Late update again, sorry. In my defense, I was pretty preoccupied during the break on a week-long school field trip. Hiking all day everyday under the sun, so when I came back I was pretty much burnt to a crisp. Scenery was beautiful though... Buuuut I digress. Thanks as always for being patient with my rather sporadic updates. I really don't deserve the number of readers I have. Props to you guys. You're awesome :) Hope you enjoy this chapter.

Chapter 16

The first thing he heard when he entered his sanctuary was the soft, rhythmic clinking of the large metal gears which occupied the inner structure of the tower. At that moment, the memories of the dreadful morning that had plagued his mind - the Queen's shaking hand reaching out to him, the blood spraying across the floor, the horrific creatures rising from the dead - dissipated. With the realization that he was safe here, he let his mind clear with each steady tick of the clock's giant mechanism.

Garrett stopped at the small landing, feeling a wave of nausea hit him after having forced his exhausted and brutalized body up the stairs. It had been two days since he had last slept, and the lack of rest was taking its toll on him. He waited for his breathing to slow, letting his gaze drift upward to the soft light bleeding in through the opaque glass facing of the clock. The rays were brightest where it streamed in through the jagged chink from the previous night. Garrett had to look away, his eyes unused to such bright light. If this were any normal day he would already be asleep in his bed.

As his breathing quieted, his ears picked up gentle trickling sounds coming from above. He pressed onwards, ascending the next flight of steps with alarming difficulty. He glanced down at the rag wrapped tightly around his arm. It was soaked in blood and as he raised his arm the red deepened in colour. He began to suspect that he had underestimated the damage inflicted by the bolt.

When he reached the top level, his head was reeling and his footing was unsteady. Dismissing any worries - he had gone through worse and survived, after all - he stumbled to the heavy lacquered chest beside his bed.

"By the heavens," a soft voice exclaimed. Isabella stood to his right, wringing her wet hair out before rushing to him. He had almost forgotten about her again.

"Are you alright?" Isabella ran to his side, immediately taking hold of his injured arm.

Garrett tried to ignore her, but flinched as her delicate fingers wrapped themselves gently but firmly around his arm. He leaned away from her, trying feebly to evade her grasp. She hesitated a moment, then let go of him, much to Garrett's relief. He removed a small leather bag from the chest and poured its contents into his palm. Small glass pots of salves and oils fell out of the pouch. He set the pot containing a ruddy paste on the lid of the chest. When he did, she cleared her throat.

"No, you - um… you don't want that one," she said in a small voice.

He halted, slightly irked by the girl's tentative but nonetheless offensive remark. He knew what he was doing; he'd been taught well and had been healing himself on his own for a long time.

"I'm pretty certain I do," he replied dryly. "I'll do this myself."

"But that's, um, that's frankincense oil and… saffron, is it not?"

She inched closer to him, muttering a quiet apology, and studied the salves in his hand. Her eyes flitted over the various containers, studying each one briefly before moving on to the next. After a moment her eyes lit up with recognition and she plucked a single pot from his outstretched hand.

"What you want is this." She pried the metal lid off with deft fingers and sniffed the balm. "Myrrh resin. There's nothing wrong with using frankincense to treat an open wound, but myrrh is much more beneficial. It prevents infections from developing, and helps with the swelling around broken skin."

He let her take the rest of the salves from him, surprised by her extensive knowledge.

"And then there's yarrow - that's what gives this cream its nice aroma. This is what will stop the bleeding." She reached out to unwrap the rag covering his arm, but thought better of it and paused before she touched him. "I can help. I know what I'm doing." All timidness was gone. Confidence and hopefulness flashed in her eyes.

"Clearly." Garrett nodded, allowing her to treat him in part because he was impressed by her expertise but mostly because he wasn't sure he would be able to do it himself. He could barely keep his arm outstretched without tiring himself.

Pleased, she rushed to get the water basin and a clean cloth lying by his bed, then settled down beside him. After unwrapping his arm gently, she inspected the wound. She spent a good time studying the cut and the bloodied rag, muttering to herself under her breath all the while. Garrett looked with mild wonder at the girl before him. Engaged in her work, she was almost an entirely different person. The gentleness and poise was still there, but instead of meekness and hesitance she exuded assertiveness and a powerful presence.

"How long have you been bleeding?" She asked, her eyes still fixed on his wound.

"Longer than I should have." Garrett reached out to grasp the footboard of the bed, gritting his teeth as Isabella began to prod at his broken skin. He fought to keep himself upright as his head reeled.

"I suspected as much. Something isn't right. The cut is too shallow. The bleeding should have stopped long ago. It's as if-"

Her eye widened for a split second before she knit her brows together and dabbed her forefinger lightly on his arm. A small droplet of blood collected on the pad of her finger, which she raised to her lips. Strange practise, Garrett thought to himself as he glanced sideways at her.

She coughed as soon as his blood touched her tongue. "As if you were poisoned," she sputtered.

Of course, how could he not have thought of that? Leave it to the Graven to poison their weapons and plague the very place they claim to be purifying.

"I'm assuming it's not lethal, or we wouldn't be having this conversation right now."

Isabella let out a sigh and ran a hand through her disheveled hair. "I can only guess that this is blackwood poisoning. The ingredients are common enough to acquire, easy enough to prepare. Not to mention it happens to be everyone's silent weapon of choice as of late. Not enough to kill, but enough to cripple. Enough to send a message…" she trailed off.

Garrett's eyes met hers in a questioning glance. The keenness which sharpened her gaze indicated a wisdom beyond her years, aged her beyond her late adolescence. It seemed eerily misplaced against the soft simplicity of her face. He stared a second longer than he should have, trying to decipher the enigma of the girl in front of him. She was innocent by nature, yet culpable by birthright; both child and adult; hopeful and enthusiastic in countenance but tinged with the slightest hint of melancholy and something else he couldn't pin down, something that suggested experience of some sort.

"You do me an injustice by believing I know nothing of what is happening." She shifted to face him. "Do you think that just because I am wealthy I know nothing? That I care for none other than the rich? This is my city too. All of it. I am well aware of the struggles too many people must face. I am well aware of the poison leaching its way into this city's heart, waiting for the right moment to deliver the fatal strike." The intensity burning in her eyes vanished the moment she blinked, disappearing as quickly as it had appeared.

Garrett only averted his gaze, both too fatigued and too dazed to reply.

She returned to fixing his arm, rinsing off the dried blood with tepid water. "For obvious reasons, someone like me wouldn't stand a chance against them or make a difference in this new order. This new godforsaken world. I struggle to believe that there is someone who can or will, but I've been wrong before."

Her eyes flicked back up to his. Reflected in the dark brown of her glossy eyes, Garrett saw an all too familiar ghostly blue gleam.

The next minutes were spent in silence. The only noises came from the gentle splashing of water as Isabella wrung out the bloodied cloth in her hand. Now focused entirely on the injury, she finished washing away the crusted blood, rubbed stinging salve over the wound and wrapped his arm tightly in the cleanest cloth she had been able to scrounge. By the time she had finished, Garrett was struggling to remain conscious.

"Don't worry, you're not dying yet," she assured him.

He scoffed. "That's a comfort."

"It takes a while to leave your bloodstream. Give it time."

Her words were already becoming unintelligible and muffled to his hearing. He saw her hand reaching out to help him as he lowered himself to the ground. Unable to hold on any longer, he let his eyes droop shut.

Barely, he felt the almost imperceptible softness of her delicate skin as she lightly hooked a finger under his mask. With the last of the fleeting strength he could muster, he caught her arm in a tight cautionary grasp, eliciting a gasp from her. In defeat, she relinquished her hold on the cloth and drew her hand away from his face. The last thing he noticed before sinking into blissful unconsciousness at last was the loss of heat where her hand had nearly touched him.