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A Stroke Of Midnight :: Гамильтон Лорел
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She was right. In fact, there were some sidhe healers who would not willingly touch a lesser fey. As if they thought it was contagious. “Can you heal them?”
She looked surprised. “You truly mean for me to do this?”
“You are a healer, Hafwyn, can you sit here and watch them die, and not be pained by it?”
She lowered her head, and I watched her shoulders begin to shake. There was no sound, but when she turned her face back to me, there were tears upon her face. “Yes, it causes me pain to see such suffering and not be allowed to heal it.”
“Then heal what you can, and I will fetch more healers.”
“Who would you send to fetch them?” Frost asked. He was still holding me effortlessly, as if he could have held me so all night long. Maybe he could have.
I understood what he meant. Andais was probably deep into the torturing of the betrayers. And my aunt did not like being interrupted in the middle of her “playtime.” People who interrupted her had a tendency to be forced to join the show. Did I send the one I liked the least, or the one who had a better chance of making her see sense?
“Who do you recommend?”
“Doyle,” he said.
I turned in Frost’s arms and looked at him. “If she is deep in her blood lust then only Doyle has a chance of making her see sense. Ivi or Brii would end up as victim.”
“And you?”
“She has never listened to me as she listened to Doyle.” He said it without a trace of hurt ego. He simply stated it, fact. I believed him.
Doyle glided through the broken door, as if he’d heard us say his name. I told him what I wanted.
“I might be able to help heal some of them,” he said.
I had forgotten that he had limited healing ability himself. One of the first times he had ever touched me intimately had been for him to heal a wound on my thigh. He could not heal with his hands, but with his mouth, so it was not something he offered often. It was too intimate. And his ability to heal was not great, as the healers of faerie measured it.
“You can heal?” Hafwyn asked, pushing at her yellow hair with the back of her arm. Her hands were too bloody to be used for tucking a strand of hair back.
“A little, but not by hand.”
“Nodens,” she said simply.
“One of my names,” he said, “at the end.”
“How bad an jury can you heal?” she asked.
“Superficial wounds, deep but narrow.”
“Can you set bone?”
He shook his head.
She was right. In fact, there were some sidhe healers who would not willingly touch a lesser fey. As if they thought it was contagious. “Can you heal them?”
She looked surprised. “You truly mean for me to do this?”
“You are a healer, Hafwyn, can you sit here and watch them die, and not be pained by it?”
She lowered her head, and I watched her shoulders begin to shake. There was no sound, but when she turned her face back to me, there were tears upon her face. “Yes, it causes me pain to see such suffering and not be allowed to heal it.”
“Then heal what you can, and I will fetch more healers.”
“Who would you send to fetch them?” Frost asked. He was still holding me effortlessly, as if he could have held me so all night long. Maybe he could have.
I understood what he meant. Andais was probably deep into the torturing of the betrayers. And my aunt did not like being interrupted in the middle of her “playtime.” People who interrupted her had a tendency to be forced to join the show. Did I send the one I liked the least, or the one who had a better chance of making her see sense?
“Who do you recommend?”
“Doyle,” he said.
I turned in Frost’s arms and looked at him. “If she is deep in her blood lust then only Doyle has a chance of making her see sense. Ivi or Brii would end up as victim.”
“And you?”
“She has never listened to me as she listened to Doyle.” He said it without a trace of hurt ego. He simply stated it, fact. I believed him.
Doyle glided through the broken door, as if he’d heard us say his name. I told him what I wanted.
“I might be able to help heal some of them,” he said.
I had forgotten that he had limited healing ability himself. One of the first times he had ever touched me intimately had been for him to heal a wound on my thigh. He could not heal with his hands, but with his mouth, so it was not something he offered often. It was too intimate. And his ability to heal was not great, as the healers of faerie measured it.
“You can heal?” Hafwyn asked, pushing at her yellow hair with the back of her arm. Her hands were too bloody to be used for tucking a strand of hair back.
“A little, but not by hand.”
“Nodens,” she said simply.
“One of my names,” he said, “at the end.”
“How bad an jury can you heal?” she asked.
“Superficial wounds, deep but narrow.”
“Can you set bone?”
He shook his head.