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The Wall of Light was beautiful in its bizarreness.
Sabriel was used to memorials, having grown up in a literal crypt city, but there was something so softly strange about the way Minrathous chose to remember its dead. They chose to remember the actions, the impact, the emotions associated with a person, rather than their knowledge and history.
It seemed a bit selfish, perhaps, focused on the way the living remembered the person rather than the reality of them, but grief was often a selfish emotion. After all, it wasn't something the dead had to feel.
As lovely as it was, she still felt that keeping the bones was a better practice. A tangible part of the person just made more sense as a mourning object than a symbolic light.
"The depth of feeling is no less here." Eulogy's melodic voice drifted on the currents, causing her to smile ruefully.
"You have a point. I'm being a bit unkind."
Minrathous was abuzz with Fade whispers on an ordinary day, but today the noise had an edge of urgency to it that she wasn't used to. Even here by the Wall, normally a quiet place of contemplation and Eulogy's quiet hum, she could feel a low note of tension pressing against her ears.
"Discomfort vibrates within your core. You feel the wrongness here."
She blinked. "I'm sorry?"
The spirit wandered closer, hands floating in a gesture to indicate the space around them. "The ripples of malice woven between the clouds. Blood on the streets, fathers losing and lost — it feeds. It pulls, down, deep, cold and wet. An anchor around your ankle."
She had come to Dock Town in search of a distraction. She was making no progress in any of her endeavors: her dreams were as bad as ever, and she had no further leads until someone from the Necropolis got back to them with permission to access the archives. Worse, Rook had expressly told her that she wasn't needed for his current "team-building exercise" with Lucanis and Davrin. She had refused to be benched and still accompanied them to Minrathous, but the group of men had left her back at the Shop, presumably to assist the Shadow Dragons— but they also had no work for her at the moment.
She had initially come to the Wall simply for a change of scenery and some fresh air. But perhaps Eulogy was, in its own way, trying to offer her something to do.
"Tunnels below, the final rest for the everlost," Eulogy continued in their singsong way.
Rook had mentioned that there was something targeting the people of Dock Town. The ritual killings, the owner of the Snake Nest, even the cursed underground treasure hunt — Rook had suspected there was something connecting them all.
"Malice…" She murmured, tapping her foot on the ground as she thought, "This…static. Is it because of a demon, Eulogy?" In the past, she would have balked at how easily the word "demon" left her mouth— it would have been a "malicious" or "malign" spirit, back home. Something about flouting such a small convention made her feel…satisfied.
The spirit hummed an acknowledgement. "Large and ever larger. So many hunts, places to feed and feed and feed." Eulogy looked at her a long moment, before concluding sadly, "It seeks newer prey."
"Deep, cold and wet tunnels has to be the catacombs, right? That's where we found the body of that poor man from the bar…" Tilting her head, she wracked her brain, trying to remember where there was an entry point to the deeper catacombs. "It wouldn't be close enough to surface to be near the Shop, too great a risk of discovery."
She got to her feet, wondering if she could get back into the Snake Nest's storage room without Rook or Neve's help. It was worth a shot — and maybe she could find some clues to bring back to the group.
"A lone moth burns in the flames."
"Well I'm not going to ask you to come with me. You belong up here. And Patience will scold me if I go back to the clinic."
"Determination's influence lingers," Eulogy replied, a seeming non-sequitur. It sounded almost…amused.
"I'll just go take a quick look around and see if there are any changes in the etheric vibrations down there. If I'm not back by nightfall, you can always tell Spite for me, hm?" She smiled reassuringly, "I'll be careful, you have my word."
Eulogy simply hummed an affirmative before drifting away to the wall, examining the floating lights with a patient focus.
It was nice that spirits didn't fret.
With a quick glance around the streets to remember her bearings, Sabriel set off in the direction of the Snake Nest. Time to put her persuasion skills to the test.
—
As it turned out, she needn't have worried— the storeroom was still open. That seemed like a significant oversight, but with the owner of the bar now dead, the business was likely in limbo. Still, there had to be some valuable things contained in the warehouse, right?
Perhaps she would ward the door on her way out, just in case.
The catacombs were as dank and cold as ever as she stepped off the elevator. It was quiet, almost too quiet after being out on the city streets. A breeze moved through the tunnels, carrying a faint scent of rot.
Suppressing a shiver from the chill, she peered over the ledge of the pit in front of her. The spikes remained, worn and stained with old blood. It seemed no one had died to them in some time, thank the Maker. Not eager to become the first in a new streak, she very carefully climbed down the wall to the small open space in the middle. There was probably a better access point to the bar owner's old ritual space, but she didn't want to waste time hunting for one. She was more likely to get lost than anything else.
The rotten smell got stronger as she approached the ritual chamber. She had suspected no one would investigate the incident— the templars wouldn't waste their time on a few missing people in Dock Town, of all places — and it seemed she was correct. This place hadn't been disturbed since Rook brought them down here to find Atticus, which meant it was covered in decomposing corpses and old blood. It would have turned the stomach of the average person, but a Watcher was accustomed to bodies in all states.
Or that's what she told herself, as she fought off a wave of nausea. The Necropolis was not usually this…wet.
With a quiet cough, she tried to focus her mind on the mana flows in the room, pulling herself from physical sensation into a space between mind and matter. She shook the Veil like one shook a blanket, trying to dislodge remnant threads of mana and find the right one to tug.
More than one demonic presence drifted about, most of them cold and desolate — Despair held strong sway in these tunnels. But even amidst those icy tendrils, she found a deep, gnawing dread lying at the center:
Desperation.
It was the guiding hand for this ritual, its choking grip leaving fingerprints all over the Veil. It was no longer here, in this room, but she could feel it drifting along the Fade current, further into the catacombs.
She took a deep breath as she re-entered full consciousness, then immediately choked on the air in the room. In a rush, she stumbled out the opening and down the path, steering clear of the corpses, hoping to get to cleaner air; even the dank, musty smell of the normal caves was preferable to this.
Once she was confident the ritual chamber was far behind her, she slowed her pace, coughing as she tried to refocus her energy and grab the mana trail again. It lead deeper down into the caverns, probably towards one of the larger ones in this part of the tunnels. Her perception of the demon got fuzzier as she walked farther and farther away from any magic it had actively wrought.
The catacombs weren't all that different from the Necropolis, she reasoned. Stone walls and narrow halls, the biggest differences were that it was wet where the Necropolis was quite dry, and the catacombs didn't move around on you.
Or at least she didn't think they did. She was sure she had traveled just a short way into the labyrinth, but it was suddenly darker and colder than it had been before — had she reached a point where there were no lights?
It wasn't until she heard the shuddering breath behind her that she realized what had happened. She was so focused on Desperation's mana she had already forgotten: Despair walked these halls.
"There's nothing you can say to me that will keep me here." She kept her voice calm and confident as her eyes flicked about, trying to find Despair's form in the darkness.
"Lonely little one…" The spirit's voice tinkled like ice crystals against glass, "Searching for purpose…"
She felt the spirit before she saw it, a rush of cold to her left. She leapt backwards, praying she was in a bigger space than one of the small hallways. When she didn't immediately collide head-first with a wall, she breathed a sigh of relief. Her breath hung in the air like a cloud as she yanked her athame from her belt.
"I need no purpose from you, Despair." She sidestepped a drifting sphere of ice and threw her orb forward to strike the demon's form. It dodged backwards, giving her more space.
"Isolation…trapped in stone and choked by expectation…"
It vanished from sight again, leaving her to swallow her annoyance. A solitary despair spirit wasn't so much a threat as an inconvenience, but it was certainly a prevalent inconvenience.
With a snap of her fingers, her orb glowed brighter, casting an eerie green glow into the demonic shroud around her. Instead of fruitlessly fishing for where the demon was, she decided to try and press onward.
It wanted to keep her here. She wouldn't let it. As long as she could see where she was putting her feet, she would find the limits of its reach.
Icy cold brushed the back of her neck and she whipped around with a swing of the athame, striking the demon with the arc of necromantic magic. It howled as it shrank back, the darkness flickering around her.
Just a little more.
"Friend, I can leave you to your solitude. You needn't return to the Fade just yet." She didn't relax her stance, but she gentled her voice, hoping to appeal to the spirit's core nature. "Allow the light back in and I will depart the caverns posthaste."
Something rumbled in the stones beneath her feet, sounding almost like laughter. But before she could even begin to ponder what it was, she had to move as the despair spirit hurled lances of ice at her from across the room.
"Well if we cannot come to an amicable solution…"
Without removing her gaze from the spirit, she reached for the Veil, tugging on its weave and drawing energy from the Fade. Precise hand gestures wove it into her mana as she shaped the spell— a flood of necrotic energy running along the cracks in the cobblestone, designed to siphon life from her target.
It disappeared back into the darkness, but quickly resurfaced as light suddenly burst back in — the loss of energy was reducing its ability to maintain its magic.
Freed from the nebulous space, Sabriel crouched and laid her hand flat to the stone, directing the necrotic energy to coagulate into a single form: a giant skeletal arm, reaching out from the ground.
Using her free hand to direct its movement, she plucked the despair spirit from the air and clenched it in a fist.
"You have my apologies for this less-than-peaceful homecoming, friend."
She squeezed her fist, the spirit crushed in the skeletal arm's grip. Its energy dissipated in a cloud of cold vapor slowly floating up to the cave ceiling.
The necrotic energy was released, skeletal arm melting as the glowing green sank into the stones. Sabriel sheathed her athame and pocketed her orb, no longer needing its light to see the area around her — which was no longer the narrow hallways she expected.
She must have moved farther in the darkness than she realized— or Despair shifted space while she was trapped. The cavern around her was vast, with a wide expanse of water over the cliff edge to her left. It seemed like a natural cave, with craggy walls and stalactites hanging from the tall ceiling— along with a man's body, dangling from up high.
She barely had time to process the visual before her senses were slammed with a flood of demonic energy. She stumbled backwards, her heart clenched with a sudden fear, a frantic need welling up in her gut— the need for answers, the need to flee, the need to live—
"Desperation."
The ground shook as a deep laugh reverberated through the empty space. Crawling out of the ground it came— a demon of no mean size, an amalgamation of grasping claws, dripping in shadow and dread.
"Such a cold grip on your heart, little one…" The demon's deep voice rumbled in her ears, like rocks falling along a mountainside. "You've come seeking help in releasing its hold."
She ignored the jibe. Her personal business was of no concern to this interloper. "I've come to release your hold on the people of Dock Town. They don't deserve to suffer like this." The mass of arms undulated, shadowy and hard to parse. There was no face to focus on, just the occasional wave of an arm or flex of fingers.
"Noble and fruitless. It is little wonder you're one of Compassion's favorites," It scoffed at her, amused. "But Compassion's power isn't enough to save you, pawn of Loneliness. I can take hold of the will already in your heart, push your power beyond your limits. You can be free of its influence for good."
Sabriel clenched her jaw. She hated it when they did this, rifling around in her emotions— and it was even worse that it found purchase. Determined not to give it more fodder to negotiate with, she instead focused on the room, looking for a way out of this mess.
It seemed there were only two exits— one behind her and one beyond the demon. Between turning her back on the creature or pushing past it, neither was a good option. If it really wanted to keep her here, there wasn't much she could do.
But she still had to try.
A chill ran down her spine as the creature laughed again. It sounded like it was directly in her ears. "I can feel you thinking. Such fear, such urgency…heart-pounding, fast-paced desperation." It was…excited. Pleased. "What will you do with it, I wonder…?"
It was toying with her; as if she was going to be easy prey for it to manipulate. She wasn't going to play this game.
She summoned her orb, feinting with it to distract the demon as she unsheathed her mageknife. With two swings, she arced magic into its shadowy form, forcing it away from her to create an opening to turn around and start running back the way she came.
But the ground was wet. She wasn't used to cobblestone. She slipped and fell, knocking the wind out of her. A thrill of terror shot up her spine as she felt a hand clamp around her ankle, claws digging into her boot.
"I haven't been entertained nearly enough for the trouble you've caused me." The voice was somehow still lighthearted as the demon reeled her in, dragging her along the floor. The worn metal of her athame screeched against the stone as she scrabbled to grip something, anything to stop her momentum.
Failing to find purchase, she turned and began hacking at the arm attached to her, sharpening the knife edge with magic. With a hiss, the demon's hold loosened and she kicked it away, claws leaving scores in her boot as she scrambled to her feet and swung back around to face it.
Running wasn't going to work right now. Killing it was unlikely on her own. Maybe she could tire it out, then run? As long as it didn't wear her out first, it seemed like her best option.
The demon swiped at her, one-two, claws on either side. She dodged left, then right, more conscious of her feet now that she knew the ground was slippery. She stabbed at the claw on the right, missing by a country mile. The demon was swift, retracting the claw while lashing out with more of its hands. Sabriel blocked and parried, but was so distracted by the hand-to-hand fighting that she didn't see the burst of red magic until it was too late.
A crystalline missile, not unlike the ones used by the Venatori, pierced her shoulder, into the muscle, making her gasp in pain and lose her grip on her mageknife. It clattered to the floor as she shuffled backwards and placed her hand on the shard, muttering an incantation through gritted teeth. The crystal burst, dissolving back into Fade energy.
"Clever."
Ignoring the demon's taunting, she put another pulse of energy into her shoulder, numbing the pain and stopping the bleeding at least temporarily. Refusing to give her time to recoup, the demon launched another barrage of strikes — claws tearing at her clothes, her hair, her legs, scratching at her bronze chestplate, trying to find any kind of purchase to draw blood.
She dodged forward, catching herself on the ground to swipe her mageknife back into her hand before rolling back up to her feet.
Close enough to it now, she reached out and grabbed one arm by the wrist, hissing an incantation under her breath. A trail of incense smoke drifted from her mouth, trailing down her arm and wrapping around the demon's limb. It quickly shriveled as she leeched the life energy from it, letting it wash over her to soothe the sting of her myriad of cuts.
With an offended snarl, another arm reached from the mass and shoved her away, breaking her hold. Using the momentum of the push, she twisted and lashed out with her knife, slicing into the demon's form with arcs of necrotic power.
Just as she felt like she was gaining momentum, there was a sigh of cold air. Her stomach bottomed out as two more demons manifested in the cavern.
No wonder Despair had dumped her off here. It had been trying to feed her to Desperation. The demon's grip on Dock Town began to make more sense— it had help.
She owed Eulogy an apology. It had tried to warn her this was going to go badly.
Surrounded by demons, trying to keep her head on straight, she lunged for a despair demon first. They liked distance, which made them easier to manipulate.
Predictably, the demon spun away from her, giving her an opening to escape— until Desperation latched onto her and wheeled her back around, wrenching her arm in the process.
Stunned by the pain, she couldn't break free. A second claw closed around her throat, digging into the sides of her neck.
"Pushed to the brink, running out of options…oh what will you try next, I wonder?"
Between the frigid air and the hand crushing her trachea, it hurt to breathe. If it wanted, it could have pinned her arms to her sides, broken her wrist, fully dislocated her shoulder— it had enough limbs to do a great deal of damage. It left her free on purpose. She didn't want to surrender to this thing, but the harder she fought the more it would enjoy it.
She blinked, a spot of light just beyond the demon's shadowy bulk shining in her eyes— the room's second exit. They had moved closer to it than she realized.
If she could just bite down the pain…
Gritting her teeth, she ignored the twinge in her wrenched shoulder and stabbed her mageknife directly into the arm holding her by the throat.
"You—"
With an incantation so fast she nearly tripped over the syllables, she repeated her attempt from earlier, but with more force behind it this time. Fade energy trickled from the puncture wound her knife had caused.
With a vicious twist, she ripped the knife back out from the demonic limb, turning the trickle of life energy into a flood. The demon released her with a growl of dismay, trying to retract the wounded limb into its mass.
Seizing the opportunity, Sabriel swept her orb forward, channeling the hemorrhaged energy from the demon into a necrotic wave that she pulsed through the entire chamber, knocking the despair demons to the ground.
Temporarily incapacitated by the overflow of magic, the demons couldn't stop her as she bolted for the door.
But Desperation recovered faster than she anticipated. Its lowest limbs stretched forward, slinking along the ground and trying to trip her up. She narrowly managed to keep her feet, skidding across the stone bridge to the door.
A final parting shot of red crystal slammed into her back, pushing her through the doorway and sending her face-first to the ground.
The wind knocked out of her, she laid in the tunnel beyond the doorway, waiting for the inevitable clawed grip to drag her back into the demon's sanctum. But it never came.
She idly wondered if there was a reason the main body of Desperation couldn't leave the tunnels, but her mind was too scrambled to make sense of it. She needed to get back to the Lighthouse. All her herbs were there.
The scent of the sea was strong as she limped towards the exit. She could see daylight coming from the path to the left. Standing in the doorway, she found herself standing right next to a boat on the water, face-to-face with a dockworker loading cargo.
She must've been quite the sight, by the way the man went pale.
"Miss, are you— is that…blood?"
She wanted to ask if he had bandages. She tried to ask if he knew how to get to the Black Emporium from here. She managed to get out three words before her vision swam and her legs gave out from under her.
"And you're certain you've no idea how she wound up there after getting attacked by a demon?"
"Emmrich, I've told you three times, we left her at the Shop—"
Hushed, agitated voices were the first thing she registered as consciousness returned. There was a familiar smell— herbal, with the faint hint of menthol that she associated with healing magic. She felt the weight of a blanket draped over her. And there was something tight and scratchy around her neck.
With a groan, she pushed her way up into full consciousness, wrinkling her nose as she opened her eyes— it was too bright in here. She never left the infirmary this bright.
"Sabriel?"
Two large, blurry forms loomed over her, slowly coming into focus as she blinked and allowed her eyes to adjust: Emmrich and Rook. Emmrich's face was etched with concern, while Rook was—
Oh. Rook was angry.
The others would have told her she was paranoid, but she knew that spark in his eyes. She grew up learning to read the face of a man who kept his emotions close to his chest. She recognized smothered fury when she saw it.
Her heart sped up and she swallowed, flicking her eyes back to Emmrich and trying to focus. "How long have I been asleep…?" Her voice was rough. It hurt to get the words out.
"You've been unconscious a few hours. How are you feeling?" Emmrich's voice was calm and mild. That made sense. He would have been trained on how to speak to patients properly, in the Watch.
"Fine." It wasn't a lie, necessarily. She was awake. She could feel all her fingers and toes. Her back hurt and her throat was rough, but that didn't warrant any concern. She could soothe both on her own once they were out of the room.
Rook tsked in disapproval, but Emmrich pushed forward before he could start speaking. "Bellara informed me that you have a collection of potions in here, but they appear to be unlabeled. I'd advise an elfroot-based one for the moment, to assist with recovery."
With a hiss of pain, Sabriel pushed herself into a sitting position. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Rook make an aborted motion with his arm, like he was about to reach out. Sliding her eyes past him, she pointed to a box in the back corner of the room. "Crate. The…sage green ones."
It had been a while since she had been forced to imbibe a recovery potion. It was grassy, but not bitter, which was a relief to her overstimulated body. The hint of lyrium she had mixed into it bolstered her energy enough to let her circulate mana and soothe her sore throat. The more significant injuries would need to wait, but she needed to be able to talk.
Rook wanted an explanation. Insistently. He hadn't taken his eyes off her face for more than a moment since she woke up.
If she weren't shaking from exhaustion, the nerves would have gotten her instead.
Emmrich hovered a few moments more— examining the scrapes on her face, checking the bandages that covered the cuts on her neck, adding a little magic to her system to help the elfroot work faster. She got the sense he was trying to protect her from the inevitable storm that was Rook's displeasure.
And Rook knew it. Clearing his throat, their leader said in a forced mild tone, "Emmrich, could you give us the room for a bit?"
The older Watcher paused and met Sabriel's eyes. She nodded slightly, unable to give him the reassuring smile that she wanted. Her execution wouldn't be a public spectacle at least, and that was the most she could ask for at the moment.
Emmrich sighed. "Very well. But please send for me the moment you need anything." He smiled gently at her before turning to Rook. He didn't say anything, and she couldn't see his expression, but she got the impression a message had been conveyed by the way Rook's shoulders shifted.
The door closed softly behind him and Rook stood in silence for a moment, staring at the headboard behind her instead of at her. Then he turned and grabbed her usual stool, dragging it over to sit next to her.
She couldn't meet his eyes, choosing instead to stare down at her hands.
"So are you going to explain yourself? Or do you want me to guess what happened?"
And oh, this was familiar, wasn't it? The demand for an explanation, the shame, the guilt, the bone-deep feeling that she was trying to do something right and yet it wasn't right at all—
Gritting her teeth, she swore to herself she wasn't going to cry.
"I was trying to help." She was calm, reasonable. Surely he would understand if she sounded rational enough.
"By going into the catacombs by yourself? You could have gotten lost for good down there, Sabriel. And that's without the additional risk of demons and darkspawn!" He stopped as he registered he was starting to yell. At a lower volume but with no less frustration, he continued, "There's a reason not even the Shadows go in there alone."
She pursed her lips. "I know how to navigate stone mazes, Rook. I grew up in one that moves of its own accord."
He leaned back a little, silent. It seemed she won that point.
But he wasn't quiet for long. "So the demon was what, an accident?"
"…Would you believe me if I said yes?" She risked a glance at him. His jaw was tight, but he appeared to be taking her seriously. "I…honestly had only meant to get an idea of where Desperation may have gone—"
"Desperation being the demon."
She nodded. "When you said something was taking advantage of people's misfortune in Dock Town, that's it. Desperation, down in the tunnels, creeping up from the cobblestone."
He starting bouncing his leg impatiently. "You were supposed to stay at the Shop."
"The Shadow Dragons didn't have anything for me to do—"
"Then you should have come back to the Lighthouse."
"To do what, Rook? Make more potions you don't need? Sit and contemplate a lack of response from Lady Myrna? Watch Bellara work on the Nadas Dirthalen for the third day in a row?" She didn't mean to snap. Her head was starting to hurt, and her shoulder ached and she just didn't have the energy to be pleasant anymore.
He leaned back, arms crossed, leg still bouncing. "You could have gone to the Hilt with Taash and Harding."
"I've spent a lot of time third-wheeling, Rook. It is not an experience I treasure."
Her bitterness must have taken him by surprise, because he laughed in spite of himself.
After a moment of silence, his leg stilled. "Of everyone in this group, I thought you were the one I didn't have to worry about."
That stung, possibly more than he realized. She prided herself on being helpful, a net benefit to any group she participated in. The idea that she would be a concern, an active detriment?
She almost wished she had died in that tunnel.
"I…" She swallowed, fighting the tears that threatened to well up in her eyes. "I'm sorry. It won't happen again."
Rook sighed gustily. "Look, I can't fault you for wanting to take initiative. Maker knows I've made plenty of stupid choices and will continue to do so." He caught her eye and made sure she maintained the eye contact before he continued, "But at least try to make stupid choices with someone else around. I don't know what we would have done if we had lost you back there."
"Emmrich can more than adequately fulfill my—"
"I don't just mean with the task, Sabriel." He frowned, exasperated. "You're part of this team, whether you like it or not. What happens to you affects us all. We care about you."
She didn't know what to say to that. Her role was to take care of people, including herself. That was the job that Rook had hired her to do. If she failed at keeping herself safe, it was a significant breach of professionalism.
That shouldn't be responded to with care.
Rook stood then, gently patting her on the knee. "It's been a rough day, to put it mildly. Get some rest and we can check in tomorrow, okay?"
She nodded silently, suddenly numb. Being awake felt like far too much. She settled back into the bed as Rook made his way out of the room, praying for sleep to take her quickly.
—
Her sleep was fitful, her dreams a cacophony of overlapping voices — Rook, Emmrich, Eulogy, Desperation, Compassion, Loneliness — all clamoring for her attention, with kindness, scolding, disappointment, fear, worry—
"Don't. Listen." One voice stood out louder than the others, gruff and disgruntled, a thread of violet-colored stability in the maelstrom of feeling.
She felt something latch onto her, pulling her up. She panicked, tried to pull away — Desperation wasn't here, couldn't be here, it was in Minrathous and she was—
"Wake up! Lucanis has food. Get out of this place."
All at once, the noises stopped as she snapped back into consciousness. She wasn't blinded by light this time, the room back to its usual comforting twilight — the way she preferred it.
"She's back."
One voice was still here: Spite's, she realized, now that she was awake.
"Back from where…?" She heard Lucanis sigh, though he clearly wasn't expecting an answer.
She rolled onto her side, trying to find him in the room. The pain in her shoulders had vastly improved — she would have to remember to thank Emmrich later. She was afraid Rook would try to bench her for a week.
Lucanis was by the desk, staring down at a tray of food with a perplexed look on his face.
"…Lucanis?"
At her voice he looked up, but the furrow in his brow didn't disappear. "You're awake."
"Spite told me you brought food."
He broke eye contact, rubbing the back of his neck. "I…was not sure if you would make it to the kitchen today."
She rolled back onto her back, staring up at the ceiling. "It didn't break my legs or anything. I'm fine."
"Emmrich said you twisted your ankle."
"And you all have come back with far worse."
He growled in frustration. "You gave Davrin a ten minute lecture about trying to use his shield with a sprained wrist."
He was standing up for Davrin now? Rook's team-building exercise must have been more successful than she thought.
She didn't respond, sufficiently shamed by her own hypocrisy to stop fighting at least this level of care. She knew Lucanis was determined to feed people regardless of circumstances.
"Your shoulder is injured," he started, the furrow in his brow deepening, "Can you use a spoon?"
She sighed tiredly. "Yes Lucanis, I can use a spoon."
Moving slowly, she sat up and swung her legs to the side of the bed before gingerly getting to her feet. Her balance was surprisingly steady as she shuffled over to the desk, where it seemed someone replaced her stool after Rook had moved it earlier.
She was perhaps a little premature in her annoyance over her capabilities being questioned. Now that she was up and moving, she realized just how little her injured shoulder could move— Emmrich had clearly been overzealous with the bandages. Her wrenched arm had recovered far more quickly, thankfully, so she was at least correct that she could use a spoon.
He perched on the bed next to the desk, apparently determined to watch her like a hawk. As if she wasn't going to eat— she knew better than anyone that healing was hungry work.
"Pasta e fagioli?" She asked as she took a bite. It was still warm. He must have just made it.
"You need something hearty."
She just nodded in agreement, then set to focusing on the food. She was so tired.
"Still smells like blood."
"She needs time to recover, Spite."
"Smells like blood and salt. Better than Desperation."
She tilted her head in question. Lucanis shook his in response.
"Spite's the one that found you. We were down by the wharf and he…we. Smelled blood." His hand tightened into a fist, rumpling the sheets on the bed where he gripped them. "And something else that he said was desperation."
"Stale, rotten, choking. Should never have gone there."
"Impatience does not…seem like you." Lucanis was trying to soften the blow, apparently.
"It…usually isn't." She stared into the bowl of beans and noodles, shamefaced. "I just needed to do…something. And I let that blind me to the danger I knew was there."
He hummed in acknowledgement before nodding towards the food. "How is it?"
"Fishing for compliments?" She asked, trying to be lighthearted but her voice was still rather dull.
Thankfully, he seemed to understand. "Maybe." There was the ghost of a smile on his face.
"Best beans and pasta I've ever eaten," She said with a definitive bite.
His responding chuckle soothed her nerves a little. It seemed at least one person would forgive her blunder.
"Hey!"
Well. Maybe two.
"Does everyone else know what happened?" She ventured to ask. It was better to know what she was in for once she left the infirmary.
"More or less." He shrugged. "Emmrich had to be informed so he knew how to treat your injuries, though we didn't have much to tell him. Spite's the only reason we knew it was a demon in the first place. Assan has tried to push his way in a few times, and Bellara has asked Rook no less than 5 times how you were doing. Harding will probably bring you some strange Fereldan folk remedy in a little while."
She choked on her food, trying not to laugh. He smiled more at that.
"I barely managed to convince her to let me make dinner first."
"She's sweet," Sabriel breathed a laugh, "But we'll see how whatever it is tastes."
"Don't suffer it needlessly if you don't like it," He warned, but she just shook her head.
"And deny Harding her good intentions?"
He rolled his eyes. "It's a wonder this hasn't happened sooner."
She stopped with the spoon midway to her mouth. "What does that mean?"
He stared at her a moment, seeming to realize the danger he was in. "Maybe not something this severe. Just…" He cast his eyes to the side. "You are very prone to suffering for the sake of other people."
"And here I thought the problem was that I'm suffering for my own sake right now."
"You shouldn't be suffering at all," He sounded surprisingly heated, though his face quickly turned pink and he turned away.
Again with this. If they kept it up, she might have to take Rook seriously when he said they cared about her.
Setting the spoon down, her bowl mostly empty now, she looked into the room beyond Lucanis. "You're right. Enough is happening right now that I shouldn't be adding to our problems."
"That is…" He sighed, "Not what I meant, but true enough."
Noticing she was done, he got up to clear out the dishes. At the same time, she got up to shuffle back to the bed. She assumed Emmrich would want to be able to check up on her at least once more before she returned to her room.
Before he left, Lucanis turned back to her. "Emmrich and Rook said they were going to visit the Necropolis tomorrow. He told me not to tell you, but Rook wants to get you an answer."
Her heart panged in her chest. Even when he was furious with her, Rook was still trying to help.
"Thank you, Lucanis."
He nodded and turned to leave. Spite remained, looming by her bedside. When she tilted her head in question, the spirit just huffed.
"Need better sleep. I will help."
It was a questionable idea at best, but she knew better than to argue with Determination once he set his mind to something. Settling back into bed, she closed her eyes and focused her breathing.
Soon she felt Spite brush against her mind, a gentle touch that was surprising for a spirit so rough around the edges. He pulled her slowly into dreams, her fierce protector keeping the voices at bay.
With a rest like this, maybe she could go to the Necropolis with them tomorrow. Emmrich would side with her.
Rook would have to forgive her eventually, right?