“You can let me down,” I say. “My legs are fine.”
“You’re freezing. I’m not letting you go, sweetness.”
My heart warms, easing some of the cold that seems baked into my bones since that paralyzing moment in the ruins.
I try to hold my hand in a way that hurts less. “I’m an idiot.”
“No, it’s my fault. You were only trying to help my dumb arse.”
“It’s normal for you to be curious about your kind. I would be.”
Delixian opens the door, his blue face drawn with fatigue. “Please, come in.”
He gestures to the long table he uses for his healing work, and Cyrus sets me on the wooden surface. I am sitting up, holding my hand like it’s on fire because that’s exactly how it feels. Delixian’s gaze goes up and down as he takes stock of my injuries. He nods, more to himself, I think, then he goes toanother table along the wall. Pixie wings fluttering slightly, he grabs dried herbs from the clusters hanging from hooks above his head and then grinds them into a pestle.
“Tell me what happened,” he says, his voice curt but not unkind. Businesslike.
“I fell off a bridge into a ditch. I think I broke my thumb, maybe? I’m not sure.” I realize now that I have scratches and cuts all over my arms and even on my neck and cheeks. Some are bleeding freely.
Cyrus meets my eyes, and I know he is wondering if we should admit to going to the ruins. It will make him and everyone else who finds out very nervous because of the curse.
“Which bridge?” Delixian fills a teapot with water from his pump sink and places it on the wood-burning stove in the corner. He bends to stir the coals and to add a bunch of small pieces of wood.
Pain is making it hard to breathe.
Cyrus’s hand covers my uninjured one. He sends heat into my skin, an ability he has as a dragon shifter. It feels so nice that if I weren’t dealing with cuts and broken parts, I’d probably lean right into it and sigh.
“She is hurting pretty badly, Del. Can I help you hurry up whatever concoction you’ve got going there?”
The healer glances at Cyrus, and his eyes tighten like he’s suspicious of something. “Go to the green cabinet over there. Get out a roll of gauze, that brown glass bottle, and two of the flat, wooden sticks.”
Cyrus pats my leg gently and gives me a pained look, like my injury is hurting him too. He follows Delixian’s orders. The teapot whistles. The blue pixie pours steaming water over the herbs he ground. He transfers the stuff to a small cup and brings it to me. It smells like the forest and mushrooms.
“Drink up. It will make you drowsy, but you can stay here for the last part of the night. All right?”
Cyrus deposits Delixian’s requested items onto the table beside us. “I’ll stick around and keep an eye on her,” Cyrus says.
The healer nods and uses a small knife from his belt to cut the gauze. “Good. Then I can go back to sleep. You were at the ruins, weren’t you?”
I swallow. “Why do you say that?”
Cyrus’s mouth lifts at one side like he’s amused at my inability to be sneaky in any way, shape, or form. He fetches a clean square of cloth and wets it at the sink. He returns to my side and starts cleaning my cuts with easy, gentle movements. I give him a smile and mouththanks.
“Because I saw a ghost around the ruins once. Only a flash of light, but I know what I saw, and you are suffering the effects of seeing a ghost that wasn’t planning on a run-in with a living soul.”
“She followed me,” Cyrus says, finally giving Delixian his answer. “I’m the idiot here.”
“You both are,” the healer says, shocking me. “In more than one way.”
Cyrus’s lip curls, showing his sharp, dragon teeth. “That’s a bit harsh for someone dealing with a broken hand, don’t you think, healer?” His tone is biting and his eyes are bright.
The pixie shrugs and flaps his wings, making Cyrus back up. “I’m not a seer or an advisor, so you’ll have to figure all this out yourselves tonight.”
What did he mean exactly?
The herbs must be taking effect because I can no longer focus on anyone’s face, and I feel like I’m floating a few inches off the table. But despite the concoction’s fuzzy relief, the next few moments are not pleasant. Cyrus is nearly snarling as Delixian splints my thumb.
I must drift off because I realize I’m on the two-person-wide chair in Delixian’s sitting area now. The large cushions envelope me, and an incredibly soft, white blanket covers me from my bootless feet to my chin. My thumb is still throbbing, but it’s not nearly as bad as it was. I blink up at Cyrus, who is sitting in a straight-backed chair he’s pulled up beside me. His wings stretch wide, creating a cocoon effect and blocking out the first of the morning’s light. The dawn turns his green wings into a golden sage color as the light tries to pass through. The large claws on the tips of each wing look massive for some reason. I rub my eyes with my good hand, then look again.
