From the Ashes

Chapter 25 ~ Fussy Mother Hen

    Tarion worked quickly to treat Morana's burns before they began to heal of their own accord. If the wounds closed before he could get them clean, the risks of an impending infection grew, and so did the likelihood that the injuries would become permanent scars.

    He wouldn't be able to prevent that entirely, but he could at least make sure they would heal well enough that the scars weren't brutal. All the while, his mind screamed at him. What had he been thinking? He should've told her to pull back much sooner.

    He should've known it would prove too challenging. He should've guessed the scope of her power would overwhelm her. She was never going to listen to him again. Any hope there had been that she might trust him...that was gone too.

    Tarion drew back to examine the burns across her stomach. He'd slathered them with a poultice mixed with different herbs and oils. The library had provided it for him along with the recipe the moment they had entered Morana's room. Tarion skimmed trembling fingers over a few burns on her sternum. They weren't as harsh as the others and could be left to heal without the poultice.

    He'd done all he could. The wounds would have to stay as they were until Morana woke and could use her own healing magic on them. He didn't expect her to wake until at least the next day though. Tarion had thoroughly ensured that she would stay asleep while he tended to her.

    He backed away from the bed quietly and ducked into Morana's bathroom. He rinsed the remaining herb and oil juices off his hands, which continued to shake despite his efforts to steady them. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror behind the washbasin when he drew back.

    Tarion swallowed hard, looking himself over. His eyes had darkened once more. They weren't brown yet, but they were a deeper shade of red than they had been, and the shadows beneath his eyes had grown more prominent. Or perhaps fear had just made him pale again.

    Tarion shook his head and hurried out of the bathroom. Morana hadn't so much as twitched in his absence. His gaze swept over her critically. "I need some bandages to wrap her wounds with so the poultice will stay in place," he whispered.

    Instantly, several swathes of clean white bandages appeared on the stand he had dragged over to Morana's bed. Tarion gathered them up and set to work winding them around her arms and legs, and across her stomach. She looked like a freshly wrapped corpse by the time he'd finished.

    Tarion shoved the thought back as soon as it emerged. He wasn't going to think like that. She wasn't going to die. Her injuries were severe, but not fatal. He knew that. His mind didn't need to try to convince him otherwise. He turned abruptly and strode towards the door, but hesitated once he reached it.

    Tarion glanced back at Morana and after a moment's deliberation, returned to the bed and sat down beside her. He folded his arms across his chest and rested his head back against the headboard, closing his eyes with a heavy sigh. The afternoon was going to drag on, and he already knew he would be in for a long night.

•༻☽☾༺•

    Her sleep was dreamless, but not empty. She was floating in a void, weightless and free of pain. Yet somehow, she was aware of everything happening in the waking world around her. The Prince had finished treating her wounds. He was now sitting beside her, unable to rest or relax.

    She could see the guilt that raged across his features, no longer hidden now that she was not awake to see it. He harbored more guilt than this, she knew. There were secrets locked within him. She'd only begun to scratch the surface of them.

    Could she trust him without uncovering them? She heard his fearful thoughts. His belief that she would never trust him. But how could they succeed in leading an uprising, a war, if they didn't trust each other?