He wiped at a tickle on his cheek. “Those you call gods exist across dimensions, that is, in a manner beyond that which you know, beyond what these bodies are even capable of. As Ulthis, I saw amazing sights and experienced incredible events impossible for a human. And yet, as Chanté, I have seen things, felt things I never could have imagined.”
He turned to her. “I existed before, but it wasn’t until I was Chanté that I actually lived.”
She seemed dubious and a little confused. “I find it hard to believe that a god could find living as we do to be remarkable.”
“But you are remarkable! I have seen that now. I hadn’t, or couldn’t, before. If I tried to put it into words, I suppose it’s like flying on your dragon thousands of feet in the sky. You can see the forests below, their sun-lit canopies swaying in the breeze like a green, leafy ocean, and it’s absolutely gorgeous. But if you don’t look closer, you’ll miss the sublime beauty that is a singular tree. And humans are such beautiful trees.”
“Hmm. Can’t see the tree for the forest?”
He drew his brows together. “That’s an interesting way to put it, but, yes.”
“Why are you telling me all of this, Chanté? In doing so, are you breaking another rule?”
“If I’m to be stolen away again anyway, it doesn’t matter. And as I said before, I’m tired. I needed to tell someone, but the one I wanted to can’t hear me right now.”
He looked again out at Stronghold. “Not that any would believe you, but could you keep all this to yourself?”
“No worries. Your secret has been and will continue to be safe with me.”
Chanté nodded. Not that he would be here for much longer. Any moment now he expected to be pulled away, wrenched to that terrible place of naught.
Below, a whip-crack preceded a carriage heading off. Chanté watched and let out a breath.
“I’m going to speak with the doctor a bit more. Don’t take too long up here. He could wake at any moment and I’m guessing he’d like to see you when he does.”
As her footsteps faded behind, Chanté’s heart beat a little faster. Would Quillan want to see him, though? Or would he rather see Elizabeth?
Stop doubting yourself. Go. Be with him. You want to, do you not?
He twisted his lips. I do.
Then go.
The doctor was gone and Guildmaster Millinith was nowhere to be seen.
In the room, Chanté pulled a chair next to the bed.
Quillan lay as he had, sleeping, chest rising and falling with each quiet breath.
Chanté sat and rested his arms atop the bed. His right hand lay near Quillan’s left, but unlike his own, there were short, thin . . . trails here and there on the back of Quillan’s. Pale, mostly faded scars from smithing, no doubt.
He turned Quillan’s hand, opened it, and placed his on top. His lips curved in a little smile. The former smith’s hand was definitely larger.
Quillan’s hand clasped his.
Chanté quickly looked over, but Quillan appeared to still be sleeping.
Was that a sign that he might wake soon?
Chanté gave Quillan’s warm hand a squeeze. “Whenever you’re ready to wake, I’m here.”
Aside from mental exhaustion, he was physically tired, too. As the Guildmaster said, it had been a very long day. Mayhap he’d rest a bit while waiting. He leaned over and lay his head down next to their hands.
The blanket was soft against his cheek as Chanté closed his eyes.
+ + + + +
Elizabeth chuckled at the freckled girl. “And what does he think about it?”
“He says he doesn’t like being called Chip.” Fox smiled. “The thing is, I don’t think he actually hates it, and it’s kind of fun seeing him react when I call him that.”
Smiling, Elizabeth said, “You’re attracted to him.”
Fox scrunched her nose. “Maybe. Probably.” Cheeks darkening, she said, “Yes.” She looked up, eyes narrowed. “You’re good.”
Elizabeth chuckled. “Hardly, it sounded obvious to me.”
“No, not about that.” Fox looked at her hand, at a finger tracing a circle on the table. “I never told anyone, before. Hells, I never even wanted to acknowledged it myself. Yet you somehow got me to admit it.”
“Why didn’t you want to admit it to yourself?”
“Because he has a boyfriend that he’s completely devoted to.” She looked over and scowled. “It’s so frustrating liking someone who likes someone else.”
Elizabeth pressed her lips together and grunted. That was a sentiment she was completely familiar with.
“Wait.” Fox stared. “You, too?”
“Mayhap.” She felt her cheeks warming, the turncoats. “Fine, yes.”
Fox laughed making her curls bounce. “Gods! Don’t you hate it? There the person is, all amazing and happy and full of excitement, and you just want to be near them, to be a part of it, to share in those smiles.”
“Yeah. It’s pissing awful.”
Fox, nose scrunched, said, “I decided that I could at least be his friend. That way, I can see more of his entirely too beautiful smiles.”
Amused, Elizabeth drew her brows together. “You really like smiles.”
“Don’t you?”
She shrugged. “I guess, but for me, it’s hands. Sure, skillful hands as they work at something. There’s just . . . something about them.”
“Wait, wait, wait!” Fox raised her brows. “Quillan?”
Elizabeth pressed her hands to her face, trying to cover blazing-hot cheeks, and groaned.
“I noticed you eyeing him while he was doing his magi-mechanical stuff, but I thought it was just a long-separated hometown-friend kind of thing.”
“We went on a date a long time ago.” Elizabeth dropped her hands to the table. “But life intervened and put us on opposite sides of Muirgen.”
“Ouch.”
“Fate brought us together again with this investigation, and then I thought that when my leg broke it would help get him to pay more attention to me. And it did help. In a way.”
“True, he is very conscientious about your injury, but—” Fox gave her a look of sympathy. “He doesn’t look at you like he does that boy with the amazing hair.”
Elizabeth let out a frustrated breath. “Chanté.”
“What about him?” Master Gella stood in the door.
Fillion walked in, eyeing her.
She blinked. “I, ah, was just wondering where he and Quillan were. I’d have thought they’d be done repairing the comm sets by now.”
“Fillion can explain.” Master Gella turned to the girl. “Fox, could you ask one of our Eyes of Justice to meet me in interview room five in about an hour? Tobin’s visiting his family right now, but once I’ve made arrangements for our two special guests and done some paperwork, I want him to give a witnessed deposition.”
Fox nodded. “Sure.”
“Thank you.” Master Gella continued down the hallway, out of sight.
Fox stood. “I’ll be back.”
Fillion watched her leave. “Chanté’s at a hospital right now.”
Elizabeth raised her brows. “Hospital? Did he get hurt?”
“Not exactly.” Fillion stared at her. It looked like he wasn’t sure about answering. “Quillan was seriously hurt. Chanté did some initial treatment and then took him to a hospital.”
She was suddenly standing up. “Take me there.”
He looked uncomfortable. “I don’t know if—”
Elizabeth leaned over and grabbed the front of his riding jacket. “If you don’t take me there right now, Fillion, I’ll make it so your other arm needs medical attention.”
“Fine!” He slapped her hand way. “But if you can’t see how they feel about each other, you’re the absolute worst investigative reporter on the planet.”
He stood and made for the door, mumbling to himself. “Why in hells do so many women want to break people’s arms, anyway?”
&nbs
p; Elizabeth stared at him a moment before grabbing the crutch and following as best she could.
She scowled. It wasn’t as if their attraction to each other wasn’t obvious. But she’d seen him first! She was the one who had ached for him every time he declined invitations to go horseback riding. She was the one who watched him try so very hard to overcome his fear, if only enough to ride, and then succeed! She was the one who—
Elizabeth blinked.
Gods. Me, me, me. Get a hold of yourself, Bethy. It’s not always about you.
Still, Quillan did seem to have been trying to spend more time with her. Whether that was due to sympathy or a reignited interest, however, she had been trying to determine.
On the roof, Fillion and his dragon watched her hobbling approach.
Coatl gave her a happy-sounding chirp as Fillion handed her a riding belt. He stowed the crutch and turned back.
“So,” he said, staring at her skirts and the tip of the cast extending from beneath them, “how do you want to . . .”
“Just do like Quillan did at the fair.” She finished snugging the belt on and pointed. “Levitate me up to the middle seat.” She then pressed her skirts close in front and in back.
“Ah.” He nodded. “Right.”
No attempt to sneak a peek was made. He climbed up after, only gave the exposed portion of her legs a cursory glance, then grunted as she attached the last safety strap.
He turned forward. “Alright, then. Lifting off.”
She wrapped her arms around his waist as Coatl’s powerful leap took them into the air.
The view of the city underneath the star-filled sky was spectacular. While the multitudes of points of light above twinkled, they were still. Below in Stronghold, many of the lights moved. Buggy and carriage lamps traced paths along the streets, and the wavering light of torches and braziers flickered here and there. Everything was so small and so perfect.
She smiled. “It almost looks like a miniature, exquisitely crafted diorama!”
Fillion leaned his head sideways. “Except parts are moving!”
She was going to miss this kind of view.
When Coatl began banking downward, the large, slowly spinning red cross in front of the building he approached reminded her of where they were going and why.
Her stomach clenched. Fillion hadn’t explained in what way Quillan was injured, so her mind was free to imagine the worst cases as Coatl set down just inside an alley next to the building. There were two other dragons here.
As they all chirped greetings to each other, Elizabeth hurriedly removed the straps. Then she had to try to remain patient as Fillion lowered her to the ground. Accepting the crutch from him, she headed down the walk to the front of the hospital.
“Hey!” Quick footsteps followed moments later and Fillion took up a position to her right. “Slow down, Miss Hurry-pants. Itzel says Quillan is fine for now.”
She didn’t slow, merely glanced at him and frowned. “For now?”
He drew his brows together and looked worried.
The sorcerous sign spinning slowly above cast red light upon the area before the building, and on them as they made their way inside.
A man behind a counter glanced at her and then at Fillion. His eyes narrowed. “Here to see that Quillan fellow?”
“Yes.” She approached him. “What room is he in?”
He glanced again at Fillion, at his stained riding gear. “Visiting hours for friends will be over soon, but he’s in room twenty-four.” He pointed. “Up those stairs, then take a left and follow the signs.”
Guildmaster Millinith was sitting in the hallway on a bench across from the door to the room.
She stood when she saw them and smiled. “He’s fine for now, according to the doctor. She’ll be happier once he wakes up, though.”
Elizabeth frowned. “Once he wakes up?”
The Guildmaster looked at the closed door. “He hasn’t woken up since the blow to his head.”
She blinked. “Blow to his head?”
Guildmaster Millinith nodded. “Aye. Chanté was able to enchant the lacerations, tendons, nerves, and such on his arm and hand to repair them, so Quillan should keep the use of them. We’re just waiting for him to wake, now, and all should be well.”
“Tendons? Lacerations?” Elizabeth stared at her. “Good gods, what happened to him?”
“He was caught in an explosion of some sort,” Fillion said. “It blasted glass and wood framing onto his right side. Well, his right arm and head.”
“Alandra’s merciful heart!” Elizabeth made her way to the door and opened it.
Someone was in there, sitting on a chair next to the bed, lying forward onto it. She took two hurried steps in, crutch creaking, before she realized who it was.
Chanté’s right hand held Quillan’s left and both of them were asleep.
Seeing them together like that was a revelation. They looked so serene and . . . perfect, as if they really were meant to be together. She took a step back as her feelings swirled, tripped over each other, and finally settled.
There was surprisingly little hurt.
She took a breath and let it out. As quietly as someone walking with a cast could be, she made her way closer.
A hissing intake of breath couldn’t be stopped when she saw Quillan’s right arm. Un-bandaged, it lay upon a layer of gauze atop a long metal tray of some kind. Thin traces of dried blood outlined a shocking number of cuts along his arm and hand.
Gods be good, but that was a lot. And Chanté had repaired them all? Most were small, but a few were quite long and some were weirdly jagged. Why weren’t any of them sutured?
Guildmaster Millinith’s description of the injury had scared the piss out of her, but aside from those dried traces, there didn’t seem to be blood anywhere else. The lacerations looked to have been dealt with very well even without stitches.
What of his head injury? No sign of it was evident from here, so she started to make her way around the bed. The cuts were on his right arm, so the bump on his head should be on that side, too.
A sound made her glance back.
Fillion had grabbed the chair by the door. He quietly walked over, set it down in the narrow gap between the wall and the side of the bed opposite Chanté, and gestured to it.
Despite their sort-of-argument earlier, he was being nice. She raised her shoulders, ducking her head a bit in embarrassment. “T–Thanks.”
Fillion’s lips curved into a smile. “You’re welcome.” He made for the door. “They’re both asleep, so I’m going to talk with the Guildmaster for a bit.”
All the hurried walking had made Elizabeth’s leg throb at the break. Sitting took weight off of it, though some pain remained.
She stared at Quillan’s arm and hand and drew her brows together. Would he be able to continue as a machine engineer?
Shaking off that thought, she leaned in for a closer look at his head. The knot on the side wasn’t very large. It rose only about half an inch high. So why was he still asleep?
She reached over, brushed hair from his forehead, and touched it. He had a slight fever. Not surprising with that many cuts on his arm. His body was likely fighting off some kind of minor infection.
She sat back and grunted. “You big oaf. What did you get yourself into?”
Whatever they had been doing must have been tiring. Chanté was sleeping, too. Or was it because of the spells he’d used on all those lacerations?
She sat up a bit to see his face. His strange attractiveness was even more evident when asleep.
With a sigh, she leaned back into the chair. “Honestly. All that and dimples, too?”
Quillan liked him, though, so there must be more to Chanté than a pretty face. As quiet and blank-of-expression as he was with anyone other than Quillan, she had yet to learn much about the mysterious young man. Who was he? Where did he come from?
She pressed her lips together. It wasn’t her business. As long as he made Quillan happy an
d didn’t hurt him, that was all that mattered.
Clasping her hands in her lap, she set about waiting, something there’d been a lot of since breaking her leg. Though her investigation continued in a manner of speaking, that she’d had to hand it over to others was something that didn’t fully sit well with her. Not much she could do about it, though.
Aside from the boys’ soft breathing, it was so quiet in the room that she could hear the faint sounds of music and shouts and laughter out in the city from the festival celebrations. Several fires weren’t enough to dampen their spirits, it seemed.
“Chanté.” Quillan sat up.
Elizabeth twitched in surprise so violently, the back of the chair banged against the wall behind. “Quillan,” she hissed. “You scared the piss out of me.”
“Elizabeth?” He stared at her.
Heart racing for more than one reason—he’d woken up!—she said, “He’s here, too.”
“Who?”
“Chanté. You . . . called out his name when you woke up.” She pointed.
Quillan turned.
There was that smile. She twisted her lips. Ah, well.
Quillan noticed their clasped hands. He stared down at them, brows drawn together. After a moment, he gripped Chanté’s hand tighter.
He turned to her. “I–I’m sorry.”
She smiled. “No harm done. Except maybe to the wall. I’m just happy you’re alright.”
“No, not about—” He let out a quiet breath. “I hadn’t seen you in so long, and I thought that there might still be something between us, so I tried to—”
“Quillan.”
He clamped his lips shut and stared at her. He seemed worried, afraid, and sad.
She had to cut short that thinking, immediately. Pity was something she could not abide. “There is still something between us. I’m quite fond of you, and you seem to be fond of me. Fond. That’s all. Chanté, on the other hand? Well, you’re in love with him.”
Quillan turned to Chanté and again smiled that idiotic, adorable smile. He let out a short, embarrassed laugh. “Yeah.”
He reached his other hand over to do something, wipe a stray hair from Chanté’s face perhaps, but then spied his injuries.
His eyes widened. W–What happened to my arm?”
Of Gods, Trees, and a Sapling: Dragonlinked Chronicles Volume 4 Page 99
