Oliver led us down a different hall from the one we were in before. This one was cleaner, still, stone walls closed around us.
We stopped in front of two doors, and Oliver nodded to the one on the left. “Castor, if you want to take that room.”
Castor shifted. “I will be out here, taking a watch. I don’t yet trust our safety.”
“I hope you get some rest,” Oliver responded and moved to the right door. He grabbed my hand and pulled me into the room.
He closed the door behind us.
I stepped into the room and lowered the sword in my hand slightly. This room was covered in books, long sprawling volumes covered the floor. A layer of dust hung over them.
A desk rested under a window, papers scattered across it. Old incense hung thick in the air.
I felt Oliver's hand rest atop my sword hand.
“You can let it go.” He whispered. “Set it down.”
I scanned the room. Castor was right outside the door. I can easily pick it back up. I met his eyes with his. “Okay.” I let go of the sword. He took it and set it in the corner.
“This is…your room?” I asked
“Yes.” His voice was rough. He moved closer to me. “You are wounded.” He walked into a small room and came back with clothes and water.
“I’ve had worse,” I said, trying to shrug him off.
“Sit.” He didn’t say it like a question.
I sat down on the bed nearby. Feeling slightly dizzy.
“You having had worse isn’t comforting.” He said. “I need to clean the wound on your shoulder.”
I stiffened and then nodded. He turned around. Slowly, I took off the tunic I was wearing. I felt a little exposed in my just undershirt. Blood had covered my clothes, and the wound on my shoulder stung when I moved. It was deep.
“Why do you rush into danger so easily?” Oliver said, turning around. His eye roamed over me. Lingering too long on scars I didn’t want to talk about.
He swallowed and put the cloth in the water. He slowly and gently cleaned out the wound on my shoulder. For a long while, silence hung in the air.
“Where did you get all of them?” His voice pained. As if he could feel the wound of each scar.
I hesitate, do I really want to let him in? The words left my mouth before I planned. “Some are from my training.” My voice was low. “Others are from fights I got into.”
“One is from someone I trusted.” I met his eyes.
His hands began to glow golden. His healing magic, I could feel the skin stitching itself back together.
“I rush into danger because I only know one thing. That no matter what, I, we, are getting out alive.” I looked down at my hands.
Still bloody.
My knuckles were bleeding.
He was silent as he grabbed my right hand and began cleaning off the blood. “Why did you laugh in the corridor?” He finally said.
I inhaled sharply. “It is something I was taught. Shocks people. That gains seconds in a fight.” I paused, “Seconds that I can use.”
“It worked.” He said, moving to my left hand.
The room was filled with golden light again. When I looked back down, my knuckles were healed.
The bed shifted as Oliver sat down next to me.
His warmth made me want to melt. I slowly slumped against him. He wrapped his arms around me.
Gently, he guided us to lie back on the bed. I moved in closer to him. Facing his chest, wanting his warmth.
My undershirt had shifted up slightly, and his hand moved up to meet my bare back.
His touch felt like fire.
He shifted and sent me a thought: This okay?
Yes, I moved in closer to him.
He pulled me closer, and all I could focus on was the feel of his hand on my back.
It was grounding.
I felt anchored in a way I had never felt before.
As we lay on the bed, I could hear Castor shifting outside our door. Prepared.
I focused on Oliver’s breathing. The rise and fall of his chest.
I breathed with him.
As we stayed there, breathing steadily.
Sleep stole me before I knew it.