Thread of Ash and Fire

Ch. 44: Comfort Scones

Anna woke to sunlight.

Dust motes swirled in the air, settling on the wardrobe and desk. The bedroom smelled of woodsmoke. She rose, wincing as her shoulder gave a painful throb. She had a vague recollection of burning — her flesh melting off, her arm pulsating with the heat of a thousand suns — and the sound of Sophie's voice, but she could recall nothing beyond that. Everything was darkness.

"Careful," a voice said. "You're still healing."

Ryne was mixing something by the sideboard; his back was to her, but she could hear the clatter of a spoon striking tin. Anna poked experimentally at her bandaged arm, and the wound gave a painful throb.

Bugger.

Not good, then.

"What's the damage?" Anna asked.

Ryne passed her a tin cup. "You'll live."

Her lips quirked. "Bet you're disappointed."

Ryne didn't smile. "Sophie says that the wound is quite deep. She's stitched it up, but you'll need to apply healing draughts twice a day."

Anna lowered the cup. "Sophie's here?"

"I went and got her myself," Ryne said.

Anna stared. "Why?"

Ryne's eyes were dark emeralds, hard and glittering. "Oh, I wanted her opinion on a new painting I'd bought. She has such an eye for modern neoclassicism." He crossed his arms. "Why do you think? Don't bother sniffing," he added, as Anna raised the cup to her nose. "I haven't poisoned it."

"Well," Anna muttered, "you would say that." She took a sip. The taste of burning tar filled her mouth, and she gagged. "Burning stars. Are you sure this isn't about to kill me? Because it tastes like it is."

Ryne surveyed her. She lowered the cup.

"What?" Anna asked.

Ryne arched an eyebrow. "What?"

"You're looking at me strangely." She resisted the urge to tug the blankets higher. "My arm's not about to fall off or something, is it?"

Ryne's mouth kicked up. "That would be news to me."

Anna took another sip, wrinkling her nose. Not better. Possibly worse. "Lucia certainly knows how to make an entrance, doesn't she? I thought she was going to burst into flames at one point. Really put on a show."

Ryne settled on the edge of the bed. "We're kind of fucked, aren't we?"

Anna leaned back. "Considering that the sword didn't work? Yeah. I'd say that's the long and short of it." She drained the contents of the cup. Her mouth tasted of eggs and acid. "I'm sorry about Isaac."

Ryne shrugged. "It's fine."

It wasn't. She could tell it wasn't. Ryne was lounging on the bed, his dark hair falling into his eyes. But that was typical, Anna thought; he always looked the most relaxed when he was very, very tense.

She set down the cup. "You're still looking at me strangely."

Ryne exhaled. He seemed to have an internal debate, and then he turned, facing her completely. "I'm going to say something, and I need you not to make a joke."

Anna hugged a pillow to her chest. "Depends on what you say."

"And don't run," Ryne added.

"I doubt I'd make it very far," Anna said dryly.

Ryne looked at the window. "When you were in that hospital bed..." The sunlight caught at the edge of his eyes, turning them burnished gold. "I've never felt fear like that before. I really thought you were going to die."