“Not a surprise. The last of the morphine is fully out of your system.” Nylian rested a hand on Fieran’s forehead.
Healing magic sank into Fieran, so familiar that Fieran’s magic only stirred slightly before he tamped it down.
Fieran tried to breathe evenly and not squirm as he waited for Nylian to finish. For some reason, he always got the urge to talk when healers were examining him like this, even though the healer was too deeply concentrating to even pay attention to a conversation.
Finally, Nylian pulled his hand away. “You are healing well, but I will call one of the other healers to perform your next, more thorough healing.”
Nylian started to turn away, but Fieran held a hand out to him. “Wait. Before you go, I have a question. What did you mean yesterday? When you said I was more resilient because of the magic of the ancient kings?”
Turning back to him, Nylian stared down at him a moment, as if formulating his response. His dour expression was more suited to delivering bad news than good. Yet that was Nylian. He always looked like he was about to tell someone they were dying.
Then the elf healer sat in the chair next to Fieran’s bed, still holding Fieran’s gaze. “I healed your dacha after he suffered extensive injuries. And yet he took down an entire fortress while still so grievously wounded. Even another elf would have succumbed.”
“Dacha survived because of his heart bond with my mama. And because of Aunt Melantha’s healing magic.” While Fieran’s parents hadn’t told him all the specifics, he knew that much of the events that had left his dacha with many of his scars.
“Both of those things certainly played key roles in his survival. He was mortally wounded and would have died without the elishina.” Nylian gave a slow nod. “And Queen Melantha’s magic certainly assisted in sustaining him. Yet I would still argue that no other elf would have been able to be so sustained, even with the queen’s powerful healing magic. Your dacha’s extraresilience to survive such torture made saving him through the elishina and healing magic even possible. And then there is you.”
“Me?” Fieran gestured at himself. “I didn’t do anything so story-worthy. I just fell from the sky.”
He’d distracted Pip. He’d raced into battle without thought. And Merrik…
No. Fieran shoved the thoughts aside. He couldn’t think about all of that. Not yet. Not here in a large hospital ward.
“Exactly. You fell from the sky and sustained injuries that should have been fatal.” Nylian studied Fieran, one finger tapping his chin as if taking in a medical experiment. “Even if another elf could have survived that fall, they likely would have gone into shock or died long before rescue could have reached them.”
“Dacha told me to flood myself with my magic. It sustained me, I guess? Kept me alive.” Fieran still wasn’t sure why or how that worked. Nor did he really want to think too deeply about how Dacha discovered such a thing.
Nylian nodded, as if that just confirmed his hypothesis. “Your body endured a level of brutal punishment under which even other elves would perish and yet also took to healing afterwards in such a way that you will suffer no ill effects from the experience. Your dacha is the same way.”
“We were born to be warriors.” Down to their very bones and blood, it seemed. Fieran clenched his fists in the blankets as the weight of it sank into him.
“Yes.” Nylian tipped his head. “Considering the nature of your magic, it is likely necessary for your bodies to have an extra resilience in order to wield such a magic. Otherwise your own magic would destroy you.”
“Maybe.” Fieran rolled the thought over. “Is that what happened to my great-grandfather Ellarin? He died of a disease of the magic.”
“No. He inherited the disease that killed him from his mother. While it affected the magic of the ancient kings, which he inherited from his father’s line, it was not inherent to that magic.” Nylian’s gaze went slightly distant, as if in deep thought. “Although I was born after the late King Ellarin died, I suspect that he would, in fact, prove my point rather than disprove it. He lived a remarkably long time for someone with that disease and took to Taranath’s healing rather well.”
Fieran blew out a breath as he tried to take it all in. He’d charged arrogantly into battle, thinking himself invincible, because of his magic. Ironic to discuss how hard to kill his magic made him while he was lying here in a hospital bed, knowing just how not-invincible he truly was.
Sure, his magic might make him extra resilient. He hadn’t died this time because of it.
But he could still crash. He could still bleed. Still hurt. Still die. All it would take would be the right bullet, the right sword, the right circumstance, and he’d die just as dead as everyone else.
Nor could his magic grant invincibility to those around him. His best friend could still crash. Still lose his leg and possibly his ability to walk if his other leg didn’t heal correctly.
And it could still all be Fieran’s fault.
Before his brain spiraled further, he shut the door on those thoughts and emotions. He couldn’t deal with them right now.
Time to get back to a clinical discussion of his magic.
Fieran turned his gaze back to Nylian. “And you’re sure I have the same resilience you’ve observed in my dacha? I’m not…less resilient because I’m half human?”
“No, I do not believe so.” Nylian shook his head, that frown deepening until his cheeks and brow were both deeply furrowed. “You have the magic of the ancient kings. You have its gift of resilience to the same degree that you have its power.”
If that were the case, then perhaps Fieran was marginally less resilient than Dacha in the same way that his magic was marginally weaker.
And yet…
