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15. Fracture Reduction

You didn't know where you were, but the bustling soldiers and chilled marble floor under your knees pointed toward a castle or palace of sorts. You could've just looked up to get your bearings, but you felt like you couldn't look away from Azriel's grimy face, covered in blood and that inky black substance from Meurrick's shadow.

"(Y/n)," Eris said, crouching by your side. "The healers can take it from here."

"But—"

"He's been through much worse," Eris said, motioning for the healers. "Believe me."

Azriel growled, but it quickly turned into a groan. "Fuck you, Eris."

You heaved a sigh of relief, adjusting his head on your thigh. "You're alright."

"He's losing a lot of blood," Eris said, touching your elbow. "Come on. Let's get you cleaned up."

Azriel winced in pain, so you handed him over to the healers. They helped him onto a cot, tucked in his wings, and then walked off.

You finally looked around, admiring the spacious foyer, high ceiling, and tawny stone. The marble floor was crimson, so you couldn't tell how much blood you'd gotten on it, and given how cruel Beron was, you figured he'd chosen said color for that very reason.

As Eris hauled you to your feet, you grimaced in pain.

When you noticed the concerned look in his amber eyes, you said, "I'll be fine. I'm just . . . sore. I guess I should've stretched first. But are there even warmups for war? I mean, it's unpredictable. For the most part." You knew you were babbling but couldn't help it.

You watched the healers and Azriel as they disappeared around a corner.

"(Y/n), you should probably stay by my side until . . . Wait, what're you doing?"

You grabbed the greatsword and its sheath. "I'm going to . . . stick with Azriel for now. Thanks for getting us out of there."

Eris looked like he was about to argue, but you were already off.

When you reached the end of the hall, you spotted the healers turning into a ballroom. You made sure to stay out of everyone's way as you followed them inside. Unfortunately, the room was already packed with cots, so Azriel was placed by the glass balcony doors.

As the healers worked on his shoulder, one of them noticed that you'd followed them, so she got you a stool.

You thanked her as you sat by Azriel's head, hugging the sword across your chest.

You were still shaking with adrenaline, so you took some deep, calming breaths.

Even though you were nowhere near ready to talk about what the fuck had just happened, it was all you could think about, but because Azriel was barely coherent, that talk would have to wait. And to be honest, it was probably for the best.

So instead, you got comfortable on your stool, leaned against the balcony door, and then shut your eyes.

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When you woke up, every muscle in your body protested, but at the very least, you were . . . warm.

Warm?

You furrowed your brow as you blinked your eyes open.

The first thing you noticed was that the infirmary hadn't gotten any less busy since you'd fallen asleep.

And the second?

That Azriel's right wing lay across your body, all the way up to your chin. The bony part of it, you realized, had kept you from falling over. And the golden-crimson membrane that pressed against your thighs and knees had kept you warm — was still keeping you warm.