Delyth darted for the sword. That was something she could do, some way she could make this better. She lifted it easily, without thinking to prepare herself for the blade’s bloodlust.
And then it was on her, and Enyo’s moan was in her ears, and Alphonse’s blood was on her lips.
She stood frozen, torn so many different ways that she didn’t know how to act, what to do first.
For a long moment, she stayed that way, still, trembling.
She took a step towards Alphonse.
And dropped the blade, the heavy thing thumping into the bare earth of the campsite. With trembling fingers, Delyth pulled off the scabbard, already loose from Alphonse’s quick fingers, and shoved the thing onto Calamity.
Behind her, Etienne had already rushed off to get the kit, but Alphonse was barely standing, her body swaying from loss of blood. Delyth left the sword where it lay in the scabbard and went to her, to steady her, though the halfbreed’s hands were hesitant from shame.
“Gods, I’m sorry.” The words came out like a whisper or a groan of pain, and then Etienne was back, the kit grasped in his hands.
Alphonse settled down on the ground, not seeming to notice that she was sitting in her own blood. Maybe it hadn’t been a choice. “It’s alright. It’s alright,” she mumbled.
With Etienne back and laying out her kit, Alphonse opened her clenched fingers. Delyth could see bone, exposed white and gleaming amidst the smears of red.
How had she not felt that?
✶
“I’ll just… I’ll just clean this properly and then… heal it,” Alphonse gulped.
She was a superb healer.
Etienne sat at Alphonse’s side, opposite of Delyth. “Yes, exactly,” he told his friend gently. “You know how to deal with this.”
He put an arm around her shoulders for support, ignoring the trembling warrior on her other side and trying to banish the image of Enyo slicing Alphonse open. Anger lurked in his breast, wild and hot, but he kept the reins on it tight for the moment. He would help Alphonse first, and deal with Delyth later.
“Take a deep breath. I’m right here. You can do this.”
Alphonse actually smiled at Etienne.
It was sad and weak, but she clearly wanted to comfort him as well.
“I know. Master Delphine said I was very good with cuts…” High praise, ‘very good.’
With the wound cleaned, all she had to do was the magic.
Green light faded from Alphonse’s touch as she sighed, eyes flickering open and closed, open and closed. “My veil,” she murmured as if that were her biggest concern. She was half asleep on her feet as he and Delyth walked with her to her tent.
The pallet within that tent showed what he had missed.
Alphonse had never slept. It was neatly made. Enyo must have taken over late in the night, but before Alphonse had gotten to even pull the blankets back.
༄
Delyth stepped out of the tent shakily. The knowledge that Alphonse had been under Enyo’s control the entire night only made the situation feel worse. If she had just thought to check in the night, if she had just woken up earlier, this all might have been prevented.
Delyth knew that she had been exhausted, that she had fought the sky all the previous morning, but it wasn’t a good excuse.
It was her job to protect the vassal, to protect Alphonse. And she was starting to understand that seeing them all alive to the temple would mean protecting her from Enyo as well.
Something she had failed already.
“This is all your fault.”
As if echoing her thoughts, Etienne stood trembling with rage in the center of the campsite, still next to the pool of Alphonse’s blood.
“You gave her the fucking sword. I told you what she would do. I told you she was dangerous.” His blond hair was shoved back from his face, his eyes wild and red-rimmed.
“I was just doing what I thought I should, what I’d been taught— I—” They were just excuses. And poor ones at that. Delyth should have thought for herself, should have listened to her reservations.
Etienne was screaming now, his face red with anger, his hand fisted in the shirt over his chest. “You let this happen! You let her hurt Alphonse! You drank Alphonse’s blood. You’re still covered in it!”
Delyth stepped back, as though the last few lines were physical blows.
“You—you’re a fucking monster.” Etienne’s voice was lower now, the words tense and stuttering.
Delyth couldn’t take it, couldn’t argue. He was right. He was right about all of it.
She took two running steps towards the sword, scooped it up by the scabbard, and took off, disappearing over the trees.
Chapter VII
Winter, Brig’ian Mountains, Before the Kingdoms of Man
Freedom was cold and wet, but it felt far better than the brush of an Unmaker’s hand.
Va'al stood slowly, snow clinging to the bare skin of his dark body, all sinuous length, and corded muscle. Not a stitch of clothing had followed him from the Cursed Realms, but, for all the cold, he did not mind—the less of that place, the better.
The land around him was white with falling snow, a monotony broken only by the glimpse of rock rising miles above him or a splash of green from a thick-furred tree. Va'al had never seen so little color in his life.
And it was beautiful.
A long, jagged breath escaped him, something like relief for all that he was tense with nerves. Had he been followed? The silence of this plane was unnerving, nothing in his ears but the rush of air. Was this where the others had gone? Or was he alone here?
Va'al turned in a slow circle, searching for anyone else. What would be worse? Life in the Cursed Realms? Or life alone?
A rumbling echoed through the clearing. It grew louder, and with a snapping of branches and a crushing of the frozen underbrush, a small herd of creatures appeared. They bounded gracefully over fallen logs and zig-zagged between one another, arcing hastily away from Va'al and further into
