Page 59 of Rok's Captive
Her gaze shifts to the small patches of orange, the fire blooms growing from the cracks in the stone.
“Are these plants medicinal?” she asks, miming something with her hands, rubbing them together as if grinding something. “Herbal remedies? Is that how you healed so fast?”
I watch her gestures, tilting my head slightly. Her meaning eludes me, though I can tell she’s asking about something. Her attention keeps darting between me and the fire blooms. She points to her wounds, then to mine, then to the plants. Is she asking if they hurt me? If they’re dangerous?
I move to the nearest fire bloom, a small but healthy specimen growing from a deep crack in the stone. The plant’s thick, fleshy leaves are a deep blue-orange, tapering to sharp points tipped with tiny spines that glow faintly in the dim light of the cave. Its roots reach deep, seeking the hidden water that flows beneath this part of the dust, kept secret from all but those who know where to look.
Carefully, I pluck several of the largest leaves, making sure to leave the roots and the smaller growth intact so the plant can regenerate. The fire blooms are resilient, adapted to survive in the harsh conditions of the dust, but they are not inexhaustible. A hunter must always ensure the continuation of what sustains him.
“Are you going to crush that?” Jus-teen asks, making a grinding motion with her hands again. “Like you did with the other plant before?”
I understand her meaning, but that is not what fire blooms are for. At least, not immediately.
Instead, I pop one of the leaves into my mouth and begin to chew, feeling the familiar, bitter juice coat my tongue. The taste is harsh, astringent, but the healing properties are worth the discomfort.
Jus-teen stares at me, her eyes widening again as I take another leaf and do the same. The juice of the fire bloom will speed my healing from within, will cleanse the shadowmaw venom from my blood, and will restore the strength I lost in the battle.
When I’ve chewed several leaves, I offer one to her, extending my hand toward her mouth. She hesitates, her gaze darting between the leaf and my face, uncertainty clear in her expression.
“You want me to eat that?” she asks, pointing to the leaf and then to her mouth. “Is it safe for humans? I mean…for me? Will it make me sick?” She looks at the leaf again. “Fuck, how are you even supposed to know that?”
I continue to hold the leaf out to her, waiting patiently. I cannot explain in vocalizations she would understand, but the fire bloom will help her as well, will renew her, will provide some of the moisture her kind seems to need so desperately.
She reaches toward it cautiously, then pulls her hand back with a small sound when one of the tiny spines pricks her fingertip. A bead of red appears—so different from my own blood—and she puts the finger to her mouth.
I freeze, suddenly aware of my oversight. Her skin is so much softer than mine, more vulnerable to the fire bloom’s defenses. How could I have missed something so obvious? The thought of causing her pain, even accidentally, sends an uncomfortable ripple through my chest.
Quickly, I withdraw the leaf and use my claws to carefully strip away the spines from its edges, working meticulously until it’s completely safe for her. Only then do I offer it again, holding it flat on my palm to show her it won’t harm her now.
She studies my actions, a strange look in her eyes. Finally, she takes the leaf, her fingers brushing against mine in a touch that sends an unexpected jolt through my skin. She examines it for a moment, turning it over in her hands, before cautiously placing it in her mouth. She does a single chew.
“Ugh. That isawful.” She glares at me as if I’ve personally offended her. “Are you sure this won’t kill me?”
I do not need mindspeak to know she is pouting at the leaf.
I huff a soft breath, amusement curling in my chest. She is strange. So very strange.
And yet, I do not think I could let her go.
I do not think I want to.
To my surprise, she puts the leaf in her mouth again. I watch her reaction, my eyes traveling over her face as she begins to chew. The juice from the plant turns her mouth a deep, rich brown, almost red—a concerning color against her pale skin, but one I know is temporary. She chews slowly, her brow furrowed, before swallowing with a slight grimace.
“That’s…bitter,” she says, making a face. “But not terrible. Kind of like really strong, unsweetened tea. Is it medicine? Food? Both?”
I tilt my head. She does not seem irritated by it. The fire bloom is sustenance in times of need, medicine for the wounded, a source of moisture when water cannot be found. It is one of the dust’s few gifts, one of the treasures known only to the Drakav and a few other dust-dwelling creatures.
With the remaining leaves, I begin to prepare poultices for my wounds. I crush them between my palms, releasing more of the bitter juice, then press the resulting paste directly onto the deepest gashes—the one across my ribs, another on my upper arm, and several smaller but still significant wounds on my legs and torso.
The paste stings on contact, a burning sensation that quickly gives way to numbness as the fire bloom’s properties begin to work. The bleeding, already slowed by my body’s natural healing, stops completely. Soon, the edges of the wounds will draw together, the skin knitting itself closed with the fire blooms’ help.
I continue methodically treating each wound, even the minor scrapes and scratches, not wanting to waste any of the healing properties of the precious plant. There are a few injuries in other places as well—a nasty gash on my inner thigh, dangerously close to more vulnerable areas, where one of the shadowmaws managed to rake me with its claw before I tore its head from its body.
As I tend to this particular wound, I become aware of Jus-teen’s gaze, fixed on a point between my legs. When her eyes lift to meet mine, her face suddenly blooms with color, a deep, rich red spreading across her cheeks and down her neck.
For a moment, I’m alarmed. Is it the fire starting beneath her skin again? That cursed burning that nearly consumed her before? I drop the remains of the fire bloom and lunge toward her, pressing her back into the cool sand of the cave floor, my face close to hers as I inhale deeply, trying to detect the scent of this dust-cursed sickness.
She sputters in surprise, her hands coming up to push against my chest, but her efforts are weak, uncoordinated.
