Page 41 of Prince of Flowers
He tilted his head at me, eyes like gemstones blinking as I infused him with arcane essence. And in perfect understanding, Old Man threw his head back and howled, as loud and as free as his ancestors. Old Man sang to the stars.
I sprang away, covering my ears. Sylvain did the same. It didn’t help.
Old Man’s howl could penetrate all barriers, shatter glass. The trees around us shuddered as his voice reached the sky, shook the very ground of the Oriel of Earth. My mouth hung open in amazement as the bush babies themselves trembled in terror, unable to hear each other through the sheer power drowning out their panicked chitters.
One of them exploded, spattering the ground in goo and bush baby guts. Then another. Gross. Cool, but gross. The surviving bush babies scrambled, disappearing into the undergrowth, heading for the trees.
“Yeah, that’s right,” I shouted, shaking my fist. “You better run.”
This time I wasn’t afraid of attracting more attention with all the racket. Old Man howled as if he was the size of a dragon, bigger and louder than Fenrir himself. Nothing in the Oriel of Earth would dare come looking.
His voice trailed off at last. I uncovered my poor ears, hearing mostly ringing, but also Old Man’s happy panting, his tongue hanging out of his mouth. He’d sung better than any wolf he’d ever met.
“Good boy,” I said, tickling his scruff, laughing when he pawed at my body, licked my cheek. “The best boy.”
I retrieved my backpack from the tent, offering him the choicest cut of meat from our rations. Old Man pounced on it with delight, growling and gnawing. He could stay as long as he liked. He could finish his meal and wander back through his portal when he was good and ready.
“Locke,” Sylvain groaned. “A little help here?”
Sylvain was leaning against a tree stump. He hissed, pressing at his shoulder. “One of them got me. It burns. Fuck, it burns.”
I rushed to his side with backpack in hand, already searching through it for the healing potion, beyond grateful that we’d saved it. I could help relieve pain and heal an eidolon’s minor injuries with my essence, but actual poison?
“They’re gone now. It’s okay. Where did it sting you?”
He lifted his hand away from his shoulder, a mark like a bruise already forming. I willed my hands to steady as I uncorked Bruna’s potion and brought the phial to his lips. He drank gratefully, then sighed in relief.
“That helps with the pain,” he breathed.
“It should help with the poison, too. Too late to suck out. It gets through your system quickly, but you’re fae, so I don’t know how the effects will differ. Fever, for one thing, and chills. I think you’ll be fine.”
“Just glad I’m alive,” he said, gritting his teeth. “Good work back there. Quick thinking with the wolf. Impressed by your ability to sleep light.”
I laughed, relieved to know he was going to make it through. “It’s more that you sleep like the dead. Come on. I’ll help you back to the tent.”
With a quirk of his finger the leaves adorning his body returned to the trees. I helped him to his feet, supported him with my shoulder as we crawled back into the tent. He panted and grunted with every movement, his skin slick with sweat.
“One bedroll,” he said. “Share it. I’ll conjure something to protect us while we sleep.”
“Anything you want,” I said, leading him onto mine.
Sylvain grunted as he summoned up a cocoon of vines to surround us, an extra layer of defense for the night.
“It’s all I can muster.”
“And it’s all that we need. Thank you for protecting us.”
Sleeping together made sense, if only for the safety of the vines. Only for safety. Nothing else. Not the contact with his body, nor my quiet, calm concern for his well-being. Bush baby poison was rough, but it wasn’t normally fatal. Still: just to be safe.
“Thank you for — well, just, thank you.” He shifted on the bedroll, hugging himself tight, shivering. “I’m cold, Locke.”
“There, there,” I said, wrapping my arms around him, sharing body heat, knowing the cocoon would warm up a little more soon enough. “Bruna’s potion will take care of you. And I’ll keep you warm. You’re okay, Sylvain. Big, strong man.”
“Big,” he mumbled, pressing up against me. “Strong.”
I pushed small doses of my essence through my hands, wanting to save more for the rest of our journey, but hating to see him suffer. Within minutes he’d stopped trembling. Another minute more and he’d dozed off, breathing gently in my arms. As I drifted off, I wondered if the old masters of our art had ever needed to cradle their injured eidolons to sleep.
As I drifted off, I decided I didn’t mind it very much at all.
