Luminous

74 - The Prodigy

"Mmmph! Uuuumph! Mmph!"

Muffled moans and whimpers punctuated the quiet of night from Coris's tent. Outside, Zier, Christopher and Simon heaved and pulled limp bodies of drugged yeomen and maids from open air into communal tents.

The chorus of hoof beats serenading them had long faded away. After Philema had cleaned and dressed Persephia's wounds, Agnes rode off with her sister in her arms, accompanied by Cleygar and Lors. With luck and haste, they would deliver the Lady Graye for treatment in Hyacinth before the inevitable fever set in.

Every few moments, the curtain of darkness burst apart at its invisible seams from spheres and streaks of flames, as Frenix busied himself awing the sleepless Amara and Atmund with his newfound dragon powers.

Meanwhile, inside Lord Hadrian's tent, Meya was suffering the consequences of her hard-earned abilities. Lying flat on her belly, she gnashed her teeth and dug her fingers into her pillow as Coris dabbed wine-soaked gauze on her wounds.

Unknown to Meya in the heat of the moment, her tug-of-war with Persephia had torn scales clean off her buttocks, leaving her bare, delicate bum to drag on a mile of sharp gravel. What was left of her skin hung loose in strips, exposing her raw, weeping flesh to thin air.

A corner of the gauze dipped into her lacerated flesh—Coris fishing out a stray piece of grit. Meya jolted. Eyes watering, she seethed through gritted teeth, tensing stiff as a dried-up earthworm as she waited out the searing agony.

Coris's clammy hand pressed gently on her hair.

"Hang in there, Aine." He worked his way through layers of thick, rich rose gold, scratching soothing circles on her scalp. As Meya relaxed, slumping gratefully down to her pillow, he added with a chuckle, "Better lift your behind next time if your scales aren't thick enough."

Meya froze, then rage clicked in. Grinding her teeth, she restrained herself from hammering a heel into the smug bastard's smirking face.

"Agh, shut up, you!" She strained around and snapped at him. Coris bent low over his aching tummy, stifling laughter as he continued cleaning her wounds. Growling in her throat, Meya turned away, grunting, "Tactless—ungrateful—know-it-all—Gaaargh!"

Meya curled up with a scream as Coris raked yet another bit of buried gravel out of her flesh.

"Sorry." He swooped down, blowing whispered words onto her hair, "Thank you for saving my brother."

He breathed, his voice trembling. Meya shook her head and burrowed her tear-streaked face into his shoulder. Coris wound his arm around her. They held on until they were shivering as one, smothering the icy flames of fear with each other's warmth. 

As Coris turned his attention back to her injuries, Meya steeled herself for the worst, but it seemed at long last, her wounds were free of contaminants. Dollops of ice-cold honey slopped onto her turned flesh, dousing the burning heat, and she melted into her pillow in contentment. Bliss was fleeting, however. By the time Meya was fully aware again, her upper legs had been mummified in clean gauze and covered with her nightdress.

Her mattress sunk from the added weight as Coris eased himself down by her side. He gave her a drowsy smile, then slid her the honey jar. As Meya dug in with her bare hands, he raised a bloodstained, silver-gray, hexagonal metal plaque to the light—one of Meya's fallen scales.

Meya frowned as she suckled on her finger, watching as he rotated, flipped and rubbed her shed armor.

"Anything?" 

Coris met her gaze, his eyes narrowed.

"You couldn't have secreted this much metal from eating alone." He offered the scale to Meya. She took it with her unsoiled hand. "Have you been feeding? You overcame your trauma?"