Edge of Tomorrow - Chapter Eighteen
Sep. 21st, 2010 10:13 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22a/n: Been awhile since I updated this one so I figured it was about time. No major warnings this chapter since it's pretty tame in content. Foul language is the worst you have to see.
Title: The Edge of Tomorrow
Series: Infinity's End
Rating: T to M
Genre: Romantic, Comedic, Erotic, Action-Adventure with a lemony twist of Het and a slice of Slash
Summary: Ione makes a difficult decision when her allies call for her imprisonment, forcing her to flee for her life. In the hands of the Theravada, she meets Gale Arlen, rumored leader of the rebels, and learns what it truly means to choose a side.
The beginning starts here
---------------------------
Chapter Eighteen
----------------------------
Ione wouldn't exactly call her pace a hurry, but she definitely wasn't walking sedately either. Good news, bad news, Ishmael hadn't elaborated on either. He just relayed the message Azriel had given and made himself scarce, leaving Ione to practically leap from her chair and barrel out of the dining area. She left Gale behind in her haste, though he was quick to catch up with his longer legs.
Malcolm.
That could be the only reason. Was he dead? Was he alive? Why would Azriel do so much for her? For Malcolm?
Ione's mind ran in a thousand rampant directions, skittering from one thought to the next.
“Do you even know where you’re going?”
Ishmael had said that Azriel was in the infirmary. So that was where Ione was heading. Of course, she didn't have her map on her, so maybe she wasn't.
“Yes. No. Maybe,” Ione said all in a rush, passing by other residents whose faces blurred.
Why was she frantic? Maybe because she felt she could’ve done something to save him.
Gale encouraged her to slow down. “Azriel wouldn't have called for you if it was bad.”
That was reassuring. It didn't make her want to hurry any less though. Still, for his sake, she stopped near-running and settled for a fast walk. This gave Gale ample opportunity to steer her down the proper hallway. Well, at least she’d been heading in the correct general direction.
“Why’d he do it?” Ione asked because she needed something to distract herself. “Why’d he risk it? Is it because Malcolm’s a Wyndham?”
“Kieran needed some data. And Azriel won't stand aside when the nobles do something terrible. If he could save your... friend, then Azriel would. That was all he was thinking. You know Azriel couldn’t care less what family anyone is from. Highest noble or the commoners in Moriarty.”
Ione did know that. Azriel was just that sort of person. He worried about everyone. Thought about their welfare. He’d take in anyone. Traitors. Former enemies. People with nowhere else to go. People like Ione.
Still, she didn't fail to notice Gale’s hesitation. It occurred to her that there might be some misunderstanding here, and it further occurred to her that anyone in their right mind would get the wrong idea. She should probably correct him. Later. When she felt like taking the time to stop and reassure his fragile trust in their recent and developing relationship-type thingy. But right now, she was more concerned about Malcolm.
She clamped her mouth shut because it was slowing her progress, and Gale, in turn, didn't prod for any more questions. He let her stew in silence, which was probably the best thing. Ione needed his quiet presence, not a false reassurance or inane chatter.
They made record time to the infirmary, and Ione didn't waste a moment, barging in like a madwoman and nearly knocking over a healer on his way out. The man seemed to recognize his impending doom and flattened himself against the wall as she passed. Behind her, she dimly heard Gale say something like an apology, but Ione ignored that. She saw Azriel and Kieran, lingering outside of a curtained enclosure and made a beeline straight for them.
“Is he here?” Ione demanded before either of them could get a word out. “Is he alright? Is he ali--”
Her mind stuttered on the word, so she stopped and clamped her mouth shut.
Kieran blinked before dragging her into a hug that somehow melted all the tension. “Give our Glorious Leader a chance to speak,” he replied soothingly and cast a glance at Azriel. “I told you that you should’ve mentioned something sooner.”
“‘I told you so’ is hardly appropriate right now, my dear,” Azriel returned, but he shifted in discomfort nevertheless. “He’s here, Miss Ione. And he’s injured and weak, but I’m assured that he will make a full recovery.”
“You didn't... You don't have... thank you.” Extracting herself from her uncle’s arms, Ione couldn't stop the wave of gratitude that weakened her knees.
Azriel simply smiled. “You're very welcome.”
“Can I see him?” Amber eyes focused on the curtain, even as her senses registered Gale coming to a stop just behind her.
“He's awake and waiting for you,” Kieran assured her, pushing up his glasses with the tip of one finger. One would think that with his intelligence, he could simply fix that problem.
Ione didn't hesitate, pulling back the curtains and diving inside. The tart sting of herbs assailed her nose, and she winced, even as her eyes fell on the bed. Malcolm was certainly there. Alive and swaddled in bandages. He was pale, thinner and weaker than she’d ever seen him, but he was alive.
“Malcolm...”
He grinned at her and lifted up his fingers in greeting though they didn't rise but a few inches from the mattress. “Hey, Spitfire. You're looking good.”
“Much better than you.” Though her breath hitched, Ione was proud of herself for holding it in. She moved around the bed, plopping into the chair someone had helpfully left behind.
Truer words had never been spoken though. Dark circles ringed Malcolm's eyes, and his face was a ghastly shade. A bandage that obscured one eye with cuts and bruises scattered across every inch of visible skin. Ione could only hazard a guess to what he’d suffered in that horrible place.
Malcolm chuckled, but it was dry and raspy. “You've never been one to mince words,” he said and tried to aim for serious. “I don't even know where to start.”
“You're in Paragon, the Theravada’s base,” Ione began and touched his hand, skin chilled and bruised. “How's that for a start?”
“I know that much. Master Hadley explained the basics.” He shifted and winced when the action caused a lance of pain. “Said that Grayshire thinks you’re some kind of traitor. As if our Spitfire would ever turn her back on us.”
Ione smiled. And something that she hadn't even realized was tightening eased. She never before comprehended how much she worried that her friends would believe the worst.
“Not all of it’s a lie,” she admitted, gaze skipping away. “Fenris is my familiar. But I never intended to join them. At least, not in the beginning.”
Looking at her best friend, who’d been sent to his death just so the damned nobles could test their theories, Ione felt sick. Those indecisive and wavering feelings clenched hold. And her loyalty to Grayshire, already cracked and bleeding, shredded just a bit more. Ione didn't even know why she bothered to cling to it anymore.
Malcolm tried to curl his hand around hers, probably for a reassuring squeeze. But the action pulled at muscles that were still uncomfortable, so he just tapped on her palm.
“I figured as much. I think we lasted for a day before being attacked by... things,” he said with darkening eyes. “Things I hadn't even seen before. Far worse than the Merihem. They just wouldn't die and then our magic failed. And the more we ran, the more tired we got...”
Ione dragged her bottom lip into her mouth and realized that no one else had likely survived. She tried hard to remember who all was Malcolm's team, certain that she’d graduated with at least half of them. But she couldn't seem to recall all of their faces. And that bothered her. That she’d let them be forgotten so quickly.
“Theron was arrested,” she inserted, just to change the subject because hearing about what Malcolm had endured only made it that much worse. “Placed under house arrest.”
“Master Hadley told me.” Her friend dragged in a hitched breath. “He offered me a place here. Not like I can go anywhere else.”
“You could go home,” Ione pointed out. “At least, you haven't been declared a traitor.”
He snorted. “The last place I want to go is there; they’re so fucking eager to get rid of me anyway. I'll find some way to assure pa and my sisters I'm all right, but otherwise, I'm staying here.” Malcolm managed a grin that was a ghost of his usual humor. “Unless you'd rather get rid of me. Replace me that quickly, did you?”
“You know that's not what I meant.” Ione sniffed as though offended; she sat back in her chair and crossed her arms. “I was really worried, you know. I thought you were dead.”
He grimaced. “I feel dead.”
The curtain whipped open with a loud scrape before she could reply.
“It'll pass,” Kieran assured cheerfully, striding in as though it were his right with Azriel and Gale on his heels. “It'll take some time for your system to burn out the poison. I hate to be bearer of ill news, but honestly, the scientist in me is shocked you survived. You must be some deity's favorite.”
“If anyone, it’d be Tyr,” Ione said with a grin. “He likes Theron, too. Fools and idiots, you know.”
“Oy, it's not fair to kick a man when he's down,” Malcolm said as he tried in vain to fight off a yawn.
Gale brushed by everyone then to stand by his bedside, checking his pulse and pressing the back of his hand over Malcolm's forehead. Kieran was right on his heels and looked over their patient with some weird type of spell.
“I think that's enough visitation for now,” Gale commented after a moment. “Your fever is climbing again. Too much excitement.”
Malcolm snorted, but the effect was lost when he yawned a second time. “I'm a Wyndham. I won't be defeated by a mere fever.”
“If only poisons could be burnt away by sheer will alone,” Kieran returned dryly. He flicked his hands at the others in the room. “All right, everyone out.”
He shooed them, as though the leader of Paragon and Ione were just stray dogs. Of course, Gale got the same treatment. Despite the fact that he’d been at least partially trained as a healer. Ione wanted to protest, but her uncle had that look in his eyes, and well, she wasn't going to argue with him. Azriel merely thought it amusing and allowed the man to usher him out into the hallway.
“I have to return to Grayshire anyway. Lest my absence be noticed,” Azriel said once they were lingering outside. “Tensions are rising, and no one knows precisely why.”
Gale frowned and folded his arms over his chest. “What are they planning?”
Azriel gave a half-shrug. “Whatever it is, they're keeping it to themselves. Duke Wyndham and perhaps High Lady Misae know, but the rest of us are in the dark.”
“Our eyes in the ranks?”
“Not high enough.” Azriel sighed, rubbing fingers across his forehead. “It's become too dangerous for them to remain. I'm considering calling them back. Calling back everyone.”
Gale looked at him, and Ione felt a bit like she didn't belong in this conversation.
“I suppose the same doesn't go for you.”
His leader narrowed his eyes. “I know what I'm doing.”
Now, where had Ione heard that before?
“That may be so. But forgive us if we worry. We’re only alive because of your planning.”
Azriel's stubbornness softened. “I know, Gale. I understand.” He dragged a hand through his hair.
“Good.” Gale grinned then. “I'd hate to have to see Kieran cry.”
Azriel snorted. “It’s never a lovely picture. He's very... loud,” he said, but it really sounded like he meant something else entirely.
“Something best avoided then,” the blond agreed.
And there was a moment where he glanced at Ione uncomfortably and she shifted in worry. Longing to go back to Malcolm while Azriel was trying to make a graceful exit but was trapped by the awkward atmosphere.
Of all people, it was Gale who broke and pushed past both of them.
“I'll walk you out,” he suggested, hinting that perhaps there was more that he wanted to say and maybe he didn't want Ione to hear.
Not that she was insanely curious or anything. And yes, she still wondered how Azriel managed to be here so often without anyone noticing he’d left Grayshire. The trip alone should take days, but he made it seem like it was just down the road or something. Like all it took was a little jaunt outside and next door.
Such a mystery.
Azriel inclined his head then. “That’ll be fine. Until later, Miss Ione.”
She lifted a hand in farewell, practically dancing back to one foot as she turned back towards the infirmary. The door opened before she could so much as touch it, however, and her uncle stood there with a mischievous look. No doubt he'd been listening from the other side, nosy little man that he was.
“You have to talk to him,” Kieran said as they walked back into the heavy stench of antiseptic and herbs. “He's laboring under a painful misconception.”
And her uncle didn’t even need to clarify which one he meant.
Ione sighed. “I'll ease his manly insecurities later. Right now, I wanna know more about Malcolm.”
Her eyes wandered to the curtained enclosure that held her best friend. Or the ragged, half-starved, bruised man they’d brought back to her to be more precise.
Kieran frowned, closing the door behind them. “Like what?”
“Like what happened to him.”
“I only know what he's told me,” her uncle explained, gaze nearly hidden by the gleam of his glasses.
Ione waved at him dismissively. “That's a good place to start.” She glanced around the pristine infirmary. It was too quiet. Grim. Like a crypt. “The others, for instance? Did we find out anything about them?”
“We only found one other,” Kieran explained with a soft sigh and a gesture down to where more curtained beds were located. “He's still out though.”
“Someone else survived?” Ione’s heart leapt into her throat. “Who?”
“I don't know. He isn't well enough to tell us his name, and I haven't had the chance to ask Malcolm.” Kieran paused, hand going to his chin as he pondered. “Brown skin, cropped hair... very dark eyes, almost black. Barely looks old enough to be in Brigade to be perfectly honest.”
Ione gasped. “Irvine?”
Kieran inclined his head. “Maybe. His recovery’s far more uncertain.” He slumped over and into a chair, looking more serious than Ione had ever seen him. “I'm doing the best I can, but there’s still a lot we don't know about the Merihem, the Flats, or their affect on people. And I'm no healer.”
“Gale? Or Sabriel...?”
“--are doing what they can. But they’re only Arlens and not fully qualified healers. At least, not for this,” her uncle added with a mild shiver. “We don't actually have a healer fulltime, you know. Those two are probably the closest thing we’ve got. The others are all still undercover.” He shook his head. “We could really use Neorah, Azriel’s mom. Or Cyrus even.”
Ione blindly found a chair and lowered herself into it. “Will Irvine make it?”
“Probably.” Kieran twisted his seat this way and that. “Malcolm’s injured, but his magic is stronger. He's handling it better. He'll be just fine; he's a Wyndham alright.”
“That he is.” Ione smiled, but it faltered.
She fell silent as her eyes focused on Malcolm's curtained bed. Ione ached to go in there and touch him again. Just to assure herself that he was alive and well and not a memory haunting her dreams.
“Ione...”
She looked at Kieran, tone still unaccountably serious. “Uncle?”
“No one's pressed you,” he said slowly, as though carefully choosing his words. “No one's pushed you, and no one will. But... can you honestly sit here and look at him and still side with them?” His eyes burned into hers, earnest and pleading.
Ione chewed her bottom lip. “I’m not with Grayshire anymore,” she began quietly. “I certainly won’t fight for them. Even if they gave me a chance to go back. Not anymore. I just...”
“...can't fight your friends or family,” Kieran finished for her.”
She shrugged. “Maybe that's it. I don't know.” Ione leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “I guess I'm more like Souya than I want to admit. I'm stubborn.”
“Stubborn, yes. But this has passed the point of stubbornness.” Kieran leaned back, ticking off his fingers. “You live here. Eat here. Date here. Grayshire has shunned you, and you've seen with your own eyes the awful things they do. Why not join the fight? I know how much you hate sitting around here.”
Ione wished she knew the answer herself. Kieran was right about everything. She was a Theravada in all but name. Hell, she'd already fought her friends. The only thing she hadn't done was admit it to herself and everyone else. What was she waiting on?
The door to the infirmary opened before Ione could respond. She glanced up to see Gale standing there, looking apologetic.
“Am I interrupting?”
Ione rose to her feet. “Not at all,” she put in with a small smile, ready to leave this conversation. She could always check on Malcolm later. Right now, there was someone else who needed her assurance. “Azriel gone?”
“Yes.” Gale looked at Kieran, something sparking briefly behind his gaze. “But he said he’d be back in a few days.”
Kieran stood, unable to help the slow grin that spread across his lips. “That man... he's going to get caught.”
“The boss is too smart for that,” Gale said, but they shared a knowing glance anyway.
“True.” Ione looked at her uncle. “You'll tell me if anything changes.”
He pressed a hand over his heart. “I'll send a messenger straight for you, my precious niece. We won't wait this time.”
“You'd better not,” Ione warned and stepped towards the exit and a waiting Gale. “Shall we?”
He gestured her ahead of him. “After you.”
Out in the corridor, there was a noticeable silence. Not quite tense but not quite comfortable either. It was clear Gale wanted to ask but didn't know how. Or that he even should. And Ione had to admit, even for an outsider, her relationship with Malcolm would seem suspicious. Someone might think she loved him or something. Which she did but not in the manner that he was no doubt suspecting.
“So...” Gale began, and Ione didn't even have to think before she knew where it was going.
“No, we never dated. Not really,” she said, and it was technically true. “And we're just friends now. We attended Conservatory together, and I'm close with his father.” She looked at him to gage his reaction. “He means a lot to me. And well… He… We…”
Ione paused to choose the best words, but finally, she settled on the brutal truth. She’d long found that beating around the bush was only a stalling technique and never solved anything
“There was sex,” she told him bluntly, and the tips of his ears heated up as she watched. “A lot of it. For quite awhile,” she added and held up a hand to keep him from interrupting. “But… But that’s all it was. Just sex. He’s my friend, yes. And we’ve slept together. But it was casual. We were never serious about each other like that. And we were certainly never going to get married.”
Gale was silent. His face was an emotionless mask, and his eyes were narrowed. But Ione could tell that the green of them was unusually dark. He just stood there, studying her. Until he finally sighed.
“Is it the same with me?” Gale asked then. His voice was soft, but there was an edge to it. Hard and sharp like steel. “Is it just casual, too?”
Ione was taken aback. Of all the things she’d expected him to say, that hadn’t been on the top of list. It wasn’t even on the list at all.
“What?” She shook her head forcefully. “No. Of course not. I would’ve said something if that was what I wanted. But it’s not. I mean… I thought…” Ione pursed her lips. “Do you want it to be casual?”
Gale blinked at her. “No. No, I don’t--”
“Well, good,” she stated emphatically. “I don’t want it to be that either.”
There was a moment of quiet. Gale simply gazed at her, but there was something to his expression. Something much lighter. Like hope mixed with a little bit of awe.
“It’s not casual,” Ione said with finality, reaching out to take his wrist and stroking her fingers across the back of his hand.
“Oh.” Gale shifted on his feet. Another blush crept across his nose.
Ione chuckled. “You don't sound convinced.”
He looked at her. And though his smile was hesitant, it was honest.
“I am,” he assured. “I'm just... digesting what Azriel said. About the Flats. And what Grayshire’s planning.”
Ione wasn't quite convinced, but she let it slide. This whole relationship thing was new to her, too. Jealousy was all part of it, right? And so long as Gale didn't start inventing weird things to make a fuss about, everything would be fine.
“What do you think’s going on?” Ione asked, gleefully churning wheels of thought on something other than the daily monotony of life as a freeloader in Paragon.
“I haven't any idea.” Gale folded his arms into his sleeves. “I’m on the outs now. No secrets are shared with me. At least none that Azriel doesn’t already know.”
“I wasn't exactly top of the heap either,” Ione murmured thoughtfully, following along as Gale guided them somewhere. Perhaps to the kitchens where they could finish their interrupted meal.
Where Gale had been loving those strawberries instead of her, Ione's libido expertly reminded her. Loving them sinfully. Stomach tightening, Ione forced herself to focus on the topic of conversation. Now was not the time to be degenerating into sexual fantasies. No matter how much her body craved them.
But really, Gale needed to get off his ass and seduce her already. This was getting beyond frustrating.
* * * * *
a/n: There are more chapters to come. And I'm rather fond of this chapter. Malcolm happens to be one of my favorite characters. *grins*
Coming out soon is a wonderful little Azriel/Kieran prequel oneshot with a dash of smexin' to make things interesting.
I do hope you enjoyed and feedback is always appreciated!
Title: The Edge of Tomorrow
Series: Infinity's End
Rating: T to M
Genre: Romantic, Comedic, Erotic, Action-Adventure with a lemony twist of Het and a slice of Slash
Summary: Ione makes a difficult decision when her allies call for her imprisonment, forcing her to flee for her life. In the hands of the Theravada, she meets Gale Arlen, rumored leader of the rebels, and learns what it truly means to choose a side.
The beginning starts here
---------------------------
Chapter Eighteen
----------------------------
Ione wouldn't exactly call her pace a hurry, but she definitely wasn't walking sedately either. Good news, bad news, Ishmael hadn't elaborated on either. He just relayed the message Azriel had given and made himself scarce, leaving Ione to practically leap from her chair and barrel out of the dining area. She left Gale behind in her haste, though he was quick to catch up with his longer legs.
Malcolm.
That could be the only reason. Was he dead? Was he alive? Why would Azriel do so much for her? For Malcolm?
Ione's mind ran in a thousand rampant directions, skittering from one thought to the next.
“Do you even know where you’re going?”
Ishmael had said that Azriel was in the infirmary. So that was where Ione was heading. Of course, she didn't have her map on her, so maybe she wasn't.
“Yes. No. Maybe,” Ione said all in a rush, passing by other residents whose faces blurred.
Why was she frantic? Maybe because she felt she could’ve done something to save him.
Gale encouraged her to slow down. “Azriel wouldn't have called for you if it was bad.”
That was reassuring. It didn't make her want to hurry any less though. Still, for his sake, she stopped near-running and settled for a fast walk. This gave Gale ample opportunity to steer her down the proper hallway. Well, at least she’d been heading in the correct general direction.
“Why’d he do it?” Ione asked because she needed something to distract herself. “Why’d he risk it? Is it because Malcolm’s a Wyndham?”
“Kieran needed some data. And Azriel won't stand aside when the nobles do something terrible. If he could save your... friend, then Azriel would. That was all he was thinking. You know Azriel couldn’t care less what family anyone is from. Highest noble or the commoners in Moriarty.”
Ione did know that. Azriel was just that sort of person. He worried about everyone. Thought about their welfare. He’d take in anyone. Traitors. Former enemies. People with nowhere else to go. People like Ione.
Still, she didn't fail to notice Gale’s hesitation. It occurred to her that there might be some misunderstanding here, and it further occurred to her that anyone in their right mind would get the wrong idea. She should probably correct him. Later. When she felt like taking the time to stop and reassure his fragile trust in their recent and developing relationship-type thingy. But right now, she was more concerned about Malcolm.
She clamped her mouth shut because it was slowing her progress, and Gale, in turn, didn't prod for any more questions. He let her stew in silence, which was probably the best thing. Ione needed his quiet presence, not a false reassurance or inane chatter.
They made record time to the infirmary, and Ione didn't waste a moment, barging in like a madwoman and nearly knocking over a healer on his way out. The man seemed to recognize his impending doom and flattened himself against the wall as she passed. Behind her, she dimly heard Gale say something like an apology, but Ione ignored that. She saw Azriel and Kieran, lingering outside of a curtained enclosure and made a beeline straight for them.
“Is he here?” Ione demanded before either of them could get a word out. “Is he alright? Is he ali--”
Her mind stuttered on the word, so she stopped and clamped her mouth shut.
Kieran blinked before dragging her into a hug that somehow melted all the tension. “Give our Glorious Leader a chance to speak,” he replied soothingly and cast a glance at Azriel. “I told you that you should’ve mentioned something sooner.”
“‘I told you so’ is hardly appropriate right now, my dear,” Azriel returned, but he shifted in discomfort nevertheless. “He’s here, Miss Ione. And he’s injured and weak, but I’m assured that he will make a full recovery.”
“You didn't... You don't have... thank you.” Extracting herself from her uncle’s arms, Ione couldn't stop the wave of gratitude that weakened her knees.
Azriel simply smiled. “You're very welcome.”
“Can I see him?” Amber eyes focused on the curtain, even as her senses registered Gale coming to a stop just behind her.
“He's awake and waiting for you,” Kieran assured her, pushing up his glasses with the tip of one finger. One would think that with his intelligence, he could simply fix that problem.
Ione didn't hesitate, pulling back the curtains and diving inside. The tart sting of herbs assailed her nose, and she winced, even as her eyes fell on the bed. Malcolm was certainly there. Alive and swaddled in bandages. He was pale, thinner and weaker than she’d ever seen him, but he was alive.
“Malcolm...”
He grinned at her and lifted up his fingers in greeting though they didn't rise but a few inches from the mattress. “Hey, Spitfire. You're looking good.”
“Much better than you.” Though her breath hitched, Ione was proud of herself for holding it in. She moved around the bed, plopping into the chair someone had helpfully left behind.
Truer words had never been spoken though. Dark circles ringed Malcolm's eyes, and his face was a ghastly shade. A bandage that obscured one eye with cuts and bruises scattered across every inch of visible skin. Ione could only hazard a guess to what he’d suffered in that horrible place.
Malcolm chuckled, but it was dry and raspy. “You've never been one to mince words,” he said and tried to aim for serious. “I don't even know where to start.”
“You're in Paragon, the Theravada’s base,” Ione began and touched his hand, skin chilled and bruised. “How's that for a start?”
“I know that much. Master Hadley explained the basics.” He shifted and winced when the action caused a lance of pain. “Said that Grayshire thinks you’re some kind of traitor. As if our Spitfire would ever turn her back on us.”
Ione smiled. And something that she hadn't even realized was tightening eased. She never before comprehended how much she worried that her friends would believe the worst.
“Not all of it’s a lie,” she admitted, gaze skipping away. “Fenris is my familiar. But I never intended to join them. At least, not in the beginning.”
Looking at her best friend, who’d been sent to his death just so the damned nobles could test their theories, Ione felt sick. Those indecisive and wavering feelings clenched hold. And her loyalty to Grayshire, already cracked and bleeding, shredded just a bit more. Ione didn't even know why she bothered to cling to it anymore.
Malcolm tried to curl his hand around hers, probably for a reassuring squeeze. But the action pulled at muscles that were still uncomfortable, so he just tapped on her palm.
“I figured as much. I think we lasted for a day before being attacked by... things,” he said with darkening eyes. “Things I hadn't even seen before. Far worse than the Merihem. They just wouldn't die and then our magic failed. And the more we ran, the more tired we got...”
Ione dragged her bottom lip into her mouth and realized that no one else had likely survived. She tried hard to remember who all was Malcolm's team, certain that she’d graduated with at least half of them. But she couldn't seem to recall all of their faces. And that bothered her. That she’d let them be forgotten so quickly.
“Theron was arrested,” she inserted, just to change the subject because hearing about what Malcolm had endured only made it that much worse. “Placed under house arrest.”
“Master Hadley told me.” Her friend dragged in a hitched breath. “He offered me a place here. Not like I can go anywhere else.”
“You could go home,” Ione pointed out. “At least, you haven't been declared a traitor.”
He snorted. “The last place I want to go is there; they’re so fucking eager to get rid of me anyway. I'll find some way to assure pa and my sisters I'm all right, but otherwise, I'm staying here.” Malcolm managed a grin that was a ghost of his usual humor. “Unless you'd rather get rid of me. Replace me that quickly, did you?”
“You know that's not what I meant.” Ione sniffed as though offended; she sat back in her chair and crossed her arms. “I was really worried, you know. I thought you were dead.”
He grimaced. “I feel dead.”
The curtain whipped open with a loud scrape before she could reply.
“It'll pass,” Kieran assured cheerfully, striding in as though it were his right with Azriel and Gale on his heels. “It'll take some time for your system to burn out the poison. I hate to be bearer of ill news, but honestly, the scientist in me is shocked you survived. You must be some deity's favorite.”
“If anyone, it’d be Tyr,” Ione said with a grin. “He likes Theron, too. Fools and idiots, you know.”
“Oy, it's not fair to kick a man when he's down,” Malcolm said as he tried in vain to fight off a yawn.
Gale brushed by everyone then to stand by his bedside, checking his pulse and pressing the back of his hand over Malcolm's forehead. Kieran was right on his heels and looked over their patient with some weird type of spell.
“I think that's enough visitation for now,” Gale commented after a moment. “Your fever is climbing again. Too much excitement.”
Malcolm snorted, but the effect was lost when he yawned a second time. “I'm a Wyndham. I won't be defeated by a mere fever.”
“If only poisons could be burnt away by sheer will alone,” Kieran returned dryly. He flicked his hands at the others in the room. “All right, everyone out.”
He shooed them, as though the leader of Paragon and Ione were just stray dogs. Of course, Gale got the same treatment. Despite the fact that he’d been at least partially trained as a healer. Ione wanted to protest, but her uncle had that look in his eyes, and well, she wasn't going to argue with him. Azriel merely thought it amusing and allowed the man to usher him out into the hallway.
“I have to return to Grayshire anyway. Lest my absence be noticed,” Azriel said once they were lingering outside. “Tensions are rising, and no one knows precisely why.”
Gale frowned and folded his arms over his chest. “What are they planning?”
Azriel gave a half-shrug. “Whatever it is, they're keeping it to themselves. Duke Wyndham and perhaps High Lady Misae know, but the rest of us are in the dark.”
“Our eyes in the ranks?”
“Not high enough.” Azriel sighed, rubbing fingers across his forehead. “It's become too dangerous for them to remain. I'm considering calling them back. Calling back everyone.”
Gale looked at him, and Ione felt a bit like she didn't belong in this conversation.
“I suppose the same doesn't go for you.”
His leader narrowed his eyes. “I know what I'm doing.”
Now, where had Ione heard that before?
“That may be so. But forgive us if we worry. We’re only alive because of your planning.”
Azriel's stubbornness softened. “I know, Gale. I understand.” He dragged a hand through his hair.
“Good.” Gale grinned then. “I'd hate to have to see Kieran cry.”
Azriel snorted. “It’s never a lovely picture. He's very... loud,” he said, but it really sounded like he meant something else entirely.
“Something best avoided then,” the blond agreed.
And there was a moment where he glanced at Ione uncomfortably and she shifted in worry. Longing to go back to Malcolm while Azriel was trying to make a graceful exit but was trapped by the awkward atmosphere.
Of all people, it was Gale who broke and pushed past both of them.
“I'll walk you out,” he suggested, hinting that perhaps there was more that he wanted to say and maybe he didn't want Ione to hear.
Not that she was insanely curious or anything. And yes, she still wondered how Azriel managed to be here so often without anyone noticing he’d left Grayshire. The trip alone should take days, but he made it seem like it was just down the road or something. Like all it took was a little jaunt outside and next door.
Such a mystery.
Azriel inclined his head then. “That’ll be fine. Until later, Miss Ione.”
She lifted a hand in farewell, practically dancing back to one foot as she turned back towards the infirmary. The door opened before she could so much as touch it, however, and her uncle stood there with a mischievous look. No doubt he'd been listening from the other side, nosy little man that he was.
“You have to talk to him,” Kieran said as they walked back into the heavy stench of antiseptic and herbs. “He's laboring under a painful misconception.”
And her uncle didn’t even need to clarify which one he meant.
Ione sighed. “I'll ease his manly insecurities later. Right now, I wanna know more about Malcolm.”
Her eyes wandered to the curtained enclosure that held her best friend. Or the ragged, half-starved, bruised man they’d brought back to her to be more precise.
Kieran frowned, closing the door behind them. “Like what?”
“Like what happened to him.”
“I only know what he's told me,” her uncle explained, gaze nearly hidden by the gleam of his glasses.
Ione waved at him dismissively. “That's a good place to start.” She glanced around the pristine infirmary. It was too quiet. Grim. Like a crypt. “The others, for instance? Did we find out anything about them?”
“We only found one other,” Kieran explained with a soft sigh and a gesture down to where more curtained beds were located. “He's still out though.”
“Someone else survived?” Ione’s heart leapt into her throat. “Who?”
“I don't know. He isn't well enough to tell us his name, and I haven't had the chance to ask Malcolm.” Kieran paused, hand going to his chin as he pondered. “Brown skin, cropped hair... very dark eyes, almost black. Barely looks old enough to be in Brigade to be perfectly honest.”
Ione gasped. “Irvine?”
Kieran inclined his head. “Maybe. His recovery’s far more uncertain.” He slumped over and into a chair, looking more serious than Ione had ever seen him. “I'm doing the best I can, but there’s still a lot we don't know about the Merihem, the Flats, or their affect on people. And I'm no healer.”
“Gale? Or Sabriel...?”
“--are doing what they can. But they’re only Arlens and not fully qualified healers. At least, not for this,” her uncle added with a mild shiver. “We don't actually have a healer fulltime, you know. Those two are probably the closest thing we’ve got. The others are all still undercover.” He shook his head. “We could really use Neorah, Azriel’s mom. Or Cyrus even.”
Ione blindly found a chair and lowered herself into it. “Will Irvine make it?”
“Probably.” Kieran twisted his seat this way and that. “Malcolm’s injured, but his magic is stronger. He's handling it better. He'll be just fine; he's a Wyndham alright.”
“That he is.” Ione smiled, but it faltered.
She fell silent as her eyes focused on Malcolm's curtained bed. Ione ached to go in there and touch him again. Just to assure herself that he was alive and well and not a memory haunting her dreams.
“Ione...”
She looked at Kieran, tone still unaccountably serious. “Uncle?”
“No one's pressed you,” he said slowly, as though carefully choosing his words. “No one's pushed you, and no one will. But... can you honestly sit here and look at him and still side with them?” His eyes burned into hers, earnest and pleading.
Ione chewed her bottom lip. “I’m not with Grayshire anymore,” she began quietly. “I certainly won’t fight for them. Even if they gave me a chance to go back. Not anymore. I just...”
“...can't fight your friends or family,” Kieran finished for her.”
She shrugged. “Maybe that's it. I don't know.” Ione leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “I guess I'm more like Souya than I want to admit. I'm stubborn.”
“Stubborn, yes. But this has passed the point of stubbornness.” Kieran leaned back, ticking off his fingers. “You live here. Eat here. Date here. Grayshire has shunned you, and you've seen with your own eyes the awful things they do. Why not join the fight? I know how much you hate sitting around here.”
Ione wished she knew the answer herself. Kieran was right about everything. She was a Theravada in all but name. Hell, she'd already fought her friends. The only thing she hadn't done was admit it to herself and everyone else. What was she waiting on?
The door to the infirmary opened before Ione could respond. She glanced up to see Gale standing there, looking apologetic.
“Am I interrupting?”
Ione rose to her feet. “Not at all,” she put in with a small smile, ready to leave this conversation. She could always check on Malcolm later. Right now, there was someone else who needed her assurance. “Azriel gone?”
“Yes.” Gale looked at Kieran, something sparking briefly behind his gaze. “But he said he’d be back in a few days.”
Kieran stood, unable to help the slow grin that spread across his lips. “That man... he's going to get caught.”
“The boss is too smart for that,” Gale said, but they shared a knowing glance anyway.
“True.” Ione looked at her uncle. “You'll tell me if anything changes.”
He pressed a hand over his heart. “I'll send a messenger straight for you, my precious niece. We won't wait this time.”
“You'd better not,” Ione warned and stepped towards the exit and a waiting Gale. “Shall we?”
He gestured her ahead of him. “After you.”
Out in the corridor, there was a noticeable silence. Not quite tense but not quite comfortable either. It was clear Gale wanted to ask but didn't know how. Or that he even should. And Ione had to admit, even for an outsider, her relationship with Malcolm would seem suspicious. Someone might think she loved him or something. Which she did but not in the manner that he was no doubt suspecting.
“So...” Gale began, and Ione didn't even have to think before she knew where it was going.
“No, we never dated. Not really,” she said, and it was technically true. “And we're just friends now. We attended Conservatory together, and I'm close with his father.” She looked at him to gage his reaction. “He means a lot to me. And well… He… We…”
Ione paused to choose the best words, but finally, she settled on the brutal truth. She’d long found that beating around the bush was only a stalling technique and never solved anything
“There was sex,” she told him bluntly, and the tips of his ears heated up as she watched. “A lot of it. For quite awhile,” she added and held up a hand to keep him from interrupting. “But… But that’s all it was. Just sex. He’s my friend, yes. And we’ve slept together. But it was casual. We were never serious about each other like that. And we were certainly never going to get married.”
Gale was silent. His face was an emotionless mask, and his eyes were narrowed. But Ione could tell that the green of them was unusually dark. He just stood there, studying her. Until he finally sighed.
“Is it the same with me?” Gale asked then. His voice was soft, but there was an edge to it. Hard and sharp like steel. “Is it just casual, too?”
Ione was taken aback. Of all the things she’d expected him to say, that hadn’t been on the top of list. It wasn’t even on the list at all.
“What?” She shook her head forcefully. “No. Of course not. I would’ve said something if that was what I wanted. But it’s not. I mean… I thought…” Ione pursed her lips. “Do you want it to be casual?”
Gale blinked at her. “No. No, I don’t--”
“Well, good,” she stated emphatically. “I don’t want it to be that either.”
There was a moment of quiet. Gale simply gazed at her, but there was something to his expression. Something much lighter. Like hope mixed with a little bit of awe.
“It’s not casual,” Ione said with finality, reaching out to take his wrist and stroking her fingers across the back of his hand.
“Oh.” Gale shifted on his feet. Another blush crept across his nose.
Ione chuckled. “You don't sound convinced.”
He looked at her. And though his smile was hesitant, it was honest.
“I am,” he assured. “I'm just... digesting what Azriel said. About the Flats. And what Grayshire’s planning.”
Ione wasn't quite convinced, but she let it slide. This whole relationship thing was new to her, too. Jealousy was all part of it, right? And so long as Gale didn't start inventing weird things to make a fuss about, everything would be fine.
“What do you think’s going on?” Ione asked, gleefully churning wheels of thought on something other than the daily monotony of life as a freeloader in Paragon.
“I haven't any idea.” Gale folded his arms into his sleeves. “I’m on the outs now. No secrets are shared with me. At least none that Azriel doesn’t already know.”
“I wasn't exactly top of the heap either,” Ione murmured thoughtfully, following along as Gale guided them somewhere. Perhaps to the kitchens where they could finish their interrupted meal.
Where Gale had been loving those strawberries instead of her, Ione's libido expertly reminded her. Loving them sinfully. Stomach tightening, Ione forced herself to focus on the topic of conversation. Now was not the time to be degenerating into sexual fantasies. No matter how much her body craved them.
But really, Gale needed to get off his ass and seduce her already. This was getting beyond frustrating.
a/n: There are more chapters to come. And I'm rather fond of this chapter. Malcolm happens to be one of my favorite characters. *grins*
Coming out soon is a wonderful little Azriel/Kieran prequel oneshot with a dash of smexin' to make things interesting.
I do hope you enjoyed and feedback is always appreciated!
