Page 19 of A Broken Ember

“Prince Anastasius,” Ercan said firmly, gripping my forearm when I reached my room. I turned to him and folded my arms over my chest, giving him a glower that he didn’t deserve. “Do you need my help?” His question caught me off-guard, and I startled, my brows rising to my hairline. My eyes darted to my room, my heart suddenly jumping with fear at the thought of Ercan learning of his son’s presence. He deserves to know, my logical mind screamed. When I didn’t respond immediately, Ercan's brows furrowed, and he pushed past me. “What is going on?”

“Wait, Ercan!” I protested weakly, but he was already striding into my room. I rushed in after him, desperate to pull him away from the pain I knew he would find, but his eyes were already on his unconscious son. His body went unnaturally still, the only movement being a twitch in his fingers.

“Claeg…” I grasped Ercan’s shoulder. “My son.” His voice faltered as he took a few steps before his knees gave out next to the bed. Rohit gave me a querying look, and I shrugged, sighing. It was too late now. This was bound to happen; it was just unfortunate it had to be this way. “My poor boy.” Ercan took one of Claeg’s wrists, careful to not touch his palms. My friend’s shoulders caved, and a sob wracked through his body. None of the anger I had expected was evident now, perhaps overshadowed by shock. He pressed a tender kiss to Claeg’s fingers. “What happened?” Ercan didn’t bother turning to face me with the question. Still, I grimaced.

“His Circles were broken,” I offered quietly, my heart clenching with pain for my friend.

“I can see that!” Ercan snapped. I wanted to shrivel up and die at that moment. Ercan withdrew from Claeg and stood, turning to face me.

“He hasn’t spoken much about . . . how it happened,” I confessed. To be honest, I hadn’t thought about asking how his Circles were broken. It had never mattered to me. Ercan marched up to me so that his eyes were level with mine. I refused to look into them, though, and hated myself for being a coward. A blind coward. “I found him with Enid.” The admission came out softly, but it still hit my friend like a blow. He flinched as if struck, and his body began to shake. I looked up at him.

“Did he . . .?” Ercan began.

“It was peaceful. Beautiful, really,” I assured him. Ercan sucked in a sharp breath and nodded. His face had gone blank. I knew what he was thinking, though. Claeg had taken his mate from him and now his friend, and I had knowingly appointed him as my Selected. And by my father’s threats, Claeg would be the reason Ercan’s wings were finally taken.

“I need to go,” Ercan whispered, pushing past me.

“Wait, Ercan!” I gripped his forearm, and he stiffened at my touch but didn’t pull away. “I’m sorry,” I murmured.

“Why? Because you weren't there for Enid? Because you Selected my son and didn’t tell me? Or because you got caught?” His voice was level but tired.

“Because I hurt you,” I answered. For a moment there was silence, and then he nodded.

“Do you need my help, Prince Anastasius?” he asked. My eyes dropped to where his ring finger should have been, and I conjured magic with a twist of my fingers to summon a new ring. When I held it out to him, he flinched but took the crystal and pocketed it. Finally, I shook my head. There was nothing more to be done for Claeg. “Then I shall take my leave,” he said, and when he pulled from my grasp, I let him go.

Claeg slept fitfully beside me. It seemed his night terrors didn't recede even with the magic I used to keep him asleep. He often panted or tossed and turned in his slumber. I glanced at him. His forehead was slick with sweat again, his body flushed with blood. My hand warmed despite his shivering.

After placing a towel beneath his head, I began moping a cloth over his brow, allowing the moisture to soak into his hair. Slowly, I released his locks from its weaves. His hair was so long and soft. Despite his sickness, the faint scent of citrus still clung to him. I ran my hand through the waves, admiring the way the silver captured and released the light. Claeg was… beautiful.

Once the hair was fully unbraided, I scrubbed some cleansing lavender into his scalp. I was careful to avoid mixing the soap into the wound on his neck, and after a few minutes of soaking, I rinsed the product out with room temperature water. When his hair was mostly dry, I began weaving it into braids like mine. Over and over I twisted his hair, feeling his forehead every so often. The fever raged in full force, his body burning through energy from the constant shivering.

I wiped sweat from my brow again and again, ignoring the signs that my body needed rest. Rest could wait.

After completing the last section of hair, I summoned some mashed food into Claeg’s stomach with a twist of magic. Just simple foods—bananas, rice, and eggs. My stomach grumbled at the thought of food, but there wasn’t time. I needed to clean Claeg’s wounds and body and change his clothes and bedding. Soon, it would be time for his bladder and bowels to be emptied again. To spare his dignity, I had been using magic to summon the waste out prior to his body expelling it naturally then disposing it into the ether.

“You care for him,” Thyia observed from the doorframe. My head whipped up to see my mentor carrying fresh dressings, tonics, salves, and sheets. I nodded and accepted the offerings. “Do you need my help?” I shook my head. She sighed. “Let me know if you need anything.” Then she returned to her patients.

And I continued to care for Claeg throughout the blur of days and nights.

I sat beside the bed, resting my head in my hands for a moment. My stomach grumbled without the long-forgotten ache. The sensation was unique, the reminder of my body’s hunger without the accompanying desire to eat. When was the last time I had eaten? I wasn’t sure. While Claeg lay suffering, food wasn’t appealing.

A week went by, and Claeg slowly improved. Rohit had been called away on patrols, so it had been my duty to watch over Claeg. Ercan avoided me.

I kept Claeg asleep throughout the grueling process of regenerating his palms and healing his body. Every day I reapplied the salves and used a little magic to feed and wash his body. It was an intimate process, teaching me each of his subtle flaws along with his plentiful perfections. I had memorized the paths of each wound and could picture how they would look once scarred. They told a story of tragedy. Perhaps one day Claeg would see it as his path toward growth. At least, I hoped.

A knock at the door had me jerking my head up. I half expected it to be Ercan, angry and demanding. But the familiar aura of my other friend washed over me—a small comfort. I murmured something unintelligible, my throat parched. The door burst open, Rohit appearing with a platter of food and drinks in his hands. He glanced up at me, taking in my soiled clothes and matted hair, and uttered something foul. “By the gods, Stas! You look wretched.” He shook his head with disapproval. “You need to take care of yourself, Stas. Have you eaten anything? Bathed? Slept?” I shook my head to each of his prompts, and he sighed loudly. “Damnit, Stas!” He placed the tray of fruits, sourdough breads and strong-smelling cheeses before me. “Here, eat!” He thrust an orange into my face, and I blinked at it before slowly grabbing it from his fist and peeling the fruit. He stared me down with livid eyes until I finished the orange. Immediately, he pushed a slice of jellied toast into my hands. I took it and chewed silently. I found it all bland, the smell unappealing, but I knew Rohit wouldn’t be satisfied until I had eaten my fill.

I sat in silence broken only by my consumption of food, Rohit glaring down at me with his arms crossed. Energy hummed in my veins as my body put to use the first meal since the trial. My stomach gurgled, presumably in a contented manor, but I couldn’t be sure.

“Has Ercan been by?” Rohit asked, and I glumly shook my head with a sigh. He gave me a grim smile. “He’ll come around,” he said dully.

“Any news?” I asked, eager to change the subject. Rohit narrowed his eyes and his lips thinned. “Rohit?” I pressed.

“We returned with more Circulus,” Rohit sighed, and my heart fell. Every time a patrol returned with some of the draconis, it was a tragedy. Every captured draconis was another slave. Another soul weighing upon my conscience.

“How many?” I whispered.

“Seven,” Rohit answered, his voice heavy with regret. He hated that he was a part of their collection, but until I was De Vita, he had orders to follow. If he didn’t . . . I shuddered. Those who disobeyed Odon ended up Saved.

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