Looking for something

The empty potion bottle cracked against the other empties in the bin. You hurriedly grabbed another, hoping that you'd have enough to last the night. Several soldiers had been ambushed on their scouting mission under cover of night. And almost all of them had come back badly injured, the only reason they had even made it back was because of the high lord's spymaster winnowing.

But you hadn't seen him since he had dropped off the first few soldiers. Your hands worked diligently on the male under you, setting his leg back into place. He groaned softly, but the potion seemed to be working, dulling his pain. The clatter of tables moving and people gasping hardly registered behind you.

"Help him." A gruff male voice barked. When you turned, you gasped with the rest of the healers.

+

The shadowsinger's notoriously blue siphons were gray, dull and lifeless. His hair clung to his neck with blood and sweat, his tanned skin was a shade too pale to be normal. Lord Cassian's face was gaunt, stricken with worry as you stood there stunned. "Fix him - now." He ordered, resting the limp male body on an empty table. You grabbed one of the few potions left.

"It's alright Az, just drink it." Cassian said softly, brushing the hair from the injured male's face. Azriel. The name sent a thrill through you. He was always known as the spy, the shadow. The Angel of Death. Watching his eyes squeeze in pain at the adjustment to drink the potion made your blood run cold though. Seeing the pain there was a different kind of pain for you.

"What happened?" You asked, helping Cassian to pull Azriel's body into a more workable position on his side.

Your hands were alight with healing magic, and stronger than ever. Strange. You didn't mention it to the lord of bloodshed though, how the light seemed to grow brighter on Azriel. How he just felt different while you healed him. "He's dying. His siphons were drained getting all of the soldiers out of there." Cassian explained. Shit. Illyrian's siphons were never meant to be spent beyond repair. If they used the entirety of their magic they could stop in time, but if they asked more of the mother.... It was destined to go badly. And she would claim what rightfully belonged to her.

You tried not to swear. Tried not to shiver in the presence of death hovering so close. Far above you could feel the power of the High lord arriving for his fallen friend.

You swore the ground shook as he landed. His leathers were cut, and he smelled of blood, just as his brothers had. He gave you a nod, and you tried not to flinch as those curling claws grasped your mind gently. "What do you need?" he seemed to ask it habitually. As if he didn't know he wasn't speaking aloud. With him in your mind, you could glimpse at his as well. And you saw what lingered there, constantly. The guilt, the despair... but also the pride, and the love he shared for his family and community. His love for the brothers before him. The terror that lit every one of his nerves on fire watching one of them die in front of him.

"Magic. I can't repair siphons, I can only repair his body." You didn't realize you were shouting it in your mind, until you felt his recoil.

"How much magic?" He said aloud, summoning a glowing potion from the air. You were sure it was worth more than your annual pay, but you had no time to appreciate the delicate bottle before a surge ripped through Azriel's beaten body.

"I have no idea." you replied, letting them both hear the fear in your voice. You pressed a glowing hand to the center of his chest. And could have collapsed to the muddy ground at the struggle that presided in him.

He groaned, and you could feel his heart galloping, straining for the last bits of life it could cling on to. Cassian took your hand, and without a word placed a cold object in it. Rhys stared at him, completely astonished. You opened your palm to see his bright red siphon glowing proudly in your grasp. "Cassian." Rhys breathed, nearly inaudible.