The Weaver's Source

Chapter 75

I gasped as I woke, trying to inhale desperately, thinking smoke still surrounded me but found only clear and very icy air. I very slowly opened my eyes as I felt gloved fingers gently stroke my cheek. It was dim but bright enough to see Grigore beside me, grim faced and more than usual. His eyes were dark, his brow furrowed and his mouth firmly set, his magic crackling dangerously. He wasn't happy at all.

"Oh, thank gods you've woken up." Milcent said, grabbing my attention as she came to stand beside Grigore. "Do you hurt anywhere?"

"My heard hurt and my lungs burn." I said in a thick voice. It was hard to talk. I found myself coughing rapidly.

"The incense should help that, it'll help clear the smoke from your lungs. You inhaled a lot of the stuff." Milcent said soothingly.

The memory of the fireball and Ana burning right before me flashed in my sight, making me flinch a little. I turned my gaze to Grigore. "Is Ana alive?"

"No." He replied bluntly. "Her body had been blackened and hollowed by the time the fires were put out."

I swallowed thickly. I could've ended up like her. I should've ended up like her. Why was I still alive?

"I need to return to the bar, Grigore." Grigore nodded but his eyes remained on me, his fingers flexing irritably. He hadn't stopped gazing at me since I woke up. "Lyra, let him know if you feel pain anywhere or feel too hot. Your skin has been burned in places so you must keep putting the salve on to keep the skin cool. No fires on either." She warned. "There's food for you there, cold stew and sugared apples. I'll bring you more when you have your strength back."

She left when I smiled and thanked her, closing the door firmly. I said nothing to Grigore, just closed my eyes and inhaled the icy mist in the air, hoping it would do as Milcent said and clean my lungs. They burned as I breathed and my head throbbed but my skin was the worst. I felt the warmth of the burns, the tingling of sensitivity and pain as the blanket rubbed against it.

I flinched when I felt something horribly cold touch my neck. I opened my eyes slightly to see Grigore holding a clay jar that held a strange pale green gel in it.

"It's the salve. You must have it regularly." He said firmly and continued to gently rub it in and ignore my squirms.

"It's cold." I murmured unhappily.

Grigore ignored me, making me huff a little, something I regretted as it set off a coughing fit. Grigore took the chance to get some of the salve on my back when I rolled over, tugging the blanket down to my waist and gently soothing the coughing away. I lay there, staring at the wooden wall, letting him continue to put the horrible stuff on and trying my best not to shiver at the gentle contact.

"Why am I still alive?" I asked softly.

"I came to you. While your magic may not be alarmed by fire, you were. I felt your fear." He muttered darkly behind me. "I managed to get you out but you would be dead if you weren't a Source."

My clenched my hands into fists, gazing at the raw skin. "How?"

"You're a Source who has found her Weaver. Your body will live for a long time but, unlike mine, isn't entirely immortal. You can still die easily if wounded but your body is more resilient from diseases, infections and fire. Your magic will also be trying to fix the damages, not as fast as my own but you'll heal faster than usual."

I blushed with joy and my heart thudded hard at his easy admittance of being my Weaver, until I realised how low Grigore was on magic when I felt his reserves, how they were almost depleted. If he went into that room with those angry fires burning everything, he would've been burned and suffered. He had to have been.