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The darkspawn let out a bone-chilling shriek, latched onto Emmrich’s robes, wrenching him down into the dirt. Lucanis moved swiftly, like a shadow, his blade decapitated the creature in a single motion as easy as cutting through butter.
Emmrich lay unnervingly still, the blood streaking his cheek making him look alarmingly pale. Rook froze, a cold dread gripping her as she knelt beside him. Her trembling hand hovered over his chest, afraid to confirm what she already believed.
“No, no, no.” Rook whispered, tears stinging her eyes. “This is not your time! You can’t leave me, not like this!”
"He'll survive. Spite can sense it.” The assassin squeezed woman's shoulder tightly, calming her down. “I'll be on my guard. In case someone will attempt to flank us.”
A moment later, Lucanis used Spite's powers to reach a cliff that provided an excellent view of the battlefield. Rook's body ached with fatigue, but her hands moved instinctively, channeling magic into Emmrich's body. Her healer’s training, however brief, had to be enough.
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After two minutes, that seemed like eternity, Emmrich’s lips twitched, and he opened one eye. The mage coughed spasmodically, then uttered with a raucous voice:
“Rook…”
Rook gasped, her face flushing with a mix of anger and relief. “What on earth were you thinking?! I was ready to — ! I thought you’re — !”
“This is all my fault.” he winced as his hand traced his injured face. “I’m deeply sorry.”
Rook managed to put on a smile, but her eyes were infinitely sad.
“Emmrich, I’m not sure whether I would like to kill or thank you.” The woman made an attempt to lighten the atmosphere.
“The ‘thank you’ part seems more appealing.” The mage followed up, as he tried to sit up.
“Thank you for backing me up.” Rook held Emmrich’s shoulders, helping him to get into a more comfortable position. “But why, Emmrich? Why did you bait that hurlock? Lucanis nearly had it.”
“Because the instinct took the better of me? Or maybe losing you wasn’t an option I was willing to consider?”
Rook quickly examined his injuries. He will live, but they need to reach the Lighthouse as soon as possible. Everyone has pushed their limits.
“You're quite the charmer, aren’t you? Promise me not to risk your life again. Swear on something.”
Emmrich went silent, thinking. Despite the dull pain, his mind was clear—a small miracle, given the circumstances.
“I swear upon my prized skull collection.” He finally said. “Will that satisfy you?”
Of course Emmrich was bluffing. Rook learned that he’s bad at deception the day they gathered to play the Wicked Grace. But she let it slide. After all, she wouldn’t have kept such a promise herself.
“Very well. Tell me how you're feeling right now.”
“Do you have a mirror by any chance? It might help me answer your question with the precise accuracy.’’
Rook gave him a look, practically shouting ‘Are you serious?’, then rummaged through her satchel but came up empty.
“I'm afraid, I left it back at the Lighthouse. I doubt Lucanis would ever carry one. I could cast a projection spell instead.”
“Not necessary.” Emmrich shook his head weakly. “Perhaps you could be my mirror, Rook? Tell me what you see.”
Her heart nearly leaped out of her chest. With every journey, every moment spent fighting side by side, it became harder to deny the nascent feelings. But Emmrich always kept his distance, as if he didn't fully believe in her genuine interest. Or maybe he was simply scared of being loved back. It was frustrating and yet spurred Rook on.
“Would you like to hear a truth or a lie?”
“Honesty is always preferred, but the lie could be equally entertaining.”
Rook leaned closer, narrowed her eyes and looked at Emmriсh's face from all sides. His lip was split, a bruise was forming on his cheekbone. Faint scratches etched across his nose and chin. Emmrich was mischievously watching Rook, finding her shyness both amusing and adorable.
“Well?” He asked impatiently, his smirk widened into a teasing grin.
“I see someone who’s too clever for his own good—and far too charming for mine.”
“Ah, splendid! Is that the truth or the lie?”
“It's up to you to decide.”
Rook put a clean cloth soaked in alcohol to his injured lip. Emmrich gasped quietly.
“The truth sounds much more flattering when spoken by a lovely woman such as yourself.”
“Is that so?” Rook raised an eyebrow. “You’d risk believing I’d flatter you on purpose?"
“I’ve been accused of being romantic." He confessed with a self-satisfied grin. "Your eyes tell everything I need to know, my dear.”
“And here I thought you were the humble type, Emmrich.” Her voice was tinged with feigned disappointment.
“Every mage struggles with modesty when the desire demons are involved—especially if they live next door.”
"What does a senior necromancer like you know about temptations?” Rook asked, adjusting the forearm bandage.
“During my studies, I discovered that temptations grow stronger the closer they linger.”
Emmrich acted with the confidence of a seasoned player, leaving Rook oblivious to the fact that the cat had been leading the mouse from the very beginning. Somehow, she didn't mind being eaten.
“Careful, professor,” Rook teased, admitting herself defeated. “You’re dangerously close to earning yourself an invitation to dinner.”
“Danger I’m more than willing to face.”