Fight or Flight

CHAPTER NINETEEN

By the time we reached the Mug, my muscles burned with exhaustion, but we weren't done yet. We stumbled through the back kitchen entrance, and half-carried, half-dragged Finnian up the narrow stairs to his guest room.

"You'll wait in the front," Alannah had instructed Eylan, whom neither of us trusted to be in the room as we tended to Finnian's wounds. He nodded, no protest.

We moved swiftly, clearing the maps off the lone table with a sweep of an arm. Together, we laid Finnian down as gently as we could manage, a pained groan escaping his lips at the movement.

"Don't be a baby," Alannah crooned, rinsing her hands with a bottle of clear alcohol before handing it to me and instructing me to do the same.

In the blazing light of the oil lamps, I could see the full extent of his injuries. Deep bruises mottled his face, his left eye swollen shut. Blood stained his shirt in multiple places and the fabric was shredded where blades had found their mark. His breathing was too labored for comfort. Even the rise and fall of his breath seemed to be a painful effort. The sight of it all broke my heart.

Alannah set to work immediately, cleaning and bandaging his wounds as quickly as her hands allowed. She moved with a grim efficiency, her jaw tensed and her eyes focused. I helped her when she asked, but I mostly just watched, trying to keep myself from vomiting at the sights– the smells.

When she finally stepped back, her arms streaked with blood clear to her elbows, I dared to break the silence.

"Will he..." My voice cracked, the words sticking in my throat. "Will he be alright?"

Finnian started to speak, probably to boast about being an unkillable god, but was cut off by Alannah's pointed sigh. "He's lost a lot of blood and there are countless sprains and fractures. But nothing's broken and he's as stubborn as a dwarf after gold. He stayed awake for it all, which is impressive enough," she paused to watch as a warm, knowing grin spread across Finnian's face.

"You lasses are so worried about me," he seemed to bask in the words.

"This isn't funny, Finnian!" She flung her voice with venom. I could tell it took everything she had not to slap the smile off his face as he lay there cocooned in bandage wraps. It took everything I had, too, I realized. "If Eylan hadn't found you before we did, you'd be dead!"

It was true, as much as I hated to admit it. Now that I had time to register my own thoughts, I realized Eylan had potentially played a major role in saving Finnian's life.

"Oh gods, Aria– your neck." Alannah's gasp cut the air.

I traced the curve of my throat with my fingers, wincing at pain from even the lightest touch. In the rush to get Finnian stabilized, I had nearly forgotten about my own injuries.

I hastily strode across the room to review myself in the mirror. As I moved, I noticed specks of blood on the floor where I had stood to help Alannah. My own blood.

Facing my reflection, my breath caught in my mouth. Angry red gashes ran from my shoulder blades to my tailbone, the shadow's claws having carved deep lines into my flesh.

My neck was a canvas of purples and blues, the Shadow's choking grip leaving a gruesome necklace of bruises. No wonder it hurts to swallow.

My wings looked horrendous, delicate feathers were bent and broken in places, some missing entirely.

Scrapes and cuts peppered my arms and legs, evidence of my hard landing and desperate escape through the narrow stone opening.

I stood there, cataloging each injury with a detached fascination. How had I not noticed the extent of it all before now? Every inch of my body seemed to throb with a dull ache, a constant reminder of how close I'd come to not making it out alive.