Greer tucks a crisp white sheet around Kyron's chest and sits in the chair next to his infirmary bed. She squeezes his lifeless fingers with her good hand and rests her chin on the edge of the mattress. Pink stains the bandage covering the burn on her arm from elbow to armpit and the black thread of stitches run from her cheekbone to jaw. The nurses tried to talk her into resting in her own room, but like Ulric, Terro, and me, she refused to leave our general's side.
We sit in silence, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of Kyron's bare chest. As I kneeled over him on the battlefield, I thought I had killed him. I almost did. He'd laid lifeless, his lips blue and eyes hooded. Ulric had shoved me out of the way and pounded his fist over his friend's heart, screaming at him to breathe. The moment Kyron sucked in a breath, so did I.
And that is why I chose a wooden chair in the far corner of the sterile, white room. I feel unworthy to sit at Kyron's side and fearful of my reaction to his power. I watch his every move, scared that the damage I did is permanent and at any moment he won't take his next breath.
Greer places her palm to his chest, and I meet her brown eyes. She gives me a weak smile, and my bottom lip trembles when she mouths the words thank you.
What do I say, you're welcome and I'm sorry I almost killed Kyron?
It's right and wrong and really fucked up.
I siphoned his powers in a matter of minutes and almost left him for dead. It's only a matter of time before I crave more of the Statera's gift, and I take from another. How can I stay here? How can I rule Lucent when I'm a Stigian by all definitions? And how the hell did I instinctually know how to siphon?
Kyron grunts and lifts from the mattress, and everyone jumps to their feet.
"It's okay. Relax. You're in excellent hands," Terro says, guiding Kyron's shoulder back to the bed.
"Did—"
"We're all here. Casualties were few and the injured are being cared for," Greer explains.
The worry for his soldier visibly lifts from Kyron. His body goes slack, and the fear written on his face subsides. With a gravelly voice, he says, "Did you see what happened? I knew she..."
Greer widens her eyes and darts them in my direction, and Kyron follows her gaze. He looks me over, and I drop my gaze to stare at my boots. When he reaches my arms, I tuck them behind me, hiding the long-jagged scratches from the bush. The last thing I need to do is give him a reason to fret over me.
"I'll come back in a bit," I say, heading for the doorway. I don't deserve to be here with the people who care for his well-being, the ones who would never harm him. And if I'm being honest, I can't handle seeing the disgust on his battered face when he remembers what happened.
"No." I stop mid-step and Kyron continues, "Will everyone give us a moment?"
As each of his officers passes, they spare me a glance. Their pity for me and my stupidity written on their faces.
Ulric gently pats me on my tender arm. "Relax, nanny goat. All will work out for the best."
I pray his words are true, but when I'm left alone, standing at the foot of his bed, I can't bring myself to look at Kyron. It is impossible to see how he can forgive my actions. I took something which wasn't mine to take and almost killed a man.
"Come sit, please." Kyron points to the chair Greer sat in.
I hesitate, staring at the tattoo on his bicep—the Lucent moon and sun housed inside a Stigian shield. Two conflicting kingdoms who have only known peace when they are one. The ink is the symbol of what many hopes is my future reign. It's another thing my recklessness has screwed up.
Shaking my head, I ease into the seat next to the bed.
We take a moment to look each other over. I examine the cut over his eye and the dark purple bruise in the center of his chest. Kyron takes in the scratches on my cheeks and along my arms. I shift under his gaze. He studies every inch of me as if I'm under a looking-glass, and it feels more intimate than a touch.
I cross my legs and wrap my arms around my stomach. "I'm so sorry, Kyron."
"Don't. You did what had to be done. Did you know you could do that?"
I vehemently shake my head. "No! I've heard rumors about siphoning, but I've never tried it, or seen it done."
Kyron hooks a finger under my chin. I jerk at his touch, terrified his power will ignite the cravings, but it greets me with a warm hello as it brushes over my skin. He holds firm to my chin and traces his finger under my lip, raising my gaze to his.
"Sun rays shining through sea glass," he says.
"What?"
"Don't be afraid; you didn't siphon my gift. Your eyes are still the color of sun rays shining through sea glass."
"Please don't read my emotions right now; I'm a complete mess."
"So am I," he whispers.
He doesn't understand the turmoil I'm in, how difficult it is to sit next to him. I push at his gift, but it lingers on my skin with every brush of his fingertips. He needs to know what he is doing is dangerous. At any moment I could lose control again. And this time, there is no one here to save him.
"I took your power and now I crave to feel it again," I confess.
He releases my face and balls the sheet at his hip in a fist. I immediately miss his touch, but finally, he gets it.
"I don't think siphoning is that simple," he says, his voice gentle as if he is speaking to a frightened animal. "If it were, there would be no stopping people from doing it and therefore no reason for them to abandon Lucent for Stigian. Many suspect Esmeray possesses some conduit."
Every word coming out of his mouth sounds so definite...so sensible. I wish I could give in and be satisfied with his explanation, but it has only left me with more questions. I can't leave this alone until I have all the answers.
"Then how do you explain the way your gift calls to me?" I ask.
"You mean the way your gift calls mine; the way you call to everyone's."
"I don't understand. What is the difference?"
Kyron licks his lips and looks up at the ceiling. "What you did was controllable; the cravings are not. It's a piercing pain, a burn, and an all-consuming need. Fighting it is impossible."
"So then do you still..."
"Fighting it is almost impossible."
Kyron smiles, but I see the pain hidden behind the playful guise, and I feel it in the way the energy trembles between us. Its comforting warmth is replaced with a empty cold so frigid it burns.
He continues, saying, "The withdrawals are so painful, that to this day, I still feel them wreaking havoc on my body."
"How old were you?" The question leaves my lips on a whisper.
"Six or seven. I don't remember anything before the withdrawal. My first memories are of pain and a recurring nightmare."
My chest tightly constricts, and sorrow sweeps through me. "You were just a boy; where was your family?"
"Here. This is my family."
I can't imagine being so young and without my mother and father. They were the ones who chased away my nightmares and held me until my fears subsided. All the best parts of me come from them. If I didn't have my family, I would be lost. But not all family is by blood, some are by choice.
I understand why Kyron considers this his home. In a matter of weeks, this new family had welcomed me. They have taught me and wanted to see me succeed. I've learned about a whole new side of myself because of them. I like the person they've helped mold me into.
"The pain I felt from detoxing from the power is something I never want to feel again. I'll do whatever it takes to tear the Stigian kingdom apart to save others from it." The conviction found in the firm tone of his words and his black eyes is astounding. He will do it; Kyron will stop at nothing to overthrow the Stigian—another thing we have in common.
This man who I thought was my enemy has become my strongest ally in the matter of weeks. I won't take for granted what I know he is capable of. Together, we can finish what I set out to do and then some.
"I'll help you. Whatever it takes, I will stand by your side and take down the Stigian," I say.
The corner of his lips ticks up, and he chuckles. "I've inspired you with my story."
"You know the reason I want to fight beside you."
Kyron sits up, and I reach out to press him back, but stop when the sheet falls to his lap. I curl my fingers and bring them to my chest. Scars of all shapes and sizes pepper his chest, and a tattoo of ancient symbols runs down the side of his torso. With the sheen of sweat on his body under the sun's rays, I didn't notice the imperfections when he was chopping would. Now I see all of him so clearly.
He looms over me, the epitome of the general I met the first day in his office, and says, "Do I know your reasons for being here?"
"Yes." I mean for the word to sound sure, but I hesitate and it is more of a timid question.
Kyron glares at me, folds his arms, and leans against the wall at the head of his bed. "I don't think I do. I've given you my truth; I think it's time you tell me yours, Raelle Mansi."