Chapter Nine: Elda…

“Sorry,” Sypher murmured quietly, bending carefully to dab a cloth against Brady’s head injury while they waited for a Healer to arrive. “If I still had magic I could heal this up in under a minute.”

“I’ve had worse,” Brady grinned, flashing a bright smile. She had her wild curls pulled back in a hasty ponytail, the longer bits at the front crusted with blood. Sypher was still bleeding from his shoulder, the wing hanging limply behind him. “You should be worrying about your own injuries.”

“Worrying about yours stops me focussing on mine,” he answered with a tight smile. His fingers held the wound closed, resting gently above her dark brows to pinch the skin together. “Your Shifter healing will take care of it soon enough, but you need a Healer for the scar.”

Eden’s Healers were nothing like the power Sypher had possessed when his magic was his to use, but their blends of herbs and poultices infused with their own power worked wonders on cuts and bruises. Broken bones, however, were another matter.

Elda chewed her lip, worrying at the skin as she watched blood seep down Sypher’s back. His feathers were mussed and matted around the wound, a sickening white flash of bone appearing periodically among the red and black. She watched his jaw flex with each stab of agony, but he kept his discomfort silent.

“Your wing looks painful,” Brady remarked. “Seriously, it’s hanging off.”

“I know,” he replied.

“It’s bleeding.”

“Yes it is.”

“Doesn’t it hurt?”

The Soul Forge blew out a breath and smiled, his eyes tightening around the edges. “Immensely.”

“You should be sat on a hospital bed yourself,” Elda admonished, taking his arm and urging him to straighten up. “Every time you raise your arm it bleeds more. You can’t just let yourself bleed now.”

“Fine,” he sighed. “Julian?”

“Yep?” the Vampire pushed away from the wall to approach him.

“Hold Brady’s head wound. It should close up in a minute or two.”

“Gross,” he muttered, but he came forwards and took Sypher’s place in front of her.

“Are you serious?” Brady squinted, eyeing him with disbelief. “You’re a Vampire.”

“And?”

“You think blood is gross? That’s nuts. You have to know how crazy it is.”

“I don’t find blood gross,” Julian chuckled as Elda helped Sypher onto a bed dressed in white linen. The way he moved told her more than just his wing was broken, and he was keeping it to himself.

“Oh, so it’s me you find disgusting?” the bear Shifter demanded.

“No,” Julian snorted. “It’s torn flesh. Muscle. Bone. All the things I don’t have to look at on a daily basis.”

“Honey, this is a scratch. Torn flesh is that,” Brady balked, jerking her thumb at Sypher’s wing. “No offence,” she added sheepishly.

The Soul Forge arched an eyebrow. “None taken.”

“Right, let me have a look at you all,” a gravelly voice grumbled, and an old Healer shuffled into the room. A white robe hung from his bent, thin frame but a pair of grey eyes brimming with intelligence sparkled above a thick, silver beard.

“Fennix!” Elda gasped, leaping up to hug the old man. He chuckled and embraced her in his wiry arms.

“Elda, darling! How good to see you!” He peered around her, glaring at his newest patient. “You, however, I am disappointed to see.” Sypher cocked his head curiously. “Don’t give me that. I’ve seen what you do, dragging the Keepers off to face danger! This girl is sweet - the best of us, in fact.”

“Fennix,” Elda mumbled.

The old Healer didn’t seem to hear her. “Just because she’s a future Queen doesn’t mean she can be dragged into madness on a whim and a fancy!”

“Fennix,” she tried again.

“You’d better be keeping her safe or I swear, demon, I’ll-”

“FENNIX!” The old man stopped and blinked at Elda, startled by her yell. “I love him,” she said simply. “Even if I were no longer Keeper, I’d follow him anywhere, through anything.”

“Oh,” the Healer deflated. “Well, alright then,” he nodded. His whole demeanour changed and he flashed her a warm smile. “For you, my dear, I would heal the moon and stars.”

“How about a pair of Angel wings instead?”

“I will try my best.” His grey eyes turned on Brady. “But first I must attend to you, young lady, before you’re left with a permanent scar on that pretty face.”

“I like you,” the Shifter beamed, turning her gaze on Julian. “See? That’s how you talk to a lady. You don’t call them gross.”

“I didn’t call you gross,” the Vampire answered, rolling his eyes.

Elda watched them bicker while Fennix worked, taking a seat in the chair beside a very quiet, very pale Soul Forge. As the minutes ticked by, her nerves wound tighter and tighter. By the time the Healer reached him, her leg bounced erratically. Despite his pain, Sypher reached out and laid a hand on her knee to stop it.

“Be still,” he said softly. His touch calmed the nerves zipping up and down her spine. “Talk to me.”

“What about?”

“Anything but my wings,” he replied, his words becoming a groan that slipped through gritted teeth as Fennix lifted the damaged limb.

“Well, that’s certainly ruined,” the Healer remarked. “Do you have any healing abilities of your own?”

“Not since I died,” Sypher grunted, squeezing his eyes shut against the fingers probing the ragged wound.

“You died?” Fennix gasped, fascinated.

“One too many times, apparently.” Sypher ran a hand through his hair and Elda saw his fingers tremble. “Is it fixable?”

“Barely. You won’t be flying on this for a while, if ever again.” The Healer lifted the wing higher and Sypher’s face drained of colour, his breaths coming in quick pants. “Astounding. I had no idea the wings of an Angel were so sensitive.”

“I think I might be sick,” he mumbled.

“Save it for the next part.”

“The next part?” Elda asked warily.

“Yep.” And then Fennix grabbed Sypher’s wing and wrenched it, the audible pop and crack making Elda’s stomach lurch. The Soul Forge yelled and sagged forwards, only staying upright because she caught him. His forehead touched her shoulder, his body becoming a heavy weight against her.

“Is he dead?” Brady asked, wide-eyed.

“No,” a warm voice chuckled from the doorway. Bennigan sauntered into the room with a slight limp, his long, waving brown hair loose around his shoulders. Gira and Clover followed him in. “But you might want to be more careful with him. If my translations of the Angelic books I’ve gathered are correct, his wings are a vital part of him. Too much damage to them will kill him, likewise he can bleed out through them.”

“Bennigan, hello,” Elda greeted, peering up at the towering giant smiling down at her.

“Nice to see you again, Princess. I take it this is the husband?”

“Yes, and the Angel you gave me the book for.” She shifted to try and settle Sypher’s weight more comfortably, struggling with him while still sat in her chair. Bennigan and Gira reached to help her, lifting him to lay him on his front.

“That looks really nasty,” the book keeper remarked, frowning at the torn flesh.

“It is, but the bone will set properly now and the dislocated joint is no longer dislocated,” Fennix replied. “You’re welcome.”

“You couldn’t have given him a sedative?” Clover asked, wrinkling his nose. “We heard his cry from out in the hall.”

“I do not sedate people for dislocated bones,” Fennix answered.

“That’s more than dislocated,” Gira frowned.

“Are any of you injured?” The three of them shook their heads. “Good. Get out.” Elda blinked at the old man’s bluntness.

“I’ll find you once he’s been treated,” she promised, pleading with her eyes for them to leave before Fennix got any angrier. The man was a treasure, but he was cantankerous and unpredictable at times. The last thing she needed was him getting worked up enough to stop treating Sypher.

The group nodded, Brady and Julian slipping out with them. When the room was empty, the Healer finally relaxed.

“You seem upset,” Elda remarked.

“I am upset. My favourite royal has been thrust into danger and a bunch of strangers are doubting my medical expertise,” Fennix growled, sorting through a small cabinet filled with various vials and tinctures.

“You did just knock out the Soul Forge,” she pointed out. “Violently.”

“I didn’t realise his wings were sensitive enough to shock his brain into unconsciousness,” the old Healer replied, his voice muffled by the cupboard he rooted through. “Until your visit to the Weeping Mountain, Angels were extinct. I’ve never had the chance to treat one.”

“Can you just be more gentle with him?” Elda pleaded quietly. “He’s important to me.”

He popped out of the cupboard and his face softened. “Of course, dear. Sorry. My bedside manner has deteriorated with age.”

She watched the Healer settle himself beside Sypher and get to work, cutting through his ruined tunic, then using various tinctures and creams before carefully suturing the wound. When he was finished, he bound the wing in bandages so it was bent closed at the joint, then Elda helped him lift Sypher and fasten bandages around his torso to hold the wing still and close to his body.

“There,” Fennix sighed. “He won’t be able to sleep on his back for a while, and the bandages will need removing regularly to clean the wound, but it has as good a chance as any at a full recovery. Are you confident you can recreate the bindings after each cleaning?”

“I am, thank you Fennix.” She got up and folded the older man into a hug. “I really appreciate your help.”

“Of course you do,” he chuckled, patting her back. “You appreciate the smallest things from anyone who is kind to you, my dear. Now I’ll be back to check on him in a little while. He should wake soon. When he does, no sudden movements, and make him drink this.” He pointed to a vial of transparent purple liquid. “He’ll need a few doses a day to speed up his recovery. He should stay on bed rest for a few days if you can convince him.”

“I’ll give it my best shot,” Elda promised. The old man left the room, so she settled into the chair at the side of the bed and waited.

“Ouch,” Sypher groaned eventually.

“Don’t move.”

“Wouldn’t if I could.” He sounded groggy, his eyes heavy lidded. Fennix had left him laid on his stomach with his face turned towards her. “That old man should get a job in a torture chamber.” She realised then that Vel was the one speaking to her.

“That old man just fixed you,” she answered archly. “Thank you for downplaying the severity of your injuries, by the way. You could have died.”

“I doubt it. How long am I stuck here for?”

“He said bed rest for a few days.”

“Does it have to be this bed?”

“Not if you can get up and walk to a different one,” Elda shrugged. “As long as it’s a bed, I don’t think Fennix will care.” She reached for the purple vial. “You also have to drink this.”

“What is it?”

“No idea, but he said it would help you heal.”

“Can you help me sit up, varro?” She sat forwards and took his arm, letting him lean on her so he could turn over and sit up without hurting himself. He took the vial from her and swallowed its contents in one gulp. “Let’s go.”

“Go? Now?”

“Now’s as good a time as any,” Vel answered, shrugging the shoulder that wasn’t injured.

“You have no shirt on.”

“And how exactly would I put one on over this?” he asked, jerking his thumb at the bandages.

“Good point.” She stood with him and followed him out of the door, watching the maids and other palace occupants stare at his tattooed, scarred torso as he passed. “You’re going to give one of the maids a heart attack like that.”

“At least they’ll die happy,” he grinned, flashing his double fangs. His face was pale, the smile strained, and the journey through the palace halls was achingly slow. “Ember will be pleased that my wings are out of commission for a while.”

“She does hate it when you choose to fly somewhere without her.”

“Expecting an Angel not to use their wings is like asking a fish not to swim.”

“Good thing you’re not a full Angel then.”

“Silver linings,” he chuckled.

“Does it hurt?”

“Like a red hot poker to the spine. I’m probably going to be in a rotten mood for a few days. Best to keep your parents away from me.”

“I’ll bear that in mind,” she promised. She held the door to their suite open for him when they eventually reached it, shutting it behind her with a soft click.