Chapter 127: Hope for Squirt

There is a slim chance I may be able to heal the scars on your wings. I want to offer to try.

For an exceedingly long, stretched out silence, Squirt did not react, her face like stone, trying to quash the most dangerous emotion in the world.

Hope.

She fought it. She fought it with everything she had. Her whole being ached with a want she had made peace with years ago. It was a struggle to keep her features still, to reason with the cursed emotion by reminding herself that even if true, Jezalin had admitted the chance was slim at best.

It didn’t work.

Still, she forced herself to reason out the problem. To think around. To search for the trap this surely was. And yet, she couldn’t. Her mind was blank. Plans and strategies silenced. To regain the meager amount of magic that was what she lost, or, even more unlikely, to fly again, either option was more than she had ever dreamed of.

Tiny paws on her legs had her looking down, automatically scooping up Pakos into her arms. Pakos turned, his paws pressing onto her shoulder as he held her as best as he could, his nose tucked under her ear, his twin tails curled around the arms holding him up. Providing her comfort as she stood there, staring at a beautiful, exceedingly powerful fey who had just offered her the one thing she wanted most.

He provided her comfort in silence. No sass.

A little sass, he said.

And just like that, Squirt shot him a dark look.

You’re welcome, mother dearest.

Ignoring the hound, Squirt mentally searched for the magic Jezalin had cast, focusing on it to say back, What do you mean, exactly?

I have a medical fascination with scars, though as I’ve already stated, it extends beyond the medical. Scars on mana lines are rare, but I have healed them before. Theoretically, it might be possible to adapt a similar treatment to pixie wings.

Flatly, Squirt thought, Theoretically?

Pixie wing injuries are exceedingly rare, far more so than other forms of mana line scarring.

Why did she look excited?

Well, Squirt knew why. For what price?

Should you wish, I am happy to provide any bargain you desire.

Any bargain?

Any.

She couldn’t be serious. A hundred free healing potions a year for the next hundred years.

Jezalin didn’t even flinch. Done.

Five hundred.

Squirt could see Jezalin running the mental calculations for such a ridiculous amount. That would occupy months of time, possibly all of the healing potions Jezalin could make in a year—

Done.

Done?

Done.

And you get… nothing?

Jezalin looked mildly offended. I get a once in a lifetime chance to study something no one else has studied, and you call that nothing? A moment passed before she added, It also helps that the subject matter is so particularly dashing.

The second statement, while perhaps true, was so clearly an afterthought that Squirt had zero doubt in her mind the woman was far more interested in the clinical study.

It didn’t stop the awkward, flustered blush at the compliment.

Dashing. Not cute or adorable, nor the less believable beautiful. Just dashing.

Flattered though she was, Squirt still shot the woman a flat glare. You would give me that many potions a year in exchange for what, exactly?

Jezalin blinked. I would pledge it.

Squirt could feel the impending breakdown of her grip on reality closing in on her. A pledge required nothing in return. A one-way bargain.

That was just all kinds of stupid. There would be nothing Squirt needed to do. The woman was offering the pledge without any stipulation that Squirt actually follow through, let alone a timeframe or frequency. Jezalin would be forced to pay up regardless.

Oh gods.

She was serious.

Squirt swallowed, the pain from yesterday echoing through her once more. The fear was enough for her throat to go dry. No stipulations for yourself?

It would be unwise. My job is unpredictable and takes me all over the country. Yours is almost as unpredictable as mine—

It used to be predictable.

—and thus, neither of us can commit to time or even frequency.

That… was a good point, yes, but…

It was still weird to be treated like an equal.

Squirt huffed. Then fidgeted, shifting from foot to foot, stroking Pakos’s silky fur. Have you healed them before? Wings, I mean.

Only once, and the wounds were fresh then. Jezalin thought for a moment. But I did just deal with an unprecedented level of mana sickness, which, in theory, is not unlike pixie wing scars.

Squirt wouldn’t know. She could see the obvious yet vague correlation, but medicine was not a subject she knew much about. I’ll take your word for it.

Jezalin’s expression twitched somewhat, as if remembering something particularly unpleasant, before her smile returned. I have it on good authority that any time that I come by to visit, the library will be open, and his lordship will endeavor to relieve you of whatever duties. You’ll be able to read while I attempt treatment.

Squirt gave the woman a hard stare, realizing the twitch was Jezalin having thought about his lordship.

Jezalin was surprisingly petty.

That shouldn’t have been attractive.

Now, the guaranteed reading time… And if I tell you no? If you come all this way, and I say no treatment, turn around and read, ignoring you the whole time?

Do I get to stay and read, too?

… yes?

Then I’m happy with that.

Even though I’d be ignoring you?

Her words were laced with palpable bitterness. As long as I get to ignore the world for a few hours, you can ignore me as much as you want.

Squirt took a minute to dissect that answer. For a healer, you really don’t like people.

Guilty as charged.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

Jezalin had mentioned it before, but now it was a recurring theme in their interactions, not a one off complaint of a particularly stressful few days. Why be a healer, then?

Jezalin shrugged. Wounds, injuries, scars, healing, all of that is fascinating to me.

Wounds are fascinating?

I confess I may have snuck into the Capital Coliseum infirmary frequently as a child just to ogle the injuries of competitors.

Yeah, that tracked. In the Capital especially, children were often allowed into places they shouldn’t be. Part of the fey belief of children being holy meant children were allowed to witness much more than adults were. Something about the Whims leading talented children to where they were meant to be or some other religious bullshit. Even those that weren’t particularly religious still observed that practice, especially for children from powerful families.

Silence fell between the pair, Squirt dropping her eyes to the ground once more, holding onto the fluffy Pakos, the blazing hot pain of yesterday echoing like a constant dull throb, never far from her thoughts.

He nuzzled her comfortingly in response.

Swallowing, Squirt hedged, There may be a problem.

Though Jezalin didn’t respond, her eyes sharpened, a clinical glint in them as she flipped into healer mode.

Grimacing, Squirt eventually continued. I tried to catch myself yesterday. Pakos ran out of magic and shrunk. I… tried to catch us.

Jezalin nodded once before shifting to hold out one hand, reaching for Squirt’s forehead. May I?

Squirt nodded.

Jezalin’s hand was comfortably cool against Squirt’s skin, the pressure gentle. Jezalin closed her eyes, murmuring a scan spell under her breath. Her magic touched Squirt, warm and almost a touch playful as it slid from the top of her head all the way down to the bottoms of her feet.

Pulling her hand back from Squirt’s forehead, Jezalin nodded once. Yes. I can see. It’s dislocated.

How the fuck did a magic construct of mana lines dislocate—Can you fix it?

I can. It’ll hurt.

Like a dislocated elbow? Popping it back into place?

Yes.

Squirt nodded, no small amount of relief causing her shoulders to relax. Okay.

You are prepared, then?

I’ve had limbs popped back into place before. She’d even had to do it to herself.

Jezalin’s lips quirked up in a sultry grin. Badass warrior, indeed.

Squirt raised a brow. While she had had limbs dislocated in the last twenty years, the first time was when she was only fifteen.

Not all children were sacred.

She knew better than to risk telling the fallen that bit, though. What do I do?

Jezalin sat up a little, glancing around the space. Do you want a book to read? The fix will be brief, after which point I can start the process.

What’s the process?

Step one is an evaluation. It will likely take a couple of hours. In order to fix anything, I need to fully map out every single scar.

Squirt nodded, a lump in her throat of nerves and just a dash of fear.

This would be an exercise in trust as much as it was a session of healing.

Pakos nuzzled her affectionately. If she hurts you, I’ll chomp her head off.

Don’t you dare.

Too bad. I was looking forward to a light meal.

Rolling her eyes at the hound’s pun, she deposited him on the couch next to Jezalin before trotting off into the stacks to pick a book.

Pakos sat regally, his tails wrapping around the front of his paws, his gaze narrowed and severe on Jezalin.

She gave him a pleasant smile in return. “I don’t suppose you can cast a sound barrier?

Pakos shook out his fur.

“I suppose I should have figured that. I am no good with such wards.” The huntress trotting back caught her eye, and Jezalin smiled at her. “Would you like silence cast, huntress?”

The huntress slowed to a stop, considering the question, her eyes sharp and wary once more. Then she let out a huff. “Zhadin, can you cast—”

Zhadin didn’t even appear. The shadows simply coalesced into a thin bubble around the two women, hound, and couch, all sounds disappearing immediately.

Squirt clocked the impressed tilt to Jezalin’s eyebrows as she trotted forward, a precious book held in her arms that she gently sat on the couch before hopping up next to Jezalin. Wrestling any fears into submission, Squirt turned, crossing her legs on the couch cushion with the book laid out before her, her back to the fallen healer. Glancing once over her shoulder, she asked, “This good?”

Jezalin nodded. “Perfect.”

Pakos added, Almost, before padding his way into Squirt’s lap, turning twice to find the optimal position of comfort. When he settled, he glanced up at her. My fur is available for petting should you need.

Squirt shot back, Your fur is always available for petting.

I have the fluff, mother dearest. Who else should I use it for if not you?

Squirt absentmindedly pet his head, using the bond to know exactly how he liked it best, bracing herself. One deep breath in.

On the breath out, she called upon her wings.

The pain was instant, all-consuming, making Squirt break out into a cold sweat of nigh panic. It was only by leaning on the bond with Pakos that she managed to stave off a meltdown, leaning further towards the hound and focusing on her breathing.

Jezalin’s fingers gently touched the wing, the spot sensitive enough for a whimper of pain to almost escape Squirt’s control. Instead, Squirt’s lips curled in a silent snarl, demanding she hold firm—

With a pop, the pain escalated in a burst, Squirt’s breath hitching and her world swimming.

Then it was over, leaving nothing behind but a dull, throbbing ache, the wrongness of the pain replaced with the soreness of use.

Squirt’s head dropped forward, her chin touching the leathers on her chest, an unconscious shiver breaking out across her body of fear, pain, adrenaline, and relief all at once.

“Better?” asked Jezalin.

Squirt’s voice was raspy and hoarse when she answered, “Better.”

Jezalin hummed in answer. “I will be starting my healing trance then and start mapping out the full extent of the damage.”

Squirt nodded. She heard Jezalin take in a few long, deep breaths before the warmth of her magic took hold once more. The touch of her fingers was delicate, soft, and steady on Squirt’s wings, but still enough for Squirt to squirm ever-so-slightly as she got used to it. There was a pulse to the magic, one lulling Squirt into further relaxation, one she wasn’t sure the fallen intended. In fact, she was certain of it.

Giving Pakos another few absentminded pets, she leaned forward, pulling the book towards her a little, before opening it and beginning to read.

Lord Valof raised a brow at the slight tremble in the gate guard’s knees. “I am here to see Athereon.”

The guard swallowed. “My lord, as I have stated before, no one of that—”

“No one of that name resides in the castle, yes, yes. So it is you have said.” His eyes scanned the gathering crowd as he waited for admittance into Everwinter Keep proper. “Then your lord will have no issue with my staying the night.”

The guard wilted.

Behind him, the crowd parted to the side as a tall, veiled woman that smelled of ice and winter stepped forward, her bright blue eyes the only visible part of her face, narrowed and judgmental on Lord Valof.

Lord Valof crossed his arms, raising a brow at her. Only to then blink, leaning his bulk around and making several fey standing too closely scatter. “Is this she?”

Behind the veiled woman stood a pixie woman with green hair. She wasn’t as short as his daughter had said the huntress was, but her hair and clothes were correct.

The veiled woman took a calculated step between them, fury causing icy winds to kick up her flowing robes, one hand threateningly on her blade. “State your business, Lord Valof.”

The lord vaguely recognized her from the courts. Possibly. He hadn’t involved himself there in a very long time.

Instead, Lord Valof addressed the young woman tucked just behind the veiled woman’s legs. “Might you be the huntress my daughter has spoken of?”

The woman bowed, her tone bland and laced with formalities. “I know not of which you speak, my lord.”

“What do they call you?”

“Berry, my lord.”

Lord Valof sighed, standing straight and scratching his head. He sensed no lie from the woman, and that name did not match the one his daughter, Ala’ole, had given him.

The veiled woman stepped between them, one hand on her blade, her stance oddly protective for a lady over a servant. “State your business.”

“I already have. The huntress Athereon had promised to speak with me, and yet, a week after her party has returned, and she has yet to return to the hunter’s clearing and her home there.”

“I have heard of no such promise.”

“Indeed. It was made to my daughter, Huntress Ala’ole.”

The lady paused, her gaze no less suspicious, but a perplexed furrow to her barely visible brows. “Who?”

“Huntress Ala’ole.” He held out a hand, summoning water and creating a replica of his daughter.

The veiled woman’s eyes sparked in recognition, the hand on her sword loosening. “Oh.”

“Oh?”

“What business does the Valof family have with a huntress?”

“My daughter has offered our name. I have come to assess this Athereon and, should she prove as impressive as my daughter claims, to formally offer our Family to her.”

A murmur rang through the stunned crowd.

“Excuse me, pardon me, coming through—”

Lord Valof glanced behind him at the young fire fata hunter named Jul as he pushed his way through the crowd. Even more had gathered to watch the spectacle than before, and Lord Valof noted at least three redcaps sizing him up amongst them.

Jul finally broke out into the inner ring, his eyes flashing to the veiled woman. Lord Valof almost chuckled, recognizing that lovestruck glance he briefly gave her.

Ah. So this was the woman he wanted to pursue.

Jul bowed to her appropriately. “Lady Cirn.”

She stiffened, not responding verbally.

Jul turned back to the lord, craning his neck to stare up at the goliath. “Important matters have come up, my lord, so the huntress you seek is out right now, on orders of his lordship.”

Lord Valof tried to remember who had taken the mantle of lordship. He cared little for politics and only learned about the recent coup a few months after it happened.

Right, right, the Regalis First Prince.

Searching his memories, Lord Valof tried to remember if he had any boons or debts he could call on to supersede the lord’s orders, but his mind came up blank.

Jul cast a glance around before saying, “Here, my lord, how about I take you for a drink at the tavern, and then we return to the clearing? Lady Cirn will let the lord know the situation. He can send us a messenger when the huntress returns.”

Lord Valof went to answer when the ground began to shake underfoot, a spilling out of magic underground that had fey scrambling for safety. Though the crowd didn’t panic, they were clearly unnerved by the phenomenon.

Lord Valof, meanwhile, was fascinated. He couldn’t sense the land or walls expanding out like he might have expected, no new buildings formed in the town, but he recognized the expansion magic as he had performed it himself in his own domain.

Turning back to the veiled woman, he stated over the din of the small quake, “Let the lord know that if I must overwinter in Everwinter to await my chance, I will.”

Turning, the ground rumbling under his feet and dispersing the ground, he followed the exasperated fata back down the hill, determined as ever to see the woman his daughter spoke so highly of.

This was a game of patience, and he intended to win.