allheal."
"Well." Idalia seemed surprised, and Kellen wondered what "Night's Daughter" was. "Just as well he came prepared for every occasion."
"And he gave me something horrible and brown to drink every night so I could sleep," Kellen added. "It tasted like moldy hay."
Idalia raised her eyebrow. Evidently she recognized what it was without Shalkan telling her. "It's just as well you came back to us so soon, then."
She knelt in front of him and unwrapped his hands slowly, alternating hands so that both would be exposed at the same time. Shalkan stood close, his cheek nearly touching Kellen's. Kellen could tell that whatever was in the wine was starting to work. He felt sleepy, and it was hard to concentrate. As the outer layers of bandage came away, he could see the inner layers, sticky and glistening with greenish ointment.
And the more layers Idalia peeled away, the more Kellen could see that his hands looked wrong.
They just looked wrong.
Jermayan and Vestakia had never let him watch when they tended his dressings on the trail. He'd gone along with it then. He didn't remember why just now, but he had. Maybe he'd been asleep when they'd done it. Maybe it was that brown stuff.
But he wasn't asleep now.
"Don't look," Shalkan suggested, as Idalia lifted away the last layer of bandage, but Kellen couldn't manage to take that good advice.
He looked. And wished he hadn't.
His hands were warped and charred, caricatures of themselves. All the flesh was burned away from the palms, and Kellen thought he could see bone showing. Toward the edges of the burn, puffy moist colorless flesh hung in sloughing rags. His fingers were crooked into claws, the tendons pulled tight by the burns. He tried to flex his fingers and couldn't. There was only pain—dull and distant, but there.
He made a strangled sound, and would have risen from his seat if not for Andoreniel's hands on his shoulders, pressing him firmly down. Even through the effects of the draught Idalia had given him, Kellen could feel a rising tide of panic.
I'll never hold a sword again!
Idalia made a hissing sound of dismay, and somehow that turned Kellen's panic into anger.
"Well, what did you expect?" he said harshly, struggling with his feelings. He'd known he was burned. He'd known the burns were bad—very bad. But to see them… !
"I expected you to die," Idalia said, all the grief she hadn't shown before thick in her voice. "Oh, little brother, I'm so glad you came back alive!" She put her hand over his arm—above the burns—and squeezed gently, then sat back, looking over his shoulder.
"Kellen. Don't look at your hands. Look at me," Shalkan demanded. "Now."
With a great effort, Kellen pulled his gaze away from his hands and met Shalkan's gaze. The unicorn had beautiful eyes—deep green, and fringed by the longest silver lashes Kellen had ever seen.
"It will be all right," the unicorn said softly. "You've seen Idalia heal worse injuries. Remember the unicorn colt? Just look at me and keep breathing. Let the potion do its work."
Kellen took a deep breath. Anger was a tool of the Knight-Mage, but panic was his enemy. He wasn't going to panic. He concentrated on Shalkan.
As if from a great distance, he heard Idalia's voice:
"Will anyone here share in the price of this healing?"
"I will," he heard Andoreniel say. "For what Kellen has done for my city, I stand in his debt forever."
"And I," Morusil added. "It is a small repayment for the refreshment Kellen has brought to my garden, and the saving of the forest."
"And I—"
"And I—"
In a few moments, all the Elves who had remained behind had pledged themselves to share in the price of Kellen's healing.
Chapter Two
A Healing and a Homecoming
THAT WILL MAKE things easier, Idalia thought absently. She reached out with her small knife and cut a few strands of Kellen's hair, then a few of her own. Bless the boy, he didn't even notice. He was staring into Shalkan's eyes as if he'd found his one true
Learning to Kill: Stories