"Um…what does it mean when a caster's fingertips turn black?"
I freeze. "What?"
Bael must be too tired to stand anymore because he lowers himself back into the chair, wincing with every movement. "Fuck. I don't know. He has this gods-awful fever, and his fingers are all charred. Maybe he just touched you when you were still…" He swallows hard, his voice breaking as it turns into a whisper. "Still on fire. Oh, fuck. I almost lost you, Maven. Fucking gods, I almost?—"
"Don't blaspheme, please," Pia chides quietly, straightening and turning to the dragon shifter. When I see that Everett's chest is no longer a bloody mess and he's now in a deep sleep, I start to feel like I can breathe again.
"Hold still," the prophetess instructs, her hands hovering over Bael's midsection.
Baelfire waits while Pia heals him, but I can't take it anymore. I hurry into my bedroom, and when I see Silas on the bed, I feel like I'm choking.
I can sense it even from here. The change in his magic.
How dare he do this? I might've been fine. If I had died from that fire, I…
Fuck. No, I would have died permanently. He knew that.
I sit on the bed beside Silas, wiping any remaining moisture from my eyes. The light outside is well into the afternoon. Other legacies are still in the maze or dead—I can only pray to the universe that Kenzie and her quintet are all right. And if the Immortal Quintet dropped their wards and ran at the first sign of thetelum, things are about to get a lot harder.
I'll be hunting them. They'll be hunting me.
It's going to be a viciously bloody mess.
But even that knowledge doesn't cheer me up as I stare at Silas, lying unconscious on the bed. His dark curls are damp with sweat, clinging to his forehead as he fights the fever. His breathing is labored, and his slender fingertips are, in fact, blackened from necromancy.
Pia knocks softly on the door. Despite all the healing, there's not even a spot of blood on her white head-to-toe ensemble. "I can heal him, too."
"But you can't heal the fever," I mutter.
She shakes her white-veiled head. "No. That was his choice."
I watch as she heals Silas. Then she pauses by the door on the way out. "Many of the Immortal Quintet's hired hands escaped with them. Rumors will spread, and it's only a matter of time before bounty hunters and others arrive. Everbound won't be safe for you."
"No shit.” Safety is an illusion.
It almost sounds like she's smiling. "Is it? Perhaps you should pray to the gods for their aid."
"Or perhaps I should stick my thumb up my ass and spin around three times while reciting poetry. That's just as likely to help me face what's coming next. The gods forsook me a long time ago."
Pia is quiet for a long moment, then leaves without another word. Offending a prophetess is pretty damn far down on my list of sins, so I pay her no mind as I continue to stare at Silas.
After a moment, I feel Crypt's presence in the room, but he doesn't leave Limbo. It's as if he's just checking in on me, and then he leaves again—maybe to shower.
"You all right, Boo?" Baelfire murmurs, walking into the room and taking my hand in his. His injuries are gone. He still looks exhausted, and he's still covered in ash, dirt, and black harbinger blood, but he's okay.
When I nod and continue observing Silas, he glances down at the blood fae.
"Silas has never gotten sick. Not even when we were kids."
"He's sick because of the necromancy," I say quietly. "It's a transitory phase. Sort of like turning into a vampire through vampyr venom, only with magic. It's excruciating."
I would know. I felt much of its effects before I learned I had access to necromancy.
Baelfire's eyes flash to mine as he puts two and two together. "You mean…he's becoming a necromancer. For you."
That sets another emotion off in my chest. I swallow, nodding as my vision blurs slightly. Knowing Silas sacrificed his blood magic for me…
"He's such a fucking idiot,” I whisper.
