The Stableboy's shadow (BL)

Chapter 13

He wasn't out for long.

Riley jolted awake at the ear-splitting cracks of his hand. It was the kind of one would desperately try to alleviate by moving your body any way that could ease it, only to find out there's nothing to be done about it but to endure. Endure and try to breathe, and think through the mind-numbing pulses of agony. Somehow, the thief managed to stay mostly still.

"Keep talking," he grunted. "Horses. Why?"

Riley felt Percevin's confusion; the shadows around the boy's body trembled with nausea, and he swallowed down what threatened to rise. The sharp throbs in Riley's legs were almost negligible compared to the agony in his hand. He fought not to be overwhelmed by the knight-to-be's disgust. The magic worked its way down to his feet, mending the micro-fractures along his tibias. He gritted his teeth.

"They're gracious and magnificent, intelligent creature", the boy finally answered. "I've always felt drawn to them—I practically grew up in the stables. My parents are the heads of housekeeping, so they were always running around. The staff raised me, mostly the ones with more stationary jobs. The stables were my favorite place. Adrian will never admit it, but I think he liked having me around. So, when I was old enough to work, I became a stableboy. I'm almost more familiar with horses than people. Boss says I have a gift, but it's really just all the time I've spent with them. Why do you hate them?"

"They're loyal—up to a point," Riley muttered. "Like dogs, humans awaken the shadow part in them... but I have no control over it. And... bad memories."

His hand felt ten times its normal size, pulsating with pain at every heartbeat. As the soothing edge of the magic kicked in, the sharp ache crept into his fingers, and he held his breath. One by one, with excruciating pauses in between, his fingers snapped back into place—each crack more agonizing than the last. His entire body stiffened, bile rising in his throat. Between the second and third crack, Riley vomited again, turning his head aside. Percevin winced and gently patted his neck. At last, the final bone settled back into place, and Riley was able to steady his breath. The pain lingered, but the numbing made it bearable.

"Hand me the fourth potion."

It took Percevin a few seconds to snap out of his daze. He nodded and reached for Riley's backpack, fumbling around with one hand until he found the phial marked with a bold number four. It was a repellent, blood-red brown color. He shivered, already imagining the taste—just as awful as it looked.

It was a terrible idea—he shouldn't have drunk it. But when the boy handed him the open phial, Riley didn't hesitate. He was supposed to wait at least an hour between potions, but he feared the pain more than overdosing. He tried not to breathe or think about it. Kinda didn't work.

Riley swore through a cough. His waterskin soon came into view. The lid was already off, so he drank deeply, gulping down lukewarm water. After several swallows, he lowered it and took in a shaky breath. The potion moved slowly through his system.

"How does this whole thing work?" the boy asked, confused. "Why six different potions?"

"That witch is clever. She came up with this whole system. One heals internal bleeding and damaged organs. Two reinforces torn muscles and ligaments. Three snaps bones back into place. Four eases the pain and handles the damage caused by Three. Five and Six complete the healing—muscles, bones, everything—and soothe what's left of the pain."

By then, the pain had dulled, leaving Riley's body heavy and strangely weightless. He let the magic do its work. Resting his mended hand on his thigh, he examined it. It had been an ugly purple mess earlier, but now it was straight, flushed only with a slight redness. Percevin watched him, puzzled, but Riley ignored the unspoken questions. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Relief settled over him, pushing fear aside and replacing it with a fleeting sense of comfort.