Abolisher [Drothiker #2]

35.

Vendrik was watching the sunrise out the window, images of the past year blazing behind his eyes as he clued Ferouzeh—who stood beside him, tilted against the windowsill—up on everything, when Ryle barged into his room.

And paused at the threshold as Vendrik and Ferouzeh turned as one.

Vendrik stilled when he beheld the prince.

Someone else stood behind Ryle. The owner of the apartment, judging by the sweats indicating that he'd just woken up. That must be Kavous.

He did not look very delighted.

"Not that it's downright inappropriate to barge into someone's home so early, Your Highness"—Vendrik could tell he was giving his all to embed some reverence into his tone—"but it would be deeply appreciated if you chose later hours to visit."

Azryle looked over his shoulder at him.

It wasn't even a threatening glare—Saqa, maybe Vendrik had lost his damned mind, but there seemed to be a warmth to his friend's features.

But the other man's hands shot up. "Just a suggestion." Then strode away. A moment later, some other door in the apartment slammed shut.

Ferouzeh flinched at the sound. She crossed her arms, frowning. "Why does everyone happen to despise mornings so much?"

Azryle shrugged, and stepped into the room. He looked at Vendrik. "You survived."

Vendrik's throat felt tight.

Alive—his friend was alive. And looked more human, for that matter.

Free.

Well, freer.

Perhaps all those torments weren't in vain.

Ryle arched a brow. "You look like you're soon to cry."

Vendrik scoffed—and to his surprise, it came out broken. And if that wasn't a shock enough, he felt wetness dawning at the corners of his eyes.

Azryle looked guilty. "Come on, man, it was a joke."

"Bastard," Vendrik said, advancing towards the prince, as Ferouzeh laughed.

Ryle grinned and met him midway; Vendrik collided with his friend, gathered him into a tight embrace.

She didn't utter a word, but Vendrik felt Ferouzeh grinning behind him. When she spoke, her voice was thick with tears. "Otsatyas know I've waited centuries to see this."

Vendrik only held his friend, his brother. "Thank you," he said the first thing, his voice shaking. "For freeing me from the oath."

Azryle patted his back. "You didn't think I would actually go run wild and leave you behind with that hag, did you? Also," he added after a pause, "I've never done hugging before, it's rather odd. I'm all set to pull away."

Vendrik chuckled and released him.

Ryle was wincing, his hand at his ribcage. Where fresh blood marred the white shirt. The ripper groaned, "Warn me the next time you do that, would you?"

"What—" Vendrik shook his head. "What happened? Are you not healing?"

There was a beat of tense silence in the room, before Ryle said, "Nothing. My mejest is just drained."

Azryle was an excellent liar, but he'd never lied to Vendrik before—never had a reason to. And Vendrik had seen him lying more than enough to be able to know when his friend was wasn't telling the truth.

And that beat of silence was his mistake.

"Why is it not healing?" Vendrik pressed. He turned to Ferouzeh, but the healer seemed as confused as he. She came beside him, her eyes on the stained shirt.