22 - Sincere Apologies

  The stone steps of the tower wound downwards into darkness and cool temperatures. Summer was yet to appear, but the warmth of the sun already spread its touch across Bastion’s Reach.

  He found Maeve where he expected to find her - kneeling in the cell, at the monster’s side. At a curt nod, Nealan and another healer, who had been hovering awkwardly inside while Maeve quietly worked, quickly retreated to stand guard next to Harlan. They avoided Garrick’s gaze, but a small nod in the high commander’s direction was enough to tell Garrick that the knight and the healer were both thinking hard about what was said last night.

  Now, it was time for Garrick to follow through on his own part.

  He leaned in the doorway, arms folded over his chest as he watched the healer woman work. Luka - the monster, Garrick corrected himself - lay sedated, twitching feverishly as Maeve removed the bandages from his other wounds, fighting more infection.

  “How is he?” he asked, softly.

  Maeve paused only a moment, barely glancing over her shoulder in Garrick’s direction before resuming her work.

  “Alive, barely,” she said.

  Another lengthy silence fell between them.

  “I’m sorry,” Garrick said.

  “Good,” she said, voice tight.

  She didn’t stop this time, taking a bucket and running a cloth over the healing skin. The monster’s eyelids fluttered but eventually stilled. Ragged gasps filled the silence.

  Garrick looked down at his feet. “You could have said something, you know. About the knights.”

  Maeve shook her head stubbornly. “No.”

  “Why not? They didn’t do their jobs.”

  “Same reason you didn’t turn down the king’s orders when you could have,” she said, finally turning to face him.

  Garrick swallowed. She looked worn, tired. Dark circles hung heavily beneath her eyes, her usually bright smile replaced with a hard stare. But as soon as she turned, the look softened somewhat.

  “You weren’t wrong,” she admitted. “I could probably have pushed more. Complained about it more. I just…couldn’t blame them, you know?”

  “You couldn’t blame the knights?” Garrick asked, taken aback.

  Armor rattled mutedly outside the cell. Garrick’s gaze flickered to the side where both Nealan and Harlan had come to stand still, heads bowed.

  Maeve scoffed. “Contrary to popular belief, I don’t actually blame them for being angry. I might be young and maybe I’ve never been to the front, but I see the ones who come back, the ones who can’t fight anymore. It’s…not pretty. Of course, they’d be angry at the thing who did it.”

  The knights now burned red with shame. Good. Garrick hoped they were listening.

  “Then why treat him with any care at all?” Garrick asked curiously.

  She turned away again, fingers tightening on a roll. “Because, then I’d be just as bad as him.”

  Garrick frowned.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  “You wouldn’t. That’s different,” he said.

  “Is it all that different?” she asked him.

  He closed his eyes and sighed, recalling Amelia asking him the same question.

  “I’m not going to become like that,” Maeve continued, her voice hardening. “I want to win, yes, but I want to do it and come out with my soul intact. And if that's not enough to convince you, then maybe this will - we’ve tried everything else and nothing worked. Why not this? You said so yourself - it’s not about sympathy. It’s about Adern.”

  That gave him pause. A slow, dry chuckle escaped him, but not without a little fondness.

  “You were listening.”

  Maeve’s ears turned pink. “Unfortunately.”

  Another pause. Then, she turned, hopeful, and said, “This is the pint and meal, you know.”

  Garrick chuckled again, just under his breath. He stepped forward, kneeling beside the healer woman. His knees cracked. He grimaced. Then, he rolled up his sleeves.

  “Tell me what to do, then,” he said.

  Maeve nodded.

  They worked in silence for a stretch. He passed fresh water. She rewrapped gauze. The man on the cot barely stirred, muscles twitching in fevered bursts. His face was damp with sweat, jaw slack. The burns had mostly closed over, but the scarring was deep, twisted, and grotesque.

  “They’re healing,” Garrick muttered. “But whatever he used to be…”

  “No one would recognise him now,” Maeve finished.

  Garrick nodded. “Our only hope then is for Luka to talk to us.”

  She paused.

  “You’re using the name again,” she said.

  Garrick didn’t look at her. “You’re persistent.”

  She chuckled. They kept working for a little longer.

  “How long do you think it’ll last?” he asked finally. “Before the fever breaks. If it breaks.”

  Maeve wrung out another cloth. “It’s hard to say. He’s holding on, but…he’s weak. If this lasts too long, the damage could be permanent.”

  Garrick’s jaw clenched. “You need rest.”

  “So do you,” she replied.

  He glanced sideways. “I’m not the one with trembling hands.”

  Maeve wiped her palms on her apron. “I’m not leaving.”

  He didn’t argue again.

  --

  He didn’t know when he fell asleep, only when he woke again. His bones ached from sleeping cross legged on a little wooden stool. His neck felt stiff. They’d worked through the whole day and late into the night, feeding potions, cleaning wounds, and fighting more infection and fever. Now, early morning sunlight came through the narrow slit in the tower base, falling across his eyes. He stirred, blinked, and sat up, taking a deep breath as he did.

  Then, he froze.

  A single eye peered out from beneath the gauze wrapped around his head, steady and clear. The monster. He was awake. And he was still. His shoulders were tense, his eye narrowed and watching. But he was calm.

  “Maeve,” Garrick whispered, tapping Maeve’s shoulder from where she slumped against the wall next to him.

  “Wha-?” she said, startling awake.

  But Garrick hissed and pressed a finger to his lips. His gaze never left the monster. He flinched a little at Maeve’s sudden movement but stilled. Maeve gasped and held her breath. Then, slowly, she stood and approached him. His gaze flickered to her in and instant, and he pulled back as her hand reached out slowly. But he didn’t gnash or bite, only grumbled unhappily as Maeve checked his forehead with the back of her hand.

  “The fever’s gone,” she whispered. “Thank God, it’s gone.”

  Garrick released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. The monster squirmed suddenly a little more uncomfortable with the movement in the cell now. But he let Maeve peer under the bandages around his eye, flinching but not retreating this time.

  “Infection doesn’t seem to be settling in this time. We’ll have to keep an eye on it - oh!”

  Garrick pulled her back just in time as Luka’s teeth snapped closed where her hand used to be. He growled and grumbled.

  “Behave,” Garrick scolded automatically.

  The thing stilled, although it glared grumpily. Then, a rumble echoed off the stone walls. Hunger. Garrick’s gaze softened.

  “Of course he’d be hungry. Better send word to the kitchens,” he said.

  They immediately grabbed all the healing supplies and retreated out the door. Bran and Merrick, who had been tapped for cell duty last night, looked up as they came out and closed the door for them.

  “Sounds like he woke up,” Bran commented.

  “That he did,” Garrick said, unable to hide the excitement in his voice.

  They had a chance now. Despite the setback, they had a chance, and Garrick would be damned if he let this one slip through his fingers again.