Page 82 of Connor and the Dragons

“It’s nothing.”

Connor ran his hand down the arm, on the same side that had sported the bent wing, and Kessrin hissed.

“I think your shoulder’s out. Dislocated. Kneel on the ground for me. Back straight.” Connor’s voice went short and kind and flat, the way it went when there was going to be no discussion.

“No.” Kessrin was being bratty. That was new.

“Sweetheart. I know,” Connor said. “It hurts. I’ve had it happen, just let me help, okay? I know how to fix it. Oallian is going to distract you and I’ll coax it back into place.”

“Why do you care?” Kessrin asked, taking a step away from us and stumbling. Connor reached out and caught him by the good arm.

“Of course we care. You’re hurting, and I don’t ever want to see you hurting. If you ignore it, there could be nerve damage or worse.” He glanced at me. “Do dragons get nerve damage?”

“Beats me, I don’t even know what nerve damage is,” I said.

“Right, well. Kessrin, first, let me set your shoulder, then we’re going to talk about whatever is going on here. Kneel.”

Kessrin sighed and kneeled. If he was me, he might have stuck his tongue out at Connor, but because he was Kessrin, he just looked like a man with excellent self-control who very much wanted to stick his tongue out at Connor.

“Oallian, I need your help. You need to hold him, and keep him steady. I’m going to pop it back in,” he said. I didn’t know how to hold him, so I kneeled in front of Kessrin and gave him a naked hug, wrapping my arms tightly around his waist.

Then I wiggled a little, seeing if any of the good bits would touch at this angle, then leaned in close. “I love you very much and I’m sorry your arm hurts,” I whispered in his ear. “Also, if you would like me to sternly lecture Connor on any of his personality defects, I am here for it.”

Kess’s next breath sounded almost like a laugh, and I considered that a win.

“Oallian, stop that wiggling. Move more beside him, help Kess keep his back straight, coach him to breathe steady and relax his muscles.”

“I was trying to get our good bits to touch,” I said, crawling over to Kessrin’s good side, rubbing his back and holding his hand.

“Kessrin, breathe slow and deep, I’m going to grip your arm and coax the joint back into place.”

“That sounds gross,” I said, eying the shoulder.

“You think something’s gross? Mr. Sheep are Crunchy?” Connor asked.

“That’s Vyranthos. I’m quite squeamish. I’m not looking.” I buried my face against Kessrin’s good shoulder. “Slow breaths. Preferably loud enough that I can’t hear any gross sounds.”

Kessrin took a shaky breath. Then another, calmer and slower, and at the end of it, Connor did some maneuver, wrapping his arm around Kessrin’s for leverage and making Kessrin’s shoulder make a very gross sound, one far worse than sheep crunching.

“Fuck,” Kessrin whimpered. Then he started to cry.

“What’s wrong? Does the arm not feel better?” Connor asked, hands roaming down Kessrin’s body. “Are you hurt somewhere else? Try not to move the arm too much, okay?”

“That’s not it at all. The mirror works. You’re going to go home and I don’t know what will happen to Oallian.” Kessrin’s voice came out quiet and broken against Connor’s shoulder. He reached a hand back, and I took it. “And I don’t know if you’ll be back, and I’ve failed at everything. I’m a terrible advisor to the Queen, we’ll never find Emberrick, and I’m destined to be alone.”

“What?” Connor asked.

“Connor, I heard you,” Kessrin said.

“Heard me what.”

“In the basket.” He did not lift his head. “You were talking to Sky. When we left Liminia.”

Connor’s hands stopped.

“You told him he was not going home, and I heard him say Connor Liang in love, and then I heard you say you were not in love.”

Nobody moved.