Page 47 of Destroyer

Ru remembered almost none of the nightmarish ride to the Tower. She drifted always in and out of pain, in and out of wakefulness, but blood was always on her mind. Fen kept one arm wrapped tightly around her as they rode, a reminder that she was alive and protected. His body heat, his breath on her neck… he was the only thing that felt real to her.

She knew that night fell after a time, and even then they continued riding. They stopped long enough for Lyr to share his dinner, and for the horses to drink, all of them eating swiftly. Wordlessly.

And then they were off again.

Every once in a while, in fits and spurts, Ru returned to consciousness, her half-awake gaze taking in beautiful vistas that seemed like dreams. For a time, they passed through the depths of a dark forest, the smell of moss and damp wood filling her senses. And once, she woke and saw that they weren’t far from the Tower — grand rock formations blanketed in lichen rose up around them as they rode, the early morning sun painted the rocks in that angled light.

No… the sun was setting, Ru realized. How long had they been riding? Had she missed the sunrise?

Fen spoke to her sometimes, but the words ran together in her head, and half the time she was certain it was a dream.

The next time Ru was jolted out of the fog of pain, they were coming to a stop in a flagged courtyard. Fruit trees whispered kindly in a bright afternoon breeze. There were voices, the sound of hurried footsteps.

Ru’s entire being, from nerves to flesh to soul, relaxed as if she had sunk into a hot bath. They had finally arrived at the Cornelian Tower. Finally home.

“What have you done to her?” said a shrill voice, cutting through the morning air.

Ru knew Professor Obralle’s voice immediately. As Fen helped her gently to the ground, she tried to turn, to see the Tower and the professors. But her stiff legs and broken rib wouldn’t allow it. She stumbled, hand reaching for something, anything to steady her before she fell. Fen’s arm was there, firm and familiar.

With his help, she turned to face the Tower at last. The great building rose up before them, shining gold in the light, and Ru breathed easy for the first time in what felt like ages.

Professors Obralle and Cadwick, plus a small contingent of academics, stopped short at the sight of the three travelers. Lyr and Fen were still catching their breath from the hard ride, and their horses were faring much worse.

“I asked you a question,” snapped Obralle, her pink hair styled to resemble a cluster of mushrooms on the top of her head. “Delara, what have these criminals done to you?”

“Ready the dungeons,” Cadwick ordered one of the academics. “One of our own has been treated ill.”

“I’m perfectly fine,” Ru said in a croak. She knew she must look gruesome, covered in dust and blood, and probably bruised where the guard had struck her across the face. “Lyr and Fen didn't do this to me. They’re…” she doubled over, wincing in agony.

“Gods alive,” said Obralle in a hushed voice. She darted forward and took Ru in her arms, steering her toward the Tower. “Delara, dear child. Come inside. Cadwick, tend to her boys!”

Ru, delirious with pain and lack of sleep, began to laugh at “her boys,” until a stab of pain stopped her.

“I think I need a doctor,” she choked out.

“You need a great many things,” said Obralle. “I will be the judge of what, and in which order.”

“Thank you,” said Ru. “There’s so much I need to tell you, Professor. All of you.”

Obralle nodded and made encouraging sounds as they walked. “Not to worry. There’s been a pigeon from the palace, an explanation from the regent. But what Idon’tunderstand is why you look like an unearthed cadaver, and why you’ve arrived a day ahead of schedule. No one said anything about grave injuries to one of our academics.”

They passed through the courtyard slowly, the sound of Cadwick’s no-nonsense chatter, Fen's deep voice, and Lyr's random interjections fading as they went. After what felt like an age of Ru stumbling and clinging to Professor Obralle to stay upright, they finally came to the Tower itself. Ru took the entrance stairs as slowly as possible, with Obralle helping her, steadying her.

Contrary to its name, the Cornelian Tower was not a single tower jutting up from the landscape. It was closer in style and size to a castle or an oversized abbey. It was an ancient structure, built nearly a thousand years ago. It had centuries ago fallen to ruin, rebuilt by an order of monks who sought a remote place to seek scholarship and enlightenment. Now it was run by the professors, part university and part research center, and it was vast and drafty and often too cold.

For Ru, it was home.

The moment they passed into the cool shade of the front hall, despite her pain, her entire being, from skin to bone to soul, relaxed.

“There we are,” said Professor Obralle, noting Ru’s relief. “Welcome home.”

Ru’s room was in the dormitory wing, where the academics slept. Most first- and second-years had to share rooms between two people, but Ru was in her fourth year at the Tower and had earned her own private space.

When they arrived at Ru's familiar dark wood door, its curving brass handle inviting Ru in, Obralle took out a rattling set of keys and unlocked it. Steering Ru inside with gentle firmness, the professor helped her to sit, settling her into a settee near the fireplace. The small but cozy room, including Ru's furniture, had collected a fine layer of dust in her extended absence in the field, but in her current state, she couldn't have cared less.

She closed her eyes and let the sounds of the Tower lull her to a light doze: Obralle bustling around the room; muffled birdsong drifting in the single window from the courtyard below; laughter in the hall; a heavy door slamming in the distance.

“There,” said Obralle, and Ru opened her eyes. The professor had made a pot of tea and even produced a tin of biscuits, which she explained she always carried in her pocket “for emergencies.”

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