Adurna

Victory

Chapter Twenty Nine

Eragon traced his fingers carefully around my knuckles, his brow furrowed in concentration. He and I were huddled by a dull fire, our heads ducked close together. The Varden warriors bustled around us, loading gear and mending wounds, though we paid no mind. Our knees knocked together as Eragon continued to examine my tender hand. Perhaps punching a dragon hadn't been a good idea.

I already regretted the argument with Derikia. My chest ached at the hollowness in my mind as I struggled to keep our thoughts separated. I knew we both needed space for now, but letting the barrier slip down and let Derikia through was temping. My erratic mind needed some stability and he was the only one I could rely on for that. I let out a deep sigh, my side protesting still.

"It's broken." Eragon supplied in a hushed voice. I began to think he spoke so softly to get me to lean closer to him, but I didn't feel eager to express my opinions any time soon.

"Yeah," I twitched a finger and flinched. "I can tell."

Eragon narrowed his eyes at my hand as I moved, but stayed silent. One of his soft hands wrapped around my wrist gently, the thumb stroking my abused skin. The other hand drifted along my broken knuckles, though he never pressed down hard enough for any real pain.

"I've never seen someone punch a dragon before." Eragon spoke up, his voice less of a whisper and more of a conversation. I snorted.

"He deserved it." I scoffed and lifted my other hand and poked at my maltreated fingers.

"Did he?" He wondered, glancing up from my hand to turn his searching gaze to me. I sighed, looking away; I couldn't bear to look at Eragon for long.

"No," I said with a deep sigh, my shoulder slumping slightly. "I was being an idiot."

He hummed in agreement and positioned his hand above mine. I blinked as blue light began to cascade from his palm. I yanked my hand away and groaned as I knocked it against my knee.

Eragon looked up in surprise, his eye brows crinkling in the middle.

"What are you doing?" I demanded, holding my broken hand to my chest possessively.

"What does it look like?" Eragon mumbled. He reached his hand out to wrap around my wrist again, though he didn't tug my hand back. "I'm healing you."

"I can do it." I snapped.

"Okay," He said calmly, his other hand resting on my knee carefully. I wanted to shake it away, but a part of me liked him close to me. I hated it. "Show me."

I nodded slowly and dropped my hand into my lap. I hissed at my inattentiveness with my injury as pain shot up my arm.

"Careful." Eragon murmured softly and picked my hand back up. He rested the bruised and battered hand in both of his, holding it carefully like one would an injured bird. His eyes trailed up my arm and to my face as I watched him. I shook myself from his gaze, annoyed with how easily I became distracted with him.

With one last look around us, I turned my attention back to my hand. Though I was nearly fluent in the ancient language itself, I had mastered very little spells and other magical abilities. Angela tried to help as much as she could, and she had immensely, yet I hadn't gotten much of a chance to try out many of the spells I did learn. I mumbled to myself in annoyance before taking a deep breath.

I knew the premise of how to heal myself—I had healed small scratches on my arm as practice—yet I hadn't taken on bones before. I glanced up to Eragon, uncertainty flickering in my eyes. Eragon only nodded quickly to reassure me, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on my wrist as he waited.