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On every occasion that Rook was injured, Bellara would observe her quietly slithering back into the hole that led to her meditation chamber.
It reminded Bellara of Irelin’s pet cat. The other Veil Jumper gathered the old, tabby tom during one of their expeditions, nursing him back to health with a bowl of warm broth and fresh fish. Whenever he was ill or wounded, he would vanish from the camp for a night or two, and Irelin grew so concerned that Bellara would spend all night searching through the undergrowth.
Rook resembled said cat during the early morning report in the Lighthouse. She favored her left leg, canting her hips to guide most of her weight away from the right. To Bellara’s surprise, however, none of their other companions seemed to notice, instead engaging in the immediate discussion without any looks of concern. If anyone did notice, they did not say anything out loud.
“Are there any questions?” asked Rook. Bellara’s head snapped upright, their eyes meeting.
Ahem. She was growing lost in her thoughts again, wasn’t she?
“Bellara?” asked Rook again.
“I — Nope! No questions,” said Bellara. Her voice quivered with an all too suspicious cheeriness. She even flashed Rook an extra-wide grin for the sake of it, and the other offered a wary arch of her brow in return. “Absolutely no questions over here.”
Neve rose from her seat beside them. “If that’s everything,” she said, clasping her hands together. “There’s a warm breakfast and a cup of coffee waiting for me in the dining room. I don’t mind any company, either.”
With that, the meeting Bellara paid very poor attention to was adjourned. Each member of their team parted their own personal ways, leaving her standing in the center of the room with her whirlpool of disjointed thoughts. She turned, finding Rook ascending the staircase with a white-knuckled grip on the railing.
“Rook! Hey!” Bellara waved. She rushed to follow her trail, bouncing along the steps to her side. “You’re not busy, are you? Can we talk?”
“Not interested in Neve’s breakfast invite?” said Rook with a chuckle. “You know, I didn’t think I was a coffee fan until I tried some of Lucanis’ blend. You’d think he’d be a mage with that kind of magic.”
Rook pushed the heavy door of the meditation room open with one hand, waving Bellara an invitation with the other. She joined the other woman inside with a ducked head.
“No! It’s not that,” said Bellara. “Though you’re right about Lucanis’ coffee. I swear I haven’t gotten through so many of my projects in years.”
“You and coffee?” said Rook with a crooked smile. “Now that’s something I’d like to see.”
Rook leaned against the plush, emerald couch at the center of the room. In the light that filtered from the large, windowed wall, Bellara could see crescents of heavy bags beneath her eyes. The sight made her chest tighten with a pang of sympathy.
“It’s about you, actually,” she admitted.
Rook’s eyes widened in surprise. “Me?” she asked. “What about me?”
“Exactly!” Bellara exclaimed. But the other woman only cocked her head in confusion. “Sorry. But yes. What about you? How are you doing? You’ve been putting all this work into the team, letting us drag you on all these errands, but you haven’t spent any time for yourself lately.”
When Rook remained in a puzzled silence, Bellara continued.
“I noticed you limping during the meeting earlier. You keep trying to hide it from us, your friends, when you’re hurting. If you’re comfortable with it, with me... can I help?”
Rook was baffled. And unblinking. Bellara held her breath — she hadn’t expected to go on for so long. But before her heart could beat any harder out of her chest, Rook lowered her hands to her legs. Her palms encircled an area on the curve of her outer thigh, careful not to press down.
“It’s my leg,” said Rook. “Hasn’t been healing well since a run-in with the Antaam a couple of days ago. I’ve been keeping it clean myself for the most part with supplies from the infirmary, but my healing experience is a tad bit limited.”
Bellara looked down, brown eyes staring at the inconspicuous patch of fabric being gestured to.
“Why didn’t you just ask me or Neve to have a look at it?” she asked. “We do have healing spells, you know.”
“The worst of it was gone when you initially patched us up,” said Rook with a shrug of her shoulders. “It’s just... stubborn. And I didn’t want to bother any of you.”
Bellara felt a guilty twinge of irritation in her gut. She was here to help her, damn it! However, she could also recognize the expression of utter shame flutter across Rook’s features. The kind of shame that she, herself, echoed when she would have to reach out to another for assistance.
She lowered herself to her knees in front of Rook, hands waiting together patiently over her waist.
“Do you think I could take a look at it?” she asked.
Rook nodded silently.
It wasn’t until Rook rose to her feet that Bellara realized the barrier of her trousers would have to be removed in order for her to inspect the wound. The realization prompted Bellara’s entire face to light in a blaze of red, spreading from her cheeks all the way to the pointed tips of her ears. She turned her head away awkwardly, squeezing her eyes shut as Rook worked on the clasp of her belt buckle.
She could hear her removing the garment, discarding it to some other side of the room. “There,” said Rook, and Bellara opened her eyes.
There was a long row of cotton bandages binding the upper half of Rook’s thigh. A coppery crimson bloomed across the center, painting the white in red petals that would almost be beautiful in any other circumstance. Bellara touched her fingertips to the edge of the bandages, eyes glancing to her face.
“Can I unwrap it?” she asked, and Rook nodded.
She took her time, unraveling the binding gently so as not to cause Rook any unnecessary discomfort. The skin beneath the bandage was dark and tender. The more Bellara revealed of the wound itself, it astounds her. It was long, stretching from just beneath the line of Rook’s undergarments to the edge of her inner thigh. Despite it being scabbed over, dark clouds of bruises blossomed beneath the skin.
Bellara gritted her teeth. She bunched the old bandages together in a ball and discarded them on the table behind her, then returned to Rook’s wound with a caring and attentive look.
“When was the last time you changed the bandages?” she asked.
Rook coughed uncomfortably. “Uhm... when I put them on?”
Bellara wanted to smack her palm to her forehead. “You said you were keeping it clean!” she exclaimed, and Rook laughed uncomfortably. “It’s fine, it’s fine. It’ll be fine. I’ll get the healing process going again, apply some ointment, and wrap it in fresh, clean bandages.”
Drawing upon the magic of the Fade came as easily as breathing to her. She touched her fingertips to Rook’s tender skin, feeling a shiver pass through her with their contact. Her breath was shallow, brows knitted together, and eyes shut tight in concentration. That familiar spark of magic crept through her fingers, and she pushed its pulse forward, guiding it to knit torn skin back together.
When she opened her eyes again, the dark, painful bruise had lessened considerably. It shrank to only the skin along the edges of the wound itself, which glowed with a healthier shade of pink. Rook flexed her thigh curiously, and when Bellara glanced at her expression, she saw lingering awe.
“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to you and Neve doing that,” she said in a quiet voice. “I grew up having to rub some mud on it and hoping that would get the job done.”
“You didn’t have a healer to help?” Bellara wondered aloud.
Rook shook her head.
“I, uh... didn’t grow up under the best circumstances.”
Bellara pressed her lips together firmly. There were about a million questions whirling around in her head. Where did you grow up, then? Was it anything like me and Cyrian? Did that mud really work?
But she settled on one. “Are you okay?”
Rook’s eyes softened.
“I’ll be alright, Bellara. Thank you.”
Rook tilted her head forward. Her hands reached either side of Bellara’s face, holding her carefully like she was an artifact that could go off at any moment. Bellara could feel her breath hitch in her throat. She was still on her knees before the other woman, neck craned to face her, and her arms rested on either side of her atop the couch cushion.
Rook giggled.
“You’re cute when you’re focused.”
It was rare for Bellara to be rendered speechless. Rook’s words, face, and hands made her brain short circuit in a way that left her struggling to reboot herself. Rook was laughing — laughing! — and Bellara — Bellara was —
She broke away clumsily, stumbling to her feet and away from Rook’s unfairly soft hands. “I, uh... You’re cute too, so thanks!” she stammered. “I should get new bandages. From the infirmary. Right now. Be right... back.”
Bellara slammed the door of the room behind her. Her heart was pounding rapidly in her chest. Her blood was pumping so quickly that she feels as if she’s had several dozen cups of Lucanis’ coffee. She hid her overheated face in her palms, torn between mortified embarrassment and giddy joy.
Her heart rate hadn’t slowed down by the time she reached the infirmary. She was stuffing rolls of bandages and adhesive, trying to ignore the phantom feeling of Rook’s hands on her face. Mythal’enaste.
She was careful not to collide into any of the Lighthouse’s statues on the way back to Rook’s room. Bellara took deep breaths as she stood in front of her door. “You've got this, Bellara,” she muttered to herself. “You’ve read tons of serials like this. You know what to do.”
There was a soft sound from the other side of the door.
“Bellara? I can hear you, you know.”
Bellara smothered the sound of her choking on her own spit with a loud cough. She swung the door open, returning to Rook’s side with a furious blush on her face and a collection of first aid in her hands.
“I was just thinking out loud!” she said. “You know me.”
“I do know you,” said Rook. She placed one hand over Bellara’s, lowering the roll of bandages she was attempting to push forward. “Which is why I can practically hear you overthinking.”
Bellara blinked.
“I just — I’m going to ask you outright,” said Bellara. She opened her hand in offering, and Rook reacted immediately, their fingers threading together in a way that made her heart skip a beat. “Are you interested in me? Like... romantically?”
“Yes,” said Rook, like it was the easiest thing to say in the world.
“I — I’m interested, too,” said Bellara. “That was fast. I think.”
“Maybe it was,” she chuckled. Rook leaned forward, faces only inches apart. “You’re so sweet. You noticed my leg. Harding noticed, too, but she knows better than to offer to help before it gets worse.”
“But you let me help,” Bellara pointed out.
“Yeah,” said Rook. “You’re very convincing.”
Bellara gazed into her eyes. A thumb traced a warm line across her palm.
She remembered to breathe.
Rook’s eyes glinted with yearning.
“Can I...?”
Bellara tilted her head to the side, eyes fluttering shut in open acceptance. Rook’s lips met hers in a cluster of sparks and warmth. They were even softer than her hands, so smooth that she could feel the faint line of a scar at the corner of her mouth.
The first aid she held in her grasp was forgotten, spilling across the floor so that Bellara could rest her hands on Rook’s shoulders. Rook was like a light in the dark, her anchor, keeping the storm from carrying her away.
Rook’s hands slipped onto either side of Bellara’s waist, pulling her forward to encourage her onto her lap. She sat atop her unwounded thigh, breaking away from their kiss to admire the face beneath her. Rook’s eyes were sparkling with affection, lips parted and pursed. “What are you looking at?” she whispered, and Bellara could not help but press their lips together again and again.
Rook’s open mouth left a burning trail down the side of her neck. Once she met the line of Bellara’s collar bone, she expected to feel the pinch of her teeth, but the woman was far gentler than she expected. She slipped her fingers through her hair, releasing a long sigh as warm lips pressed to the center of her chest.
“Rook,” she muttered quietly. Rook responded with a low hum.
“Rook.”
“Sorry,” said Rook. She broke away, pressing their foreheads together affectionately. “Too far, too fast.”
“No, it’s not that,” said Bellara quickly. Her eyes fell to her leg. “I didn’t have a chance to wrap your leg yet.”
Rook froze, glancing down at the wound on her thigh. After a moment of realization, she released a warm laugh, running her fingertips along the outside of the mark. “I — I totally forgot about it,” she said with a smile. “You’re magical in more ways than one.”
Bellara swallowed. “You — argh, I don’t even know how to respond when you say things like that!”
“You could say something like, ‘you’re magical too, Rook!’ with that cute smile you always have,” she suggested with a shrug of her shoulders.
“Okay, Rook. You’re magical, too.”
Rook beamed. The sight warmed Bellara’s heart.
She returned to her feet, gathering the first aid materials she spilled only minutes ago. Bellara applied an even, light coat of ointment to the surface of the wound before binding it in a clean cotton wrap. Rook watched her intently as she worked, eyes glancing occasionally to the concentrated expression on her face.
Bellara leaned forward tentatively. She pressed a gentle kiss to the outside of the fresh bandages, lingering for only a moment before pulling away.
“If you get hurt again,” said Bellara, voice soft. “You can come see me in my room, okay?”
Rook paused. Her eyes were flickering, searching for something in Bellara’s face. Fondness, perhaps? She nodded, holding the curve of Bellara’s chin and jaw between her thumb and forefinger.
“Sure, Bellara.”