Page 190 of Wings of Ash & Flame
When the last of his shirt fell away, her breath hitched. Tattoos she’d only glimpsed before stretched across his shoulders. Faint scars etched pale paths over his chest, stark against his overheated skin. Stories she didn’t know but yearned to hear. If there was a tomorrow, she’d ask. She’d say everything they’d left unspoken.
Focus. Now wasn’t the time for her mind to wander.
Alaire’s fingers hovered above his chest before she forced herself to move. She pressed the fabric gently to his skin, wiping away the sweat clinging to him.
“You’re burning up,” she whispered.
He didn’t respond, only released a shuddering breath.
Her eyes swept the cave, then returned to him. Words lodged in her throat. She couldn’t lose him, couldn’t face what lay ahead without him.
Dawson’s gaze found hers.
“Alaire,” he murmured, his low, rough voice snapping her back to reality.
She blotted the gashes left by the yeti’s claws. He sat still, though his clenched fists, the tight tick of his jaw, and the thin press of his lips betrayed his pain. When her fingers brushed his skin, Dawson drew in a sharp breath.
“Sorry—I didn’t mean to.”
“It’s okay,” he rasped, voice hoarse.
Alaire set to work at a determined pace, winding bandages around his shoulder. She roused him a few times, coaxing his arm over her shoulder so she could wrap the cloth across his back and over the long, deep gashes carved across his chest. At least she managed it without removing the buttoned layers that still offered him some warmth.
These marks would scar. She only hoped he would see them as another story of his valor in battle.
“All done,” she murmured once the bandages were secure and clean.
His only response was the steady rise and fall of his breathing. In the quiet, she allowed herself a few unguarded moments. The hard lines of his face seemed softer now, an almost boyish vulnerability replacing the fierce intensity she was so used to. Tousled strands of hair had fallen across his forehead. She resisted the absurd urge to brush them back.
Dawson shifted, murmuring something unintelligible. She leaned closer.
“Father…”
She began to step away, letting him rest—until she heard it. “Alaire.” His voice was faint, but threaded with such tenderness it made her heart ache.
She stilled, rooted in place, watching his lips shape her name as if longing for her even in dreams. An electric pulse thrummed through her body. She wanted to reach out, to touch him—but she didn’t dare disturb the fragile peace he’d found in sleep.
Alaire stepped back instead, busying herself with tasks that didn’t need doing. Hours dragged, winds gusted through the cave, and despite Solflara’s warmth, the cold seeped in. Still, her eyes found their way back to Dawson’s slumbering form again and again.
“Can you please just sit down?” Solflara’s voice was still thick with sleep as her amber eyes followed Alaire’s restless movements around the cave.
“I tried.I can’t seem to settle.”
“Because you’re worried about the prince,” she said plainly.
“Obviously.He’s injured.”
“Try healing him again.”
“I already tried,and it didn’t work.”
“The blood in your veins proves otherwise,” Solflara pressed through the bond. “Your aether answered your emotions the first time.” Then, softer: “Find what’s holding you back,Alaire.Let it go.”
Alaire avoided her eyes. She crossed her arms tight, fingers dragging up and down her sleeves as if to ward off the cold—or the weight pressing on her, the one always there.
She couldn’t look at Solflara. If she did, she’d have to admit that facing everything she’d been avoiding might shatter her completely, leaving nothing but pieces she couldn’t put back together.
Her lips parted, but no words came. She dropped her arms to her sides, defeated. Her aether hadn’t answered her all year. Why would it start now?
