His wild guess had just worked. He didn't know but revealing that to her would only make things more difficult.
The moment Lyra's human form was draped in his cloak, the furious silence of the courtyard broke.Ryker didn't wait for permission or question. He held her tight, one hand supporting her head, the other firm beneath her knees, and spun to face the assembled guards. His gray eyes were colder and sharper than any blade.
" Confine yourself to the barracks. Anyone who speaks a word of what they saw tonight will answer to me. Jonathan, take the mage back to her post. Now." His orders were not requests; they were commands cutting through the stunned air.
He knew Thax was already healed and on his way here. The guards who saw all this wouldn't remain quiet after his questioning. He was a rank higher than him after all,and his word overruled his command.
Jonathan, ever the pragmatist, grabbed Elara by the arm. Elara looked at Ryker, her professional concern overriding her fear. "Commander, her bone structure has suffered major trauma, aside from the bleeding. I need to treat her immediately." Her eyes lowered with curiosity on hearing his response.
"She will be treated," Ryker promised. He saw the rising resistance in her eyes but they were completely extinguished by a tag from Jonathan. When he was sure noone was around,his pace quickened as he headed not toward the heavily trafficked main infirmary, but toward the rarely used East Wing.
He carried Lyra down a long, dimly lit corridor that smelled of old stone and dust. He majorly avoided the busy streets not wanting to be seen. His arm throbbed where she had clawed him, but he ignored the pain, his focus absolute. But he still wondered how strong she really was. He was a werewolf too,most people in the kingdom were, but it had never been that easy to harm him. So how powerful was?
He knew Thax would report this disaster the moment he was gone. He had minutes, not hours.
He reached a section of the wall behind an ancient, cracked tapestry—a shield depicting a forgotten house sigil. He shifted Lyra to one arm and pressed a specific stone in the mortar. With a low, grating sound, a narrow seam appeared, and a heavy wooden door swung inward.
The air on the other side was sterile and warm, smelling of dried herbs and medicinal steam. This was the hidden medical wing The Captain had confided in him about—a discreet place for sensitive or unsanctioned treatments, far from the eyes of the curious or the cruel.
Inside, the room was small but spotless, centered around a sturdy wooden examination table. A lamp cast a soft, steady yellow light. Sitting patiently on a stool, sharpening a small surgical knife, was a burly, quiet man: The Head healer himself, stripped off of his heavy uniform and wearing a simple healer's smock.
The Healer looked up, his face grim, and nodded once—no questions, no drama.
"Trauma," Ryker said, gently laying Lyra onto the table, careful to keep the cloak wrapped around her. "Shattered bone structure, internal bleeding, and severe lacerations. She needs help now, before this hits the high command."
The Healer moved instantly, his hands surprisingly gentle as he checked Lyra's pulse and breathing.
"I already have the necessary preparations. After the Captain, Emrys, informed me. Glad I decided to go all out with the supplies." he murmured.
"Go. Get your own arm seen to. "He added .
"It will heal on its own." Ryker admitted exhaustingly because he knew that the healer of all people should know that.
"It can still get infected." He paused but on seeing another refusal from Ryker,he continued. "I need space to work." He whispered.
Ryker sighed knowing exactly what he meant. His presence would only be a nuisance to the healer. On seeing his willing submission, the healer took charge again.
" Lock the door and don't come back until dawn. I won't have the Commander involved in this. This is my watch now."
Ryker hesitated, looking down at the pale, vulnerable girl. The scars and cuts that crisscrossed her body were stark against her skin.
"Be careful Roland," Ryker instructed, his voice low and intense. "If she dies, the situation collapses."
"I am a healer, Commander," Roland replied, his eyes dark with quiet resolve. "And I know which secrets need tending more than which rules need keeping."
Ryker gave another, final nod. He stepped back out, pressed the seam, and waited until the heavy door groaned shut, sealing Lyra's fate—and his own—behind solid stone. He was now officially an accomplice to a secret werewolf's escape and medical treatment. He wrapped his wounded forearm in a piece of his torn shirt and headed for his quarters to prepare his defense. This was all he needed to do. This was all he could do.