Shadow Wings (The Darkest Drae Book 2)(44)
I pulled Tyrrik’s arm up and scooted to the edge of the bed, gently placing his arm back at his side. He mumbled again, his forehead creasing into a furrow that smoothed as soon as I tentatively reached out and touched it.
Yeah. This was next level stuff. The guy stopped frowning when I touched him. Don’t panic; it’s probably nothing. A cold sweat broke out on my forehead. Whatever this was would have to wait.
I went to the washroom and allowed myself a muffled squeal of delight when I saw the large tub filled with water. Nearby was a smaller basin of water, and by that sat a pile of unbleached folded material. I shook out the top piece to find a baggy forest-green tunic made of soft wool. The garment wasn't nearly as nice as the silvery threads the Phaetyn wore, but it was clean.
I stripped out of my torn and bloody clothing, a little disturbed I’d slept in all that essence of Tyrrik, and slipped into the tub.
Once dressed, I rifled through my drawstring bag back in the bedroom and found the water skin. It was completely flat, and when I opened the cork, not a drop of nectar remained.
I returned to the restroom and emptied part of the basin of crystal clear water into the flagon, and then I stuck my index finger into the fluid. My thoughts turned to Tyrrik again, to how I wanted him whole. I wanted him healed so I could pester him with questions about the Phaetyn, and why Queen Alani knew about the emperor’s experiments, and how the heck we could get out of here without escalating the tension. Mostly, I wanted Tyrrik healed so he wasn’t vulnerable. I wouldn’t be able to stay with him all the time, and I didn’t trust the Phaetyn when things here were so volatile. Tyrrik was always so decisive, and he knew more about the Phaetyn than Dyter and I combined.
With each thought regarding Tyrrik’s healing came a deeper understanding; while I might still question Tyrrik’s motives for many things, clearly I relied on him in some ways.
I returned to the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed where the Drae still slept. My insides churned, despite his smooth expression and even breathing. He appeared almost peaceful right now. His face was unlined with the tension it normally carried. Gone was the haunted look in his eyes, the self-deprecating smile, and his occasional furrow of worry. His chest rose and fell with even breaths. The pallor of his skin had waned during the night. Was that because I’d slept next to him?
I debated leaving him to continue sleeping, but the previous empty water skin in my hand was enough of a reminder that he’d had nothing of sustenance since our arrival at the heart of Zivost. I rested my hand on his chest, shaking him gently at first, and then not so gently when that didn’t work.
He caught my hand with his, but as soon as he opened his eyes, his fierce expression melted into a look of drowsy peace.
“You need some nectar,” I said in a voice still rough from sleep.
He rose to his elbows and allowed me to tip the flagon to his lips. He drank and drank and drank, and as he continued to guzzle, my eyes widened, even though I accommodated his thirst by tipping the water skin up.
Once he'd drained the contents, he reclined and muttered, “Thank you.”
His gratitude clenched my heart, and I cleared my throat, pushing back the emotions lodged there. With a nonchalant shrug, I said, “No problem.”
Apparently gratitude from others wasn't so easy to take either. Belatedly, I realized I was still touching his chest, and I blushed as a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips.
“How long have we been here?”
“A day,” I said. “And one night.”
“A whole day and night?” He frowned.
“Yes, is that not normal?”
He blinked, his eyelids heavy. “Never been this injured. Unsure.”
I nodded. “Tyrrik, the Phaetyn have . . . problems.” I thought of how I could sum up what I had learned thus far, but before I could say anything else, Tyrrik squeezed my hand.
“Be careful, Khosana,” he whispered. “Remember what you learned in Irdelron’s castle. Everyone has an agenda.”
His words slapped me, and I pulled my hand back. “Okay.”
The grip of his hand loosened as sleep claimed him.
I returned to the washroom and filled the water skin again. After making nectar and leaving it next to Lord Tyrrik, I took note of my weary body and decided finding sustenance would be wise.
I exited the room, meeting the hardened gazes of the two soldiers in the hall with a glare of my own. “Listen, I don't really care what Kamoi said to you. I don't care if his threats are meaningful to you or not. I’m telling you, if anything happens to the man in there, you will wish Kamoi had gotten to you first. Because you, and everyone you ever thought you might have the possibility of caring about, will be destroyed. I’m Drae, and I will chew on your family and spit them out.”
The two Phaetyn blanched, and the one on the right swallowed repeatedly, his Adam's apple bobbing in his neck.
"Are we clear?" I asked.
Both guards nodded, but that wasn't enough. I didn’t want them to simply humor me; they needed to know to cross me on this was a life and death decision. My heightened emotions, worry over Tyrrik’s state as well as the obvious hostility we’d walked into, allowed my Drae to peek out. My eyes shifted Drae, and scales climbed up my neck and down my exposed arms. In a voice more Drae than human, I growled, “Are we clear?”