A shrill cry pierced the air. It was Kadeesha. He nearly snapped his eyes in the direction it came from. But Zayvier was too important, and he held steadfast in his unwavering focus on his brother. Whatever it was, whatever the source of the keen agony in her pitch, she could deal with it on her own. It shouldn’t have been so difficult to decide it and make the choice stick. It shouldn’t, in fact, have been a struggle he’d needed to decide on at all.
Yet he found he was impressing that belief firmly uponhimself when Kadeesha cried out again, desperately yelling for help.
SAMIRA. SHE FOUNDSamira. Except … Horror dragged claws down her stomach.
Great Celestials, Samira is buried beneath massive slabs ofstone …
The toe of the riding boot on her sister’s left foot peeked out from beneath one of the slabs. If not for the shiny black leather glinting off the sun, Kadeesha might’ve missed it. At first, the scream lodged in her throat. She went numb. Then, the sound ripped from her, a mix of fury and agony and terror. She raced the rest of the distance to Samira, her aether flames reaching her sister before she did. She incinerated the slabs, only pulling her flames back before they could singe Samira’s crumpled form. She dropped down beside her sister and cried out for help, her voice hoarse. In her head, she screamed as well, an endless loop ofNo. No. No!This was the second time in too short a span that she’d seen her sister pale as death, the brown color having leeched so greatly from her skin that it’d turned chalk white. Kadeesha called out for help again, unsure who she was even calling to. Anybody,a healer, who could restore Samira’s color and the breaths she no longer took. She twisted around searching for Malachi—he’d healed Samira before—ready to bargain away whatever he asked, her very throne without a fight, if that’s what he demanded. Something ragged rattled around her chest when she saw him a distance away, bent over one of his Cadre and healing the male. As soon as she beheld the scene sheknewthat he couldn’t save Samira this time. Hewouldn’thelp her this time. Not when he was occupied with one of his own. He wouldn’t place Samira’s life above one of his brothers—just as she wouldn’t if in the same position.
“I can help.” Trystin squatted beside her. He stared down at Samira, brows pinched together.
Kadeesha stared at him blankly for a moment, not quite understanding what he even meant. But Trystin just repeated, quietly, “I can help,” and finally she nodded and scrambled out of the way. Trystin took her place near Samira’s head. So much of her was battered and shredded and mangled. Too much. Kadeesha blinked back tears. She wouldn’t cry.
She expected Trystin to manifest some manner of the same void magic that Malachi did when he’d healed Samira before. However, he instead pulled a stick of kohl from the pocket of his tunic and began to draw elaborate markings consisting of sharply slanting lines and narrow vertices around the top of Samira’s head. He sketched the same symbols along the right side of her body and then moved to her left side and did the same. He drew them atop the surrounding rubble, and each mark blazed crimson the moment one of Trystin’s quick, efficient strokes left it behind. He worked silently and meticulously, forehead creased in concentration. Kadeesha held her breath, never taking her eyes off Samira. When a hand slid into hers, she glanced at her other sister. Their shared grief hung suspended between them. She squeezed Leisha’s hand and looked back to Samira, wordlessly willing Samira to live. Another, slimmer hand squeezed her shoulder and Theo stepped into view on her other side.
“Do you think … Will he be able to … Will she—” A strangled, horrified cry choked off the boy’s questions. He was a goodthree years younger than Rassa, but they possessed the same guileless air. The similarity made Kadeesha infinitely thankful that she’d tasked Rassa with settling the kongamatos in the aerie, far from the palace, so she’d been out of harm’s path.
“Samira is a fighter. She’ll be all right,” Kadeesha firmly answered Theo, not leaving room for any other outcome.Live, she commanded Samira once more.Live.
Trystin ceased the drawings. He sank to the ground, sitting with his hands braced against his thighs. He panted. His white tunic with silver threading stuck to his torso, drenched with sweat. Samira’s wounds were gone and her chest … Thank the Celestials, her chest vigorously rose and fell, a clear sign she was breathing. Kadeesha leaned forward and squeezed Samira’s hand, needing her sister to open her eyes before she allowed herself to truly believe she’d be all right. Several moments passed, and it didn’t happen. Yes, Samira was breathing, but she didn’t otherwise stir.
“What’s the matter?” she asked Trystin, her gut tightening.
“The damage was severe,” he replied. “So severe that I could only do so much with a rune. Her body needs time to mend itself fully.”
Kadeesha let out a slow, controlled breath. “Shewillwake up, yes?” she whispered to Trystin.You had better, she demanded of Samira.
Trystin’s sympathetic expression made her stomach lurch. “I am exceptionally adept at rune work, so hopefully. But even I have my limits of the feats I can achieve.”
She didn’t want to hear about limits. She didn’t want to hear words likehopefully. She was about to say just that when Leisha once again squeezed her hand. Kadeesha looked to her friend, and Leisha nodded, trying to pass along whatever strengthshe could. Kadeesha took a deep breath, somehow managed to wrestle her frenzied worry under control, and softly said to Trystin, “Thank you for doing what you could.”
She then prayed to the great Celestials that Samira’s immortal body would repair itself fully and she would wake up. This made twice now that she’d placed her sister in danger and she’d been harmed because of Kadeesha. If Kadeesha had never insisted on traveling to the Stone Keep with Malachi, if she’d backed down when she was met with opposition, then Samira would’ve never been anywhere near the wall when it blew apart.
If if if, she thought.Too much of my life right now is surrounded byif.
Chapter Nineteen
ZAYVIER AND SAMIRA WEREN’T THE ONLY TWO LYINGin infirmary beds. The entire wing was crowded with more injured fae than it had proper beds. Cots from the stores of surplus military supplies had been brought in, and yet there were still people scattered among the floor with wool blankets as their makeshift bedrolls. The healers had given the actual beds to those with the gravest injuries, the cots to those who only required moderate treatment, and spaces on the floor to those who had come in with wounds that required brief triage. Then, there were those like Zayvier and Samira—fae whom a healer had done all they could for and whose psyches and bodies had slipped into stasis while their immortal bodies worked overtime to restore that which was beyond the reach of any mending a healer could achieve. Even ones as extraordinary as Malachi was with his void magic and Trystin was with his rune work.
Malachi scrubbed a hand down his face. It’d only been a handful of hours, but it felt like he’d been sitting in the chair at Zayvier’s bedside for days. “Have you arrived at a better estimate of when he’ll rouse?” Malachi asked the healer—ablack-haired fae male—who’d just finishing recording Zayvier’s heart and breathing rates.
“I have not, Your Grace,” he answered. “Such precision cannot be—”
“Then what the fuck are you good for?” Malachi growled.
The male paled. “Forgive me, Your Grace. I did not mean to give insult. It is only that—”
“It is only that you need to get out of my face.”
Malachi knew his anger was misplaced, and that the healer was just unlucky enough to be a target within reach. But he didn’t care too much about any of that. He stood, took a step toward the frightened man, towering over him by a good head. “The lord in this bed is very important to me. Do you understand? He had better wake up. And you better do everything within your power, use every scrap of knowledge, herbs, runes, and whatever else is at your disposal, to see that he awakens sooner rather than later. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Your Grace.” The male vigorously nodded his head. Hands trembling, he turned to a tray that an attending servant held and picked up some clear tincture in a glass vial.
“I understand you’re out of sorts, but bellowing at the healer tending to your friend won’t much help matters,” came a feminine voice. It carried an unmistakable rebuke.
He worked his jaw. He turned and swept a withering look down the length of Kadeesha Mercier, who now stood beside him. She squared her shoulders, raised her chin in the infuriating manner she often did to make him aware, in no uncertain terms, that she thought him beneath heranda brute.
So he grinned, ready to be exactly what she judged him as. He needed a better outlet for his wrath. One who would give as good as he did. One who would present a true challenge. Aformidable fight. One who wouldn’t cower and make directing his rage at them less fulfilling.
