36 - Fractals of Light

  Eventually, Luka dropped his glare. His eye flicked away from Edain then back again, testing. When she didn’t move, he huffed and turned aside, shoulders twitching with restless energy. But he didn’t leave the bench.

  The three of them exchanged glances. Then quietly, casually they went about pretending not to watch.

  Maeve coaxed Oliver and a few other healers into helping with tinctures and prepwork. Bran took up his usual spot near the wall, arms folded, eyes flicking often between Luka and Maeve. And Edain, ever the picture of casual confidence, stretched out on the bed beside Luka’s bench, a book open in her lap like this was just another lazy afternoon.

  They didn’t relax. They didn’t look away. But they didn’t crowd him either.

  Luka sat very still, watching the room with predatory eyes. Low growls slipped from his throat now and then, more out of habit than threat. But no one approached. No one scolded him. And when the glances that did come held no fire behind them, he began to settle, wary, but less coiled.

  "He looks better," Bran murmured.

  Maeve glanced at him, then over her shoulder at Luka where Edain had him mesmerized. She shifted on the bed, flipping a page, and the motion caught Luka’s eye. He tracked the movement, shoulders still hunched, but he was focused. When she adjusted the book again, he followed that too.

  "You’re right," she smiled tiredly.

  Bran eyed her. Maeve had dark circles under her eyes.

  "Did you sleep last night?" he asked quietly as she returned to grinding herbs into paste.

  The pestle paused momentarily while she added another measure of powder.

  "Not really," she said. "But I slept better than I probably would have if not for you."

  The silence stretched between them, quiet but not uncomfortable. Bran wondered briefly if he ought to say something else. He knew what plagued her. Is this my fault? What didn’t I notice? What could I have done? But he didn’t know how to comfort her. If he said it wasn’t her fault, she’d find something that was. If he told her she did her best, she’d say, "No one’s perfect." If he told her there was nothing she could have done, she’d probably start lecturing him about signs of trauma or some other academy theory.

  But he still didn’t want it to go unsaid. It would eat at her little by little. It always did.

  Memories of the orphanage resurfaced - her discomfort at the sight of wounded creatures, her despair when one of her small charges died despite her care, and the guilt she carried for days after. And then he remembered how he found her yesterday - down a dark hall just outside an unused storeroom, back pressed to the wall, face buried in her knees, shoulders shaking as she sobbed.

  That was Maeve. Always.

  As much as he loved her for it, it ached to know this would always be how she felt.

  And so he searched for something, anything to make it better. But there was nothing. The moment passed, and the opportunity with it.

  Oliver returned to the infirmary with a small crate of tinctures.

  "Just came from storage," he said, grunting as Bran and Maeve cleared space on the table. "We’ve got a problem."

  The crate thumped onto the desk. Bran noted Luka jump slightly at the sound, but Edain flipped another page, and his attention returned to her once more. Bran breathed a quiet sigh before turning his attention back to the healers.

  "The heat came early this year," Oliver told Maeve. "It’s damaged our supply."

  Maeve clicked her tongue in quiet frustration and held up one of the bottles to the light. It looked fine to Bran. The amber liquid danced with flecks of herbs. But when she popped the cork and sniffed it, her mouth twisted.

  "Like we don’t have enough falling apart on us," she muttered. "Is it all of them?"

  Oliver shook his head. "No. Maybe three crates were ruined completely. A few more got damaged, but I think we can salvage some. Most of them are fine. They were in the back of the storeroom. The stone kept them cool." He scratched the back of his head. "Sorry, Maeve."

  "Not your fault," she said, shrugging. "Unless you were the one who hung the sun too early."

  A quiet laugh answered her joke. Bran couldn’t help but smile. It was different now, seeing the other healers rallying around Maeve. They had all ignored her at first. But now -

  A tap on his shoulder interrupted his thoughts. Bran straightened as he found Edain standing next to him, palm up, expectant. But her eyes stayed fixed on Luka.

  "What?" Bran asked, momentarily confused.

  "Hand me the thing," she hissed, still not looking at him.

  "What thing?"

  "The thing!"

  She gestured sharply toward the table, toward the bottles of damaged medicine. Bran was about to ask why. Then he saw it.

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  Luka had moved.

  Silently, cautiously, he had slipped from the bench and crouched low to the stone floor, staring at the light. He peered at a ground where the sunlight had caught, refracting strange shapes across the walls and floor. Luka tapped it lightly, fingers darting then tracing softly, following the shimmer like it was a living thing. His bare feet shifted.

  Edain didn’t wait for Bran. She snatched the vial and tilted it so that the light scattered again across the walls. Luka yelped and leapt back, eye darting wildly around the room as if trying to chase every piece of light at once. Maeve and Oliver both paused to look. Edain chuckled and approached Luka, turning the vial in her hand and crouching to show it to Luka. He glanced between the droplets of light and the vial, eye narrowing as he began to make connections. He huffed a little as he watched her hands.

  “Do you like it?” she asked.

  He didn’t answer. No one expected him to. But his eye was fixed now on the vial as he tilted his head from side to side, following the movements of Edain’s hand and the dance of light. A quiet hum of the room settled around him like a soft blanket, peaceful and calm.

  “Here,” Edain said.

  She held out the vial. Luka flinched back in surprise, but when Edain didn’t do much else, he reached out slowly, sniffing at her hand in interest.

  “Take it,” she said.

  Bran held his breath.

  “Edain,” he said in warning.

  But Edain just hushed him. “It’s fine. Let him have a toy.”

  Slowly, cautiously, Luka took the vial. His hands kept darting in and out, fingers brushing the vial before yanking them back as if expecting it to be hot and cringing as if expecting to be hit. When nothing happened, however, they finally curled around the vial and held it up, making the light dance himself.

  “Careful,” Edain laughed as he pounced towards a sparkle, trying to catch it.

  Luka wrinkled his nose in confusion and glanced at the vial in his hands, trying to understand. Bran pressed his lips together firmly, trying not to laugh out loud. Edain didn’t even bother trying.

  “Look at that,” Oliver whispered before blushing.

  Maeve just grinned.

  And for a moment - just a moment - the room felt like it was holding its breath, enjoying this quiet moment.

  A sharp voice shattered it.

  “What the hell is this?!”

  The light fractured. Luka jerked back as if struck, the vial slipping from his hands and bursting across the floor. Shards and amber liquid scattered as he scrambled away, feet cutting on glass, breath hitching in panicked gasps.

  “Riven,” Bran hissed.

  But the knight-captain was already across the room, fury in his voice and thunder in his step. “Who let him out? Are you all out of your damned minds?!”

  “Back off!” Bran snapped, stepping between them.

  “He’s not hurting anyone!” Edain added, intercepting from the side, arms raised defensively.

  “Yet!” Riven barked. “He’s loose! No chains, barely a watch! What happens next, Halek? Who do I report dead next time?!”

  Luka backed into the corner, shoulders tight against the stone. A tight hiss left his lips and his hands trembled in pain as blood seeped from the fresh cuts. Oliver instinctively shifted toward the doorway. Collin stood frozen near the cabinets, wide-eyed and unsure. Maeve took a slow step forward, hands raised in a calming gesture. But Riven wasn’t watching her.

  He was watching Luka.

  “Don’t,” Bran warned, stepping between them, arm out. “Riven, don’t!”

  But Riven was already moving. “Last time I checked, Sergeant Halek, I gave the orders to you around here.”

  He pushed past Bran with a glare and reached for Luka. His fist clenched in Luka’s shirt - too tight, too close. The world snapped. A snarl tore through Luka’s throat as he lunged forward and sank his teeth into Riven’s arm. Riven howled in pain. Bran moved instantly.

  “Maeve, get the sedative!”

  “I have it!” she shouted, scrambling.

  Edain dove next. “Luka! Stop!”

  Riven grunted, stumbling backwards until he crashed sideways, dragging Luka with him. The collar around Luka’s throat pulsed violently, a surge of crimson light crackling to life only to be sucked into the metal, devoured in a flash. Bran didn’t want to know what would have happened if that collar hadn’t done it’s job. Luka twisted, clawing and kicking, striking Riven in the ribs. The man wheezed, trying to throw him off. Collin bolted across the room to help, but Oliver grabbed him back with a sharp shake of his head.

  “Don’t!” Oliver hissed. “You’ll get hurt!”

  Luka growled, his teeth clamped down on Riven’s arm. Like a dog on a meaty bone, he shook his head. But as soon as Bran’s hand descended onto his arm, he let go and struck. An elbow slammed into Bran’s stomach. Bran gasped and watched Luka’s leg sweep up in a vicious, sweeping kick. Before it could fall, Edain’s arms dropped around the boy’s middle and heaved.

  “Damn it!” Edain shouted in frustration as she fell onto her back. “Help me!”

  The boy yowled in frustration, clawing and thrashing about. Edain had to dodge an elbow twice before Bran could grab the arm. In the aftermath of truth, they’d forgotten another - this boy was a trained killer. He nearly twisted free, grasping at Bran’s neck, but Riven fell upon the other arm and pinned it to the ground. The boy shrieked - raw, broken, enraged. Magic surged again. The collar flared then hissed, devouring it in waves. Bran winced at the heat radiating off it. His hands gripped Luka’s arm and shoulder, trying to hold him steady as the boy bucked and fought.

  Maeve knelt at Luka’s side, shaking hands barely managing to get the vial open.

  “Luka, please,” she whispered. “It’s just medicine. Please.”

  Luka snarled. He thrashed hard, bruising Edain’s shoulder as he slammed his head back. Bran swore again and used his knee to pin Luka’s hand. With effort, he reached over and pried the boy’s mouth open.

  Maeve seized the moment. She tipped the vial in, fast.

  He choked. Gagged. But swallowed.

  “Come on, come on…” Bran whispered.

  Luka’s struggles slowed, - first a jerk, then a twitch, then a heavy exhale. His body sagged.

  For a moment, they all froze.

  Bran breathed hard, soaked with sweat, still half-straddling Luka’s limp form. Riven lay nearby, cradling his bleeding arm, face twisted in rage and pain.

  “I told you,” he growled. “Beasts belong in cages.”

  Bran rose. His fist connected with Riven’s jaw before anyone could stop him.

  The knight staggered back with a grunt, slamming into the wall.

  “Say that again,” Bran said, voice low and dangerous.

  Riven glared. “You’ll be court-martialed.”

  But Bran ignored him. He stepped back, picked up Luka, and cradled him in his arms while striding from the room. Riven snarled, stepping forward as he tried to follow, but Edain held him back, nearly pushing him.

  “What the hell was that?” she demanded. “Since when are you the bastard who doesn’t listen and screams to be heard?”

  “Has everyone lost their damn minds?!” Riven shouted.

  It was the last thing Bran heard before the door closed.