Wicked is the Curse.

31| A Wield so broken

Chapter 31 | A Wield so broken.

Brice and Nyeth were kneeling on thin, woven brown mats as Aire was led into what they had entitled the 'Wielding room.'  It was a cavernous circular room, well-lit with flickering scones. Against one wall, standing nearly two stories high, were great windows constructed of carved stone. Sworls marked the arching frames, arching to a sharp point that Aire could only see as she craned her head right back. The wind was held back by sheets of shimmering glass. Aire was enthralled, wondering how such a flimsy thing could withstand the wind? Was it magic, or a stroke of genius by the people who constructed this haven in the mountain.

A fire pit sat at the centre of the room, warmed by gentle embers. The heat in the room was heavy and it didn't take long for Aire to find the true source. Nyeth stood, still as a statue, with her palms raised to the ceiling. Her eyes were closed, her face tilted up so the light distorted by the window cast a golden glow against the dark planes of her face. From her hands, Aire could see the shimmer of heated air. Ferdia watched her closely, standing opposite her as she wove her Wield.

Near them, a trough of newly turned soil sat, unused.

Nerves danced in Aire's stomach.

The twins sat cross-legged, slapping at each other's hands. Their giggles were low, delight bright against their haggard faces. Brice sat on a mat near them, leaning against the wall behind her. Her eyes too, were closed but she was not Wielding. No – Brice looked exhausted. Her cheeks were grey and mauve bags hung under her eyes. Her red hair was dull and scraped back from her face harshly.

She cracked open an eye as Aire entered the room. "Are you well, Aire?"

Her body ached from the night on the freezing stone. It had made her grouchy and irritable, only for the knowledge that a bed had been given to her was unreachable. Which was not something she could say to Brice, who had spent the night fixing her mistake. "I am well enough."

"Hunger hollows your stomach," Brice examined her. "You have blood pooling at your left hip and shoulder – new bruises. They are going to hurt. And you need water."

"I think I deserve to feel some discomfort now." Aire threw a look to the two Aether soldiers at the doorway. Zehla and Levrna had been the ones to open her cell and escort her for training first thing in the morning, on the Pretender's orders. They had said nothing but a curt good morning – Aire had expected some kind of retribution, some kind of insult but nothing had been forthcoming. Aire faced Brice once more. "How is Sloane?"

"She will be her best self in a few days. She is asleep this morning – her body is exhausted from the healing. I managed to rebuild her muscles, tie tendons to bone once more. I cannot push the body too far or I will drive it to exhaustion and death."

"Oh." She eyed the greyness of Brice's face once more. "Should you not be resting?"

"I am here to support you," Brice's smile was tentative. "To show a familiar face as you train your Wield."

Brice must have seen something on Aire's face. She rose to her feet, reaching for Aire's hands. Her voice was kind and sincere as she spoke, keeping Aire's eye. "If the rot had reached her chest, Aire, there is nothing I could have done to save her. If I hadn't attended to her as quickly as I did, the rot would have infected the blood leading to her heart and that too, would have been fatal. It would have snuffed life from her, eating into every living thing in her body. That is difficult to fight, but I have."

"To fight?"

Warmth was creeping up Aire's arms.

Brice blinked at her. "The Wield, the..."