Chapter 12: Kiss of Life
The heavy oak door to Luna’s bedchamber groaned softly as Agnes Plum shoved it open, a whirlwind of black hair and righteous fury. Her usually bright blue eyes were chips of arctic ice, scanning the room with lethal efficiency. They swept past the silvery tapestries shimmering faintly on the moonlit walls, the enchanted trinkets humming quietly on shelves, the heavy scent of night-blooming jasmine – and landed with the force of a crossbow bolt on Aiden Blackwood, kneeling beside Luna’s bed. On the figure lying unnervingly still beneath a thin coverlet, her gold-brown skin still flushed too brightly, damp curls plastered to her temples.
"Move," Agnes commanded, her voice a low thrum of pure venom. She shoved a heavy satchel overflowing with pungent herbs and gleaming vials onto the dresser with a clatter, not waiting for compliance. "Get out of my way, Blackwood. Now."
Aiden scrambled back, his boots scuffing the thick rug. He’d been frozen, one hand hovering uselessly near Luna’s burning arm, the other clenched around the freezing obsidian bottle resting on the nightstand. The shock of Agnes’s arrival, the sheer concentrated fury radiating off her small frame, knocked him off-kilter. "Agnes, she—"
"I see what she is, you absolute tit," Agnes cut him off, already dropping to her knees beside the bed. Her cool, capable hands were instantly on Luna’s forehead, her throat, peeling back an eyelid to check the sliver of amber beneath. "Unconscious. Fever spiking. Breathing shallow. What in the name of the Weeping Willow did you do to her this time? Drag her into another one of your Covenant suicide missions? Five years wasn't enough time for you to wreck her life?" Her words were quick, precise daggers, each one finding its mark. She didn’t look at him, utterly focused on Luna, but the accusation hung thick in the jasmine-scented air.
Aiden flinched. The old anger, the defensiveness, rose hot and immediate. "I didn't drag her into anything! The Lexicon was tearing the wards apart! We contained it! She..." His voice cracked as he gestured helplessly at the obsidian bottle. "She did that."
Agnes finally spared the bottle a glance, her sharp eyes narrowing. She didn’t touch it, but her nostrils flared as if scenting the unnatural cold radiating from it. "What is that abomination?"
"The Void resonance," Aiden said, the words tasting like ash. "Mine. The Covenant’s leash. She siphoned it out. Into that thing. After the Lexicon." The enormity of it, the sheer, reckless courage, threatened to overwhelm him again.
Agnes went utterly still for a heartbeat. Then she turned her head slowly, those icy blue eyes locking onto Aiden with terrifying intensity. "She what?" The quietness was more frightening than her earlier fury. "She siphoned Covenant-anchored Void resonance out of your corrupted hide? After binding a Class Five Reality Breacher?" A harsh, incredulous laugh escaped her. "Luna Morningstar, you magnificent, suicidal idiot." Her voice softened infinitesimally as her gaze flicked back to her friend’s face, a flicker of profound worry breaking through the anger. Then she refocused on Aiden, the ice returning. "And you just let her?"
"Let her?" Aiden’s voice rose. "She didn’t exactly send me a formal request, Agnes! One second we were sealing the Lexicon, the next she’s chanting like a maniac and collapsing with that thing!" He pointed a shaking finger at the bottle. "I didn’t know! How could I have known she was planning… this?" He swept his hand over Luna’s feverish form.
Agnes ignored his outburst, already rummaging in her satchel. She pulled out bundles of dried feverfew and willow bark, a mortar and pestle, a small, clear vial filled with viscous blue liquid that glowed faintly. "Ignorance is your default state, Blackwood," she muttered, grinding the herbs with sharp, efficient motions. The rhythmic scrape of stone on stone filled the tense silence. "Always has been. Especially where Luna’s well-being is concerned. Remember the Crimson Root Incident? The Frostfire Festival? Or how about that delightful little jaunt into the Blighted Marshes that nearly got her soul sucked out because you thought a glowing cave looked ‘interesting’?" She poured the glowing blue liquid into the mortar, creating a sizzling paste that smelled of ozone and mint.
Aiden clenched his jaw. The memories, the accusations, stung because they held the uncomfortable ring of truth. He had been reckless. Impetuous. Drawn to the dangerous edges of magic. And Luna, brilliant, curious Luna, had often followed, or dragged him back from the brink. "That was different," he protested weakly.
"Different how?" Agnes snapped, not looking up. She dipped her fingers into the now-cooled paste, its glow dimming. "Because it was less life-threatening, or because this time it wasn’t your life directly on the line?" She began carefully applying the paste to Luna’s temples, wrists, and over her heart. The paste seemed to sink into Luna’s skin, leaving trails of faint blue light that pulsed gently before fading. "You left a hole, Aiden. When you put on that shiny knight’s sigil and walked away. You think she just… got over it? She built this," Agnes gestured vaguely around the serene, magical room, "built herself back up. And you swagger back into town with cosmic baggage, and boom. Back in the fire." She leaned closer to Luna, whispering something too low for Aiden to hear, a complex incantation woven with the herb’s power. The harsh flush on Luna’s skin seemed to recede slightly. Her breathing deepened, just a fraction.
Aiden watched, helpless, the fight draining out of him as Agnes worked. The warlock-knight, rendered useless by a tiny woman with a mortar and pestle and a tongue sharper than his sword. "Is she… will she be okay?" The question came out raw, stripped bare.
Agnes finished her incantation, sitting back on her heels. She wiped her hands on a cloth, her gaze fixed on Luna’s face, assessing. The frantic energy had bled out of her, replaced by a focused calm. "She lives," she stated flatly. "This time. Dumb luck and sheer stubbornness, I suspect." She finally looked at Aiden directly. "No lasting physical damage, by some miracle. But she burned herself down to the wick. Twice. First anchoring that damned lexicon, then… that." Another sharp glance at the bottle. "It’s severe magical drain. Exhaustion that goes bone-deep, soul-deep. She’s fragile. Like spun glass." Agnes’s gaze hardened. "She needs absolute rest. No stress. No sudden shocks. No monumental, self-sacrificing magical feats." Her eyes bored into his. "And no upsetting encounters with emotionally complicated ex-boyfriends carrying pocket dimensions of cosmic poison."
Aiden flinched. "Agnes, I—"
"Save it," she said, standing up, brushing invisible dust from her dark trousers. "Your apologies, your explanations, your brooding warlock-knight angst – they can wait. Indefinitely. What she needs now is quiet. Calm. Stability." She pointed a finger at his chest. "You stay out of her way. You let her heal. If you care about her at all, that’s what you’ll do. Temporary visitors only. And you," she added, her voice softening minutely as she looked back at Luna, "are very temporary."
She moved to a small writing desk nestled in an alcove, pulling out paper and a quill that began writing on its own. "I’m drafting a regimen. Specific teas every hour. Cooling compresses infused with moonpetal essence. Silence. And someone watching her constantly. That’s my job." She scribbled a final note. "Yours is to leave. Take your bottled nightmare with you." She gestured dismissively at the obsidian bottle. "Put it somewhere secure. The Library vaults, maybe. Somewhere Luna won't stumble upon it when she wakes and gets another idiotic, noble idea."
Aiden stared at the bottle. The cold seemed to seep into his bones. His freedom, bought with Luna’s suffering. Leaving felt like abandoning her. Staying felt like violating Agnes’s explicit, ferociously protective command. The weight of years of mistakes pressed down. "Agnes… thank you. For her."
Agnes didn’t turn around. The quill scratched furiously. "Don’t thank me. Just go. And remember what I said. Temporary. Fragile." She underlined something on the paper with a furious stab. "The next time you cause her this kind of pain, Aiden Blackwood, it won’t be herbs and a scolding I come armed with."
The dismissal was absolute. Aiden looked at Luna, pale and still against the pillows, the faint scent of Agnes’s cooling paste mingling with the jasmine. The fierce independence, the sharp wit, all banked to embers. Fragile, Agnes had said. Like spun glass. He picked up the obsidian bottle. Its cold bite was a grounding shock. His burden again. His responsibility.
He walked towards the door, the silence broken only by Agnes’s quill and the too-shallow sound of Luna’s breathing. As he passed the bed, a flicker of movement caught his eye. Luna’s eyelids fluttered weakly. Not fully open, but for a fraction of a second, a sliver of unfocused amber seemed to look directly at him. Aiden froze. There was no anger there, no accusation. Just exhaustion, and something else… a flicker of awareness. Then her eyes closed again, her head turning slightly on the pillow with a soft sigh.
Agnes hadn’t noticed, busy with her instructions.
Aiden stood rooted for a moment longer, the bottle burning cold in his hand, Luna’s fleeting, vulnerable gaze seared into his mind. Temporary? Maybe. But not forgotten. Not by him. He slipped out of the moonlit sanctuary, closing the door softly behind him, sealing away the scent of jasmine and the fragile, fevered woman within. The weight of the bottle felt heavier than ever. His freedom tasted like ashes and regret. The fight for the Lexicon was over. The fight for Luna had just become infinitely more complicated, and Agnes Plum was standing guard.