Page 138 of Soul Forge

Vel’s chest heaved, his sharpened teeth bared at the mess of corpses.

“Vel?” He turned at the sound of Elda’s voice. “Thank you for helping us.”

“I helpedme,” he replied, and then he was gone.

Sypher blinked and shook his head, staring around at the carnage. “Well, that was hard.” He bent and braced his hands against his knees for a second, then straightened up to inspect his damaged wings. “Are you alright?”

“We are. I don’t think Vel is, though. He looked at me like he wanted to stab me.”

“He’s jealous,” Sypher shrugged, watching the corpses begin to turn to ash all around them. “He’ll never admit it though.”

“Jealous of what?”

“Me. Because I told you how I felt, and you accepted me.” He limped over and took her hands in his. “Are you all really unharmed?”

“We’re fine,” Elda insisted. “You took the brunt of it.”

“My ankle is alright; it’s just a sprain. My wings do hurt, though.” He released her fingers to pat Nox on the nose. “Do you think you have the strength to carry me with Elda?” She nuzzled his cheek and turned to let him into the saddle. He hoisted himself up and offered Elda a hand, settling her on his lap so the single saddle wouldn't hurt her. Reiner drew alongside them, looking at the wound in his shoulder.

“Cynthia stabbed you,” she said, frowning. “With Lazarus.”

“Another scar for the collection then,” he shrugged, wincing when it pulled the wound.

“Rushing off like that was stupid,” she admonished.

“I thought if I followed Abraxos, I’d find Arden, but they must have him secured somewhere to be able to leave him where he is and try to take more of the wielders.” He tapped Nox’s sides, encouraging her into a gentle trot.

“So, a city then?” Elda asked

“No.” He shook his head, brow furrowing. “A city would draw too much attention. Everyone knows what Cynthia and Abraxos look like. They’re hated across Valerus.” He scowled, remaining silent when Nox broke into a gallop and took them back into the air. Atlas rose alongside them, the wind whipping his white mane and sending Reiner’s many braids swaying.

“At least the Corrupted went in the opposite direction to Saeryn,” Elda tried brightly. “We were waylaid for enough time that they could’ve done considerable damage to Gira’s villa and harmed anyone in it had they chosen to go that way.”

“Cynthia was still recovering from her last beating, and Abraxos is a crappy fighter who isalsonow recovering from a beating. I doubt they’ll try any more night-time kidnappings now we know they planned to take Lillian.” He scowled. “Beyond that, however, we know absolutelynothing.”

“Hold still,” Sypher muttered, brow furrowed as he tried to heal Lillian. She sat at Gira’s kitchen table, scowling at the ceiling while the Soul Forge worked. The others had come to check that everyone was alright and had been sent away by Lillian’s temper. Reiner had tried to stay and stand guard, but Elda had encouraged her to go rest, too.

She could see Sypher was finding it hard to be in contact with the fae through the slight tremor in his fingers. She didn’t make it any easier with her constant fidgeting, and everyone watching him work on her would have made it even harder.

“I said holdstill,” he snapped.

“Iamholding still!” Lillian retorted, glaring at him.

“Do you want me to heal you, or would you prefer to suffer? Because I’m more than happy to let you suffer.” She glowered at him but stopped fidgeting. When the split in her eyebrow and her various bruises reflected back on Sypher, he sat back and let out his breath. Lillian got to her feet and stormed off without a word. “You’re welcome,” Sypher muttered.

“You look like you’re hurting,” Elda commented, laying a hand on his uninjured shoulder. He hadn’t taken the time to heal from the fight with the Corrupted before fixing Lillian, and the wound left by Lazarus still slowly leaked blood.

“I am. Cynthia’s poisoned blade takes a bit of effort to recover from.” He looked back at his charred wing feathers, wincing when it pulled a large, purple bruise on the back of his neck. “I spend more time healing than I do fighting these days.”

“A bath might help. Come on.” She took his arm and looped it through hers, keeping pace with him while he limped back to his room.

“You know, I think I might have a broken ankle after all,” he mused when she helped him sit on the edge of his mattress. She placed her palm on the switch stone set into the floor around the edge of the bath, watching the rune light up at her touch. Water rushed into the basin from inlets that appeared at its bottom.

“If I had any of my salve left, I’d let you have it,” she told him.

He smiled. “I’ll manage without. I’m a big boy.” His armour disintegrated, revealing his torso littered with blossoming bruises, his shoulder sporting a ragged hole where Lazarus pierced it.

“Wow, Lillian took a beating,” Elda remarked.

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