spent so long treating his past as something shameful, something that would make people see him differently, that he hadn’t considered what it might mean to let someone else carry even a small part of it.

He looked at her for a moment.

Then he nodded.

"Thank you for listening."

Lyra smiled.

This time, she didn’t try to hide how much the words meant to her.

Then she left.

The heavy stone door swung shut behind her, and her footsteps gradually faded up the corridor.

Riven remained seated on the crate.

He looked down at his bandaged hand.

The pain had begun to fade, replaced by a steady warmth spreading beneath the linen.

It was a strange sensation.

Not because the medicine was unfamiliar.

Because someone had taken the time to help him.

Someone had noticed that he was hurt and decided that his pain mattered.

He didn’t know what to do with that feeling.

But he didn’t want it to disappear.

A soft rustle came from above.

Nyx hopped down from the masonry ledge and landed beside him. She shuffled closer, then gently nudged his shoulder with her beak.

Riven glanced at her.

"You’re getting clingy."

Nyx chirped and pressed against him again.

A small smile appeared on his face.

"Yeah. I know."

He raised his uninjured hand and stroked the dark scales beneath her chin.

Nyx closed her violet eyes, making a quiet, contented sound.

Riven leaned back against the stone wall.

For years, he had believed that relying on someone was the same as giving them a weapon to use against him.

He had survived by needing nothing.

Trusting no one.

Expecting nothing.

It had kept him alive.

But sitting there with his hand wrapped in clean linen, Lyra’s words lingering in his mind and Nyx curled against his side, he began to wonder whether survival had been the only thing he had been missing.

Perhaps strength wasn’t just the ability to endure pain.

Perhaps it was also the ability to let someone help when the pain became too much.

Riven closed his eyes.

For the first time in his life, the shadows didn’t feel quite so cold.