*Content warning: severe injury, post-trauma and depression.
“Niamh?”
The voice sounded muffled and far away. It said nothing about keys. It made no threats. Was she finally safe from the nightmares?
“Can you hear me, Niamh?”
Niamh struggled until she could force her eyes open. The world was too bright, everything so blurry.
“Easy. Take your time, please.”
Something hung in her line of vision—a woman’s face, not Jeron or Moya, who were the last people she remembered seeing. “What—where—”
“Gently,” the woman soothed. “Don’t move too fast. Let yourself come awake naturally.”
Niamh’s surroundings bled into focus. Sunlight, narrow beds, the lined face of the woman who was talking to her. White sheets. White curtains. No expedition tents, monstrous Mechanae promising to destroy her, or kindhearted sage surrounding her with a blanket of healing.
“You are in Easthaven Hightower Hospital, my dear.” The woman spoke again in her warm, patient voice. “I’m from the Chapel of Light Healers Guild. My name is Sister Hilde.”
“Oh. The attack. I’m hurt, aren’t I?” Niamh’s words felt heavy on her tongue as she struggled to sit up.
“Now, now. Go easy.” The woman pressed against her shoulders gently, though it felt to Niamh as if she pushed against a tidal wave. She closed her eyes and fell back against the pillow.
“You remember what happened, then?” the woman asked.
Awareness of her own body spread over her, like coming out of icy water into warmer air, sensation trickling back in pins and needles. It hadn’t been a bad dream?
“Yes, I do,” she said, voice dull and her eyes still closed.
“Niamh, we did all we could.” The nurse spoke with such gentle seriousness Niamh went cold down to her bones.
She lifted her eyelids and gazed along the length of her body. Crisp white sheets covered her, pulled to her neck. She moved her arms, clenching and releasing her hands, stretching her legs down to her toes. Niamh watched her left big toe twitch weakly under the sheet. The right—
A divot formed under the covers where the rest of her right leg was supposed to be. For a breathless moment, her heart seemed to stop. Her eyes burned with unshed tears, grief welling sharp and raw in her throat, but she forced it down, swallowing against a wave of nausea.
The mission first. Always the mission. You can survive this and do what you came to do.
The Order needed her. Ahra needed her.
“Have some water, now. Slowly.” The nurse moved closer, brandishing a wooden mug.
Niamh drank until she coughed, and the Sister took away her mug. She stared at the flat spot stretching from her knee to the end of the bed. A light pressure on her shoulder filtered into her awareness.
“Your comrades acted quickly to save your life. Captain Hawke has checked on you regularly since you arrived, though we kept you in deep sleep to speed up the healing.”
“How long was I under?” Niamh asked, afraid to hear the answer.
“Two weeks.”
Niamh gazed around her. There were other patients in the room, most sleeping. Sunlight filtered through gauzy curtains, and the air hummed with soft, healing leymagic. She turned again to the nurse and studied the other woman, mind awakening. What had happened after she fell?
“I know this is awful, but things could have been much worse,” Sister Hilde said, as if reading Niamh’s thoughts. “You are lucky to be alive. The one who healed you worked a genuine miracle. The skin has already knitted, and your body is strong and taking the healing better than most ever could. I promise, you were and still are in expert hands.”
“Thank you.” Niamh did not know what else to say.
The nurse motioned to a side table. “Several people sent notes to you. Captain Hawke, Melwin at the Duskcat, from Valiant Moya, one that’s sealed and this—this one was sticking out of your kit pocket. When you want to read them, they will be right here.”
Niamh glanced over at the folded papers, eyes widening. The sealed note bore the same walnut-brown wax that Keleth used.
“May I have a moment alone?”
“Of course. Enjoy your letters, dear.” The woman squeezed Niamh’s hand, fixing her with a careful look. “One more thing. Captain Hawke said he would send word to your family if you wished it.”
Niamh frowned, mind fuzzy. She had to make it seem like nobody from home could reach her. Because they couldn’t. An Ivory Order informant on duty didn’t have the luxury of easy commerce with the outside world.
“My parents are Scouts for my people, and not able to get away from their missions at will. I promise I’ll be fine. If you could inform Captain Hawke of this and tell him I don’t want to leave, not yet.” She forced a smile.
“Of course,” the other woman replied. “Do you need anything else?”
“Tomorrow I’ll need to send replies, but that should be all for now,” Niamh said. “Thank you for everything.”
Sister Hilde drew the gauzy white curtain around the bed, offering a hint of privacy. When she was alone, Niamh picked up the missive sealed in brown, picking away the wax seal with a fingernail. The writing was the same as always. Bold, businesslike strokes in matching walnut ink.
I’m aware of what happened to you and am sorrier than I can say. You’ll not be alone–I promise, we look after our own. Follow the doctor’s orders, and we’ll be in touch in the coming days. I pray the Source’s blessings on you.
Keleth never missed a beat. For a moment, a small wave of relief battled suspicion. She couldn’t help wondering, even now in this sorry state, who Keleth really was. The one thing that was clear is that they were watching, and that they cared what happened to her. She tucked the letter carefully among the others on the nightstand, letting the reassurance soften her anxiety just slightly.
Niamh collapsed back onto the pillow, the moment of comfort giving way to a need for sleep. Even the simple acts of talking and reading a letter had worn her out. Niamh had never known such exhaustion, not even after a pitched battle or days-long march. She closed her eyes, waiting for slumber to envelop her.
I swear my leg is still there, whole and strong. I feel it—an itch on my big toe. But that’s a lie.
Niamh pushed away the fresh wave of grief and willed herself into stillness. Willed herself to fall into dreams of sun on the forest treetops, the wind whispering gentle blessings in pine needles—into dreams where unnatural green lightning and rampaging Mechanae did not exist.
Lizzie Sinclaire 