As promised, next chappie! I tried to err on the side of length, so hopefully it's up to your standards. I had also meant to give a full account of the letter Numair got in Carthak, but obviously that didn't work out. Next time! Otherwise, this was one of my favorite chapters. Sorry to spring another problem on Daine so soon, but what must be done, must be done. Enjoy!
WC
The next month was the most emotionally chaotic of Numair's life. Whereas the previous season had been one long lesson in pain and sadness, his new world was filled with guilt for what he had done, joy at Daine's daily recovery, and every feeling in between.
May came to Tortall in a string of long warm days, welcome after the brutal winter, which made Daine restless and anxious to be up from her sickbed. Every waking hour Numair spent at her bedside, and at night he fumbled back to his room only after she made him, or Alanna came to collect him. He was happy enough to sit in a corner of the little bedroom Daine kept in the castle, content just to be in her presence even if she refused to acknowledge him for many days. He hadn't expected her to forgive him, he doubted if he could ever forgive himself. But just to watch her reading in bed, scratching irritably at the scar on her cheek, or feeding some birds on the window ledge made him want to take her in his arms. It was at times like these that he forced himself to remember what he had done, and how his life would have been if that assassin in the city had actually done his job. Then Numair turned away from his student, his love, and focused only on channeling the anger into a plan which would keep her safe, forever.
One time she caught him grinning widely as she stretched to reach a glass of water on the far end of her night-stand, and had to scowl fiercely to keep from smiling back. She would not allow him to think he could do what he did, and then be forgiven as if nothing had happened. The months of hurt and anger and sorrow were too fresh in her mind for that. But she had to admit his presence was calming, and just looking at him created an eddy of feelings within her which she neither could nor wanted to analyze.
In mid May, a castle healer came to help Daine walk for the first time. Numair watched nervously from his chair in the corner, torn between his respect for her space, and his own inherent dismay to see her in pain. Although, he told himself, he had no right to talk about pain to her ever again. The healer made him leave the room while Daine changed into a pair of soft breeches. He returned to find her perched on the edge of the bed, biting her lip in a way he thought was more attractive than she could possibly know. Her dark curls were pulled back at her neck in a horsetail, and a pale green tunic buttoned low at her chest made him blush and look away quickly. When she saw him, she grimaced and returned to the task at hand. She slipped her feet into the old riding boots which felt warm and welcome after her absence, then gripped wrists with the female healer.
Numair watched as, on the count of three, his magelet prepared to stand. At first, all seemed well. Then her back arched violently, her face blanched, and her knees buckled. The healer caught her with difficulty, and barely managed to ease her back onto the bed before Numair was at her side. Sweeping past the unsuspecting woman, he scooped Daine easily into his arms, then rushed from the room. A net of magic cast rapidly over the castle told him Alanna was at the training yards, and a tug on the purple thread that was her essence brought her attention to him. Excusing herself from a sweaty and bewildered Gareth the Younger, Alanna met Numair and his unconventional burden coming through the stables. Carefully, Numair laid the young woman, only just stirring, on a bed of clean hay before he grabbed Alanna by the arm and dragged her to one side. His eyes were shadowed, and his voice when he spoke was low and furious.
"Alanna, I have watched that wound on her back getting worse and worse these past few weeks, even as the rest of her heals, and I have done nothing. You told me she would be alright, you told me her recovery would be fast and complete, and now look at her! That is no normal cut, that is magic! Now make her better, Alanna. You know I don't have the Gift for healing that you do. I swear to the Gods, Alanna, just make her better!" His voice broke on the last word, and Alanna was shaken to see a wetness in his eyes. She was still angry at him for all the things he had done, but she could not deny how much he cared for her young friend. She put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I'll see what I can do, Numair."
Alanna went to Daine's side, and resting a cool hand on her forehead, sent her magic into the young woman. She was pleased to find, upon exploration, that the other wounds were healing normally. But the deep gash across Daine's spinal column and upper back pulsed with a poisonous green fire. Worried, Alanna probed deeper, to the core of the wound. An intricate web of magic negated the formation of a scab, while a similar green lacing held the two edges of scored flesh apart. In all her years healing both weapon- and magic-inflicted wounds, this was one of the worst Alanna had ever seen. She withdrew from her Gift-enhanced investigation white and shaking, and turned to face an anxiously onlooking Numair with tears in her eyes. "Numair, I'm so sorry. I can't do anything about this without knowing who the mage is, and how he did it. In the mean time, we can keep her stable, but her condition won't get any better than it already is." Instead of looking lost and scared as Alanna had so feared, Numair did something that was even worse. His face hardened, and his gaze seemed cold enough to stop any Gods-fearing man in his tracks.
"The Gift's green, isn't it?" When Alanna nodded, the black fire that was his Gift began to play threateningly around his fingers.
"Thaqib," he whispered, and strode from the stables.
