He hesitates. “They left one behind. But it’s a…Lightbringer. She’s in bad shape.”
They left one behind.
Eldritch turns to me immediately. “Eres—”
“I’ll meet you there.” I kick my horse into action, leaving them behind as I take off through the trees, following the prints left behind by the scouts. Eldritch’s swearing fades from my ears as I pick up my speed, almost dangerously so for the terrain.
Don’t die getting to her. Kaelen would lose his shit.
But I don’t slow down. I can’t.
She’s in bad shape.
I’ve never treated a Lightbringer. I don’t even know if my erevas will work on her. But I wanted an opportunity to help, and here it is. Even if it’s not what I expected.
The heat from the still-burning structures warms my face as I break through the trees. But that’s not what draws my attention.
It’s thelight.
Swinging down from my horse, I leave him loose as I approach the figure on the ground.
The hair prickles at the back of my neck and down my arms as I kneel.
The blood is everywhere. Pooled beneath her, soaking into the knees of my trousers as I lean over her still form, assessing.
And itglows.
Almost gold, as if made of light itself, it gleams from her middle, her face, her hands. I’ve never seen anything like it. And I know what it means.
Quickly, I catalog her injuries. Her hands first.
They staked her to the ground like an animal. Drove sharp wooden stakes through both of her palms, pinning her to the cold floor. The blue tint to her lips concerns me, and my fingers brush her cheek as I reach for her pulse, only to find my way blocked by a familiar dart. My brows fly up.
Gently pulling it free, I toss the quill aside and press my fingers against icy-cold skin. The thumping of my heart settles at the slow, sluggish movement.
Still breathing. How, I don’t know, given her condition. I find several more quills embedded in her golden skin, tugging them free before my eyes land on the blood coating her torso. There’s so much that the flimsy dress she wears sticks to her body, and I use my knife to slice it free to assess the wound.
A low whistle, over my shoulder. Eldritch crouches beside me. “She won’t survive the journey back. What do you need? The others are coming.”
The deep, ragged v tells me whoever did this was angry, or psychotic. “They twisted the blade inside her.”
Internal bleeding, at the very least. My hands hover over her stomach, eyes lifting to her face. There’s more blood there. Her hair is longer than any Lightbringer soldier normally wears, matted and intricately braided and the palest shade of gold I’ve ever seen.
She doesn’t look like a soldier at all.
Eldritch sees what I do. “Nythen will want her.”
Well, Nythen can’t fucking have her. “She’s my patient, as of now. My authority supersedes his.”
“Eres.” He shakes his head. “She’shighborn.”
Her blood gives her away. Only the purest Lightbringers bleed light, and she’s coated in the evidence. And with their obsession around bloodlines and hierarchy, there’s no way she’s not connected to the highest echelons of their society.
I shake my head. “I need a minute. Give me that. Nythen will want her to live, I assume.”
He doesn’t push back. Instead, he stands. I barely hear him speaking, ignoring the argument that breaks out behind me as I place my palms over that ragged tear in her stomach, keeping a few inches of space.
The shadow-thread creeps from my palms. I nudge it toward the wound, sensing the hesitation there. It prods at the edges of her injury before slipping deeper, inside the wound itself. Closing my eyes, I feel for the tears. The broken parts, carefully nudging the thread into place until it creates a tight seal.
