The Traitor's Wish

The Traitor's Wish
Chapter 15
The Night's Song

Darb met his eyes. "Pray to God." He admitted. "I'll give it to ye straight Cap'n. She'll survive, but she may never walk again."

Killian was consumed with rage. He spun on his heel, releasing all his frustration in a heavy kick. The desk flew to the floor scattering papers in a million directions. "This is all my bloody fault." He raved. "I just had to care for her. I should've gotten the bloody gold and gotten the blazes out of her castle, but she's a princess, a siren, I couldn't resist her." He turned and stared at her bloodied figure was more, slippery tears pooling in his eyes, "She's hurt and it's my fault." He kneeled beside her, lifting her dainty fingers and brushing a kiss against them.

Pearson had never seen his captian with such passion unless it was in someone else's loss. Darb had seen it long ago when Liam still walked the earth. He missed this man, the one who cares for every person, who loved deeply with all of himself. He was going to do all he could to keep that man alive. That meant working a miracle and saving the girl.

She turned her head ever so slightly, but before she could move the pain swarmed back. Emma whimpered from the ache in her arms.

Killian looked wide eyed at Darb and Brishen. "Get whatever herbs she needs now." He ordered. The men rushed off, leaving Killian with Emma.

She was laid on her stomach with her head facing him. There was not a chance of her being able to move with the pain she was in. He was very surprised she was waking up. It worried him. She would have to bear all of that pain, but he was ultimately calmed by the sight of her bright green eyes flickering open.

"Killian?" She asked softly. Her voice was hoarse, almost completely gone from the screams she had belted.

"Yes, love I'm right here." He smiled best he could and lost himself in her eyes, stroking the side of her face lightly with his right hand.

"My legs.." She began, "are they there?" She asked staring down at him.

"Yes Darling, your back is injured. Your going to be alright though, I promise." He uttered, clearly believing it himself. It had to be true. She had to be okay.

Her face contorted with tears. The green in her eyes wide and scared, "I can't feel them-" The tears escaped, running down her face one after another. Killian felt broken. There was hardly anything he could do to comfort her. After all he couldn't hold her. He didn't have powers to heal her. He did not even have the medicines she would have at home. All he could do was stay with her, holding her hand in the only one he had left, and cry with her.

She pressed her face into her pillow, seeking a way to hide the tears. She felt weak, broken, helpless, and she hated it. Emma didn't want to be this worthless girl traveling with Killian, a thorn in his side. She did not want to bring harm to him, the crew, his life.

Just by saving her, he'd lost his hand, a piece of him. Kade's hand, the one he'd used to hand her that swan lily those months ago when everything seemed simple, before Emma knew Killian at all. The same hand he'd caressed her cheek with. The one he used to hold her close as they danced song after song at the festival. The hand he had used to pull her chin down, meeting his lips to hers back in that simple life of false hope. Kade was the man she fell in love with, but it was because of the hidden interior of mystery, the personality of Killian hiding inside all of that armor.

The gentleman had chased after her. The traitor had given his crew and ship to rescue her. The princess's lover had worried for her. The pirate had lost his hand to save her. The hand he had used to steer his ship for years. The hand he used to hold his extra sword, so he could fight with two. The hand he had probably used to give punishment to the crew. The calloused, dirty sculpture of flesh that had worn the bracelet she had given him when she discovered the truth. The bracelet she gave him the day she fell in love with Killian, not Kade, it was gone, probably fell off along with the hand, now replaced by a shiny, sharp hook. A symbol of love, replaced by a weapon.