Between Worlds

Chapter 26

The carriage driver guided Tyla into the hospital, his hand firmly on Tyla's arm until a staff member took over, leading him up a wide staircase and down a hallway. Halfway through, nausea hit Tyla hard. He paused, but with nothing in his stomach, his attempts to vomit only brought pain.

Talan typically slept on floor mats, but the small room Tyla was taken to had a bed. He perched on its edge, focusing on his breathing, unwilling to lie down. The mattress felt too soft, too yielding—nothing like his bed in the room he'd shared with Malyn or the ones on the bus.

While Talan living spaces were usually sparse, someone had adorned this room with a rainbow-hued knitted blanket on the bed and a plush chair in the corner. Whoever had bothered clearly hadn't experienced this themselves; they'd have known how impossible it was to appreciate such comforts in the midst of this ordeal.

It took Tyla one hour to try the door and discover it was locked and another before he bloodied his knuckles trying to break out. A staff member eventually coaxed him into drinking some sweet, creamy tea, after which he fell into a fitful sleep.

Upon waking, all Tyla felt was a terrible, pervasive calm. The fight had drained from him. He didn't want to do anything. If given the option to simply cease existing, he might have taken it, but he didn't have the energy to harm himself.

Time blurred as Tyla lay motionless, oblivious to his surroundings until a faint sound caught his attention. Even then, it took an immeasurable span before he could muster the will to push himself upright and face his unexpected visitor.

Lyre smiled at him from the chair near the foot of the bed. His long silver-grey hair was slightly dishevelled, as it often got when he'd been anxiously running his fingers through it, the strands a stark contrast against his midnight-black skin. It was hard to reach through his apathy to feel anything even for this man who was one of his closest friends. This man who he'd been raised alongside. "How are you feeling?"

Tyla collapsed back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. A clear glass globe hung there, filled with tiny magical flying creatures that weren't quite alive—the room's only light source. There were no windows. "Like I'm already dead."

"They say it will get better."

Tyla made a noncommittal sound. He didn't believe it.

"Everyone wanted to see you, but they'd only allow one visitor. We had quite the debate about who you were closest to."

"You won?"

Tyla heard Lyre move around, and then he was next to him, kneeling against the side of the bed. "No. That debate is still ongoing. We just decided that I was the one least likely to say 'I told you so.'"

"Because you can't. You never told me not to go."

"Well, exactly," Lyre said, a melancholy smile settling on his lips. "I could never do what you did, but I admired it. I thought it mattered, and I loved your stories. The others might claim they warned you, but they didn't. Not about this. This isn't what anyone thought would happen, and the fact that it did tells me that you found something beautiful."

Tyla turned away, unable to face the truth in those words. He had found something beautiful, and now...

"What happened?" Lyre asked. "Does it not work properly with a human? I suppose he wouldn't have any magic of his own. Was it... bad?"

Tyla shook his head slowly, ignoring the wave of nausea it brought. "None of that would have mattered."

"Did he refuse?"

"I never asked."

"What?" Lyre shifted, sitting up straighter and leaning closer. "You didn't even ask if he wanted to...?"