“How is Brianna?” Wesley asked when he realized what was missing, why Logan had seemingly lost the ability to still his hands.
Logan’s eyes snapped back to Wesley at the question. “They’re stitching up a cut on her side. She shouldn’t be long.”
“She’ll be fine,” Ellin said, her tone reassuring despite Logan’s outward calm. She gestured toward the window, the shadows. “They aren’t that simple to take out.”
Logan’s gaze didn’t travel to the scars lining Ellin’s neck, but it was as if the mention of Brianna’s wound had brought back the memory of her own side stripped bare while they stitched cuts, set bones, and salved burns. She looked a little sick, suddenly unable to hold on to the comforting smile she’d given Logan. Wesley knew it had been weighing on her harder than she’d let on. He’d seen her himself, as soon as she’d been able to walk, carrying tea to Brendan’s room in case he were to wake. Logan reached up to touch her arm and the smile came back for a moment, but it was more of an apology. “I think I should go rest,” she said, patting his arm.
She gave Wesley and Logan a quick farewell before heading for the privacy of her room. They watched her go, both adrift in thoughts of battle, aware of the coming dangers that were so much larger than the ones they’d already faced, all of it centering on Brianna. “We couldn’t protect her,” Logan said into the empty room before them. “Two hundred men and there was nothing we could do to stop her from leaving.”
“She could have stopped herself,” Wesley answered. He’d seen the power of the dark-haired man, but Brianna had admitted herself she wasn’t under his sway. She might know what he wanted, but she didn’t have to do it.
“You could see him,” Logan said, turning to face Wesley with what the boy realized wasn’t an accusation, but a plan.
Wesley was tall, and though he might have matched Logan in height, he was thin by comparison. He straightened. “I wasn’t near the rest of you when he used the sway. It might have affected me the same as you.”
“We didn’t know she was missing,” Logan said. “We couldn’t even see she was gone.” His gaze cut through Wesley, acute in a way the boy had never seen. “If there’s a way, Wes, if there’s anything you can do to change that…”
Wesley nodded, stomach sinking at the gravity of Logan’s words. “I’ll stay by her. When they come again, I’ll do everything I can to help.” It wasn’t just Brianna. The shadows were coming for all of them. But Brianna, well, she was their only hope for survival. The only one who could give them a fighting chance.
“I know you will,” Logan said. He grasped Wesley’s forearm in the way the boy had always watched the Council elders do. It was no small gesture, and Wesley’s heart swelled.
Words bubbled up, but Wesley swallowed them when Logan patted his shoulder and said, “Well, I’m certain Aern will want to meet with you. Thank you, Wesley. We will see you soon.”
He stared after Logan, watching the empty hall when the man disappeared, and then the comment registered and Wesley glanced out the window behind him, suddenly empty of Council soldiers and men. He stepped forward, ready to find where the others would be meeting, and a figure crossed in front of the doorway. He would have assumed it to be a messenger, but it was Aern, Emily at his side.
“Wes,” Aern breathed, “are you well?”
He was, and he’d seen Aern briefly near the end of the battle, but with the frantic searching for Brianna and the need to disable the shadows, both men had been more than a bit distracted. Wesley nodded as Aern and Emily crossed the room, his gaze taking stock of the two of them. “And you?”
“Yes,” Aern said, something in his tone giving the impression of bewilderment. Wesley’s gaze met Emily’s and she shrugged. They weren’t simply going to be all right, they already were. Neither had paused for as much as a break since the fighting started, and aside from the mud and blood, it appeared as if they’d just been out for a brisk walk, not a battle. Aern, for his part, was healing incredibly fast, his arms red and peeling, but far from as cringe-inducing as earlier. Wesley had seen a long gash starting near Aern’s ear that trailed into the torn corner of his shirt collar, but it was not more than a thin line now, repairing itself without the benefit of sleep. Emily bore less evidence of actual wounds, having missed out on the firestorm, but was sporting at least twice as much mud as her counterpart. A bruise purpled the base of her neck and cuts crisscrossed her forearms, but in a matter of days she would be fine. A look passed between the couple, and Aern twined his fingers into hers.
“The gates are being repaired with double reinforcements this evening,” Aern explained, “but new security equipment won’t do us much good if there is another electrical flare. I know you’ve been through a lot, Wesley, but I’m afraid we’ll want to ask more of you.”