Nagisa was more furious than Aojiko had ever seen her before. She was so angry that her ability to make informed decisions had eroded, reducing her to little more than a shouting, raving, mad woman. At first, she yelled for the air Zosara to pursue her fellow casters, but then she changed her mind once she realized how severely injured she was.
Her arm was charred black. Had Nagisa not been pumped full of adrenaline, she would have been lying on the ground writhing and screaming in agony. Of that, Aojiko had no doubt. Wounds of this magnitude could bring down even the most proud and fierce of individuals; not that Nagisa would ever admit it.
Kneeling beside her master, Aojiko used a subtle manipulation of air magic to waft the scent of burned flesh in a different direction. The smell itself nearly made her gag but looking at it up close churned her stomach unpleasantly. She wasn’t sure if the limb could even be saved at this point. It appeared Taoru’s wrathful fire had burned even after the two had been separated.
Nagisa deserved it. She deserved to have his flame consume her slowly and painfully…
Aojiko kept the hate and contempt off her face as she worked. She would do what she could to save the arm and allow it to retain as much use as possible, but she wasn’t optimistic on either point.
Raising her hands, she swirled them in a slow pattern, like a puppeteer manipulating the strings of a disfigured, grotesque marionette. The cool breeze swirled around Nagisa’s hand and arm, soothing the ravaged flesh. Magic penetrated the wound, seeping through to the very bones and radiating outward as invisible plumes of vile smoke. Aojiko, her eyes half-closed, focused on maintaining her circulation and on carefully dissipating the negative energy as it was released.
The warlord’s impatient fury didn’t make Aojiko’s job any easier. More than once, she paused to regain her concentration after Nagisa had shouted and nearly jumped to her feet. From the stray bit of news she could catch, pursuit of the three errant Zosara was not going well.
Every guard that had been sent after them had thus far been thwarted. Even the pack of dogs had been cut off somewhere around the armory. Thankfully, though the fighting had gone by there, the Zosara had no need for weapons and had done nothing except block the entrance with a dense thicket of brambles.
At the latest news, Kiatsu tried to step in and calm her mother, but Nagisa was having none of it. As always, the young woman bore the tongue-lashing with far more grace than she should have. Seen and not heard, that was Kiatsu’s role in all things. Constantly, she was reassured one day her lesson in observation would end, and it would be her turn to continue her mother’s legacy.
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Aojiko knew from the glimpses she’d seen thanks to her gift of insight Kiatsu was destined for a greater legacy. One that would far outweigh Nagisa’s. It was a detail the Zosara had never shared and never would. She feared that by doing so she would put a target on Kiatsu’s back.
Right now, she was viewed as meek and soft and therefore she was always underestimated. Aojiko would do nothing to alter this perception. It was up to Kiatsu to find her own way in the world for if she ran into trouble, the air Zosara would not be able to help her.
After a bit longer, Aojiko let the magic slip away. There was little else she could do for now. “It will require multiple healing sessions,” she said, interrupting Nagisa’s verbal barrage of Kiatsu. “You should have a medicine woman tend to it as well. Cleaning it and applying salves will aid the process.”
The warlord growled, inspecting her arm with a sneer on her face. It didn’t look much better, less blackened, less raw. Most of what Aojiko had accomplished was subtle, such as taking measures to prevent infection, speed up the body’s healing response, and strengthen badly damaged tendons that would need to be viable later. Function was more important at this stage than worrying about scars. There was no getting around it; Nagisa would forever be disfigured by this injury.
“Don’t look so satisfied, Aojiko. I’m still breathing.” Nagisa’s voice was a harsh whisper. She wasn’t finished taking her rage out on those around her. “I know you let the girl hit you on purpose…”
Clenching her jaw, Aojiko stood up, refusing to rise to the bait. She could still feel the ache from the two gashes on her face, one above her brow and the other across her cheekbone. The blow had caught her off guard. She had not wanted to fight Taoru; it was true she did not give that fight her best. She had focused only on keeping him at bay instead of truly attacking him.
They were meant to escape this prison. Their destiny lies elsewhere.
She knew that with utter assurance. At the moment Taoru had broken free, Aojiko had glimpsed his fate. The mental image of Taoru astride a great, fearsome dragon of old still heated the blood in her veins. Somehow, she had a part to play in his ascension, but for now, that glorious future was little more than desperate longing for a freedom she felt would never come.
A messenger burst into the audience chamber, distracting Nagisa from any further goading she might have had in mind. “Warlord!” He bowed hastily, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He must have run the entire way here. “They’ve reached the courtyard. A-and,” he stammered before spitting out the rest, “one of them summoned… leaves.”
“Leaves?” Nagisa scoffed, waving her good hand dismissively. “Is this some sort of joke? Do you really wish to try my patience—?”
He rattled his head in a firm no. “Forgive me, warlord, it’s no joke… The courtyard,” he swallowed. “The courtyard is filled with more leaves than could come from an entire forest!”
Aojiko turned her face away and smiled faintly. This was how legends were born.