Page 81 of Keldori By Daybreak

“I can try to heal it, but it might heal wrong and you’ll end up with a crooked ankle forever.”

He stared at his ankle, and then flinched when he tried to flex his foot.

“I can walk on a crooked ankle,” he finally said. “Do it.”

I drew heat and magick into my hands, trying to visualize the diagrams of ankle bones, tendons, and ligaments I’d seen in class. Tiernan grunted at my touch, but managed to stay still. I tried not to press too hard against the injury as I wrapped my fingers over the joint and felt Skal surge between us.

I listed the names of ankle bones in my head, as if doing so might make my magick work better. Tibia, Fibula, Talus… I was healing blind, unable to use my own injuries or my connection to Ciarán’s injuries to guide my magick, but it had to be better than leaving Tiernan the way he was, especially if we were going to be traveling.

A few minutes in, I caught him staring with his brows drawn together and his lips pressed into a tight line.

“Does that hurt too much?” I pulled my hands away from his leg, but Tiernan cleared his throat and shook his head.

“No. Sorry. I’m just—” He cut off as the look returned, quirking his scowl and re-furrowing his brow.

“What?” I asked. He gulped and looked away, watching Iseult run her hands over the copper wall plate.

“I’m not used to you looking like this. You’re so different from your Nightmare,” Tiernan admitted. “It’s weird.”

“What, am I not your type?” I joked, returning my hands to his injury.

“My type of what?”

I hesitated. Keldorian and Skalterran English had developed in tandem, but there were still certain terms and idioms that hadn’t crossed the Rift.

“Your type of girl. Sorry. I was making a joke. It’s something we say back at home. If I’m not your type, you don’t find me attractive.”

Tiernan coughed, and his cheeks darkened. “Oh. No, I didn’t mean to offend you—”

“Tiernan,” I interrupted with a half-laugh. “You blew me up once. And then you tried to kill me again in a wheat field. I don’t think you can offend me at this point.”

“The Umberdust Plains are not a wheat field. And for what it’s worth, you look fine. I just don’t think I have a type of girl.”

“Guys, then?” I kept my face turned towards his ankle, but peaked through loose strands of my hair to gauge his reaction. I wasn’t entirely sure what all was socially accepted in Skalterra, but Orla had been up front with me about her preference for women, so it wasn’t crazy to imagine men were free to show interest in other men here.

However, Tiernan frowned and shook his head. “No. No type of anyone.”

“Oh.”

“I know that might not make sense—”

“It does.” I nodded too eagerly. “I’m the same. Or I thought I was.”

“You thought?”

When I’d first met Tiernan, I’d thought he was a figment of my imagination. Maybe that’s what made talking to him so easy now. That and the fact that I was pretty sure he could not think less of me than he already did.

“Yeah. I think I started to have a type recently, but then he died.”

Confused horror crept across Tiernan’s face. “Galahad?”

“God! What? No!” I pulled my hands back from his leg in disgust. “Someone from home!”

The horror on his face eased, but his brow remained furrowed. “The Grimguard?”

“Good news! Your leg is all better.” I stood up, trying to shake my mortification. “Let me know if it hurts again. Or don’t.”

“You said he was your friend in your world, right?”