Kinked (Elder Races, #6)(65)

Her broken wings spilled over onto the floor.

There was a silence, where the only sound was her shallow panting. Quentin stroked the back of her head.

Caerreth whispered, “She needs a hospital.”

“Well, she’s not getting one,” Quentin snarled. He sounded savage. “So pull up your big-boy pants and fix her.”

“I need light for this.”

The younger Elf barely got half the words out of his mouth before a small ball of light snapped into existence. Aryal managed to look over one shoulder. The light hovered just beside her head, and the magic from it felt like Quentin’s Power signature. She coughed out a thready laugh.

“Okay,” said Caerreth. He sounded a little scared. “Thanks.”

Then the Elf set to work, and Aryal sagged from relief as the first cool wave of magic washed over her, blocking the pain. He worked deftly on the various wounds all over her body but hesitated when he reached her wings.

“Um, Aryal,” he said softly. “I can set the broken bones and help them to fuse, but I can’t repair this crushed joint, and if I throw a general healing spell on your wings, it’s going to heal wrong. You won’t be able to bend or flex it.”

Razor teeth fastening … crushed. Torn.

She shook all over. Yeah, you’ve killed me, bitch.

She couldn’t bear to look at her wings again and rested her cheek on the cold floor as she whispered, “Do it.”

Then Quentin appeared in her line of sight. His face was upside down. She blinked rapidly, trying to clear her sight.

He had lain down on the floor too, on his stomach, his head turned toward her. His bare wide shoulders looked especially naked against the flagstone floor. He was dirty and haggard, the lines of his face set, but his gaze was the bluest she had ever seen.

Blue like the sky, steady and clear and filled with infinity.

“You should be on watch,” she whispered.

“Aralorn’s on the lookout,” he said. His voice was as steady as his eyes. “And I have fast reflexes. Besides, if the shadow wolves were here, they would have shown up by now. I think they’re with the witch.”

Caerreth muttered instructions to Linwe, who braced her at the shoulders, and she felt strong tugging on her wings as Caerreth set the bones.

Aryal’s face worked, and she clawed at the floor. She wanted to strike at the Elves, to knock them away from what they were doing to her.

Quentin grabbed her hand, gripping it hard. “We already knew you were going to have to have surgery,” he said. “This isn’t news.”

“Leave me alone,” she hissed.

“Like you left me alone these last two years?” His expression was relentless, and his grip tightened to the point of pain. “Like you left me when the wolves attacked? I don’t think so, sunshine.”

Caerreth threw the healing spell. She felt it sink into her, fusing torn flesh and broken bones together. Fusing the joint. Halfway through, she twisted her fingers around and clenched Quentin’s hand.

Dead, dead …

She realized she was whispering it. “… dead. Bitch, you are so dead.”

“That’s right,” Quentin said, his voice pitched low. “We’re going to take her down. She’s a dead woman. She could have asked for whatever the f*ck it is that she’s looking for. She could have borrowed it. She didn’t have to lock them up. She didn’t have to do this to you. She made choices.”

The healing spell faded. Caerreth was done, at least with her. “All right, Quentin,” Caerreth said. He sounded shaky. “Now it’s your turn.”

Somehow Aryal pulled out another shapeshift. It helped that her wounds had been closed. They still hurt, along with her wings, but she could tell that the healing had taken root, dispelling whatever had caused the wounds to remain open in the first place.

She forced herself up onto her hands and knees. Linwe ran forward, putting an arm around her to help her get to her feet. Aryal looked down at the ground. Quentin had rolled onto his back and sat up. Caerreth was already working on him.

Aryal looked up at Aralorn, then at Linwe. She could barely stand upright, and the Elves weren’t looking any better. And Caerreth was doing all that healing while he was just as depleted as the others.

She said in a rusty-sounding voice, “We all need food, water and real rest. There’s got to be plenty of food supplies in the palace kitchens. And the safest place to rest is down in the prison cells.”

Quentin lifted his head. Aralorn turned to look at her.

She twitched a shoulder. “Think about it. Bitch tries to come into the cell block, the wolves can’t join her and she can’t use magic. I only hope that happens, because that means we’ve got her. And I really need to get her.”

“Aryal’s right,” Quentin said. “The most dangerous thing will be hunting for the palace kitchens to get food and water. I’ll do that.”

Linwe said, “I’ll go with you.”

“You sure?” Quentin asked. He rolled to his feet as Caerreth finished with him.

Linwe said, “I’m the only one who wasn’t injured. And I can run fast.”

“Okay.”

They watched as Caerreth worked on healing the wounds that Aralorn had. By that point the healer wasn’t looking good. When he finished, Caerreth said, “I’m tapped.”