“Bleeding’s stopped,” Eldritch observes from somewhere above me.
I can’t stop, or I might lose her. Leaving the shadow-thread in place as a binding, I turn my attention to the external wound. Thread pours from my hands as I work, weaving in and out around the ragged edges of her skin, creating a lattice effect as the edges pull together.
And then I hit a block. A push, as if something inside her is telling me to stop.
No more.
My eyes open. “That’s all I can do.”
The lattice stretches across the expanse of her golden stomach, barely holding it together. But itisholding.
“We need to get her back now,” Nythen launches into his expected angle. “She might have valuable information.”
“She’s dying,” I snap. “You won’t get anything from her unless I can heal her.”
He nods at my handiwork. “That’s good enough for her to travel back to Umbraxis.”
“What in the spire are those?” Eldritch reaches for the stakes in her palms. “Some sort of ritual?”
A throat clears, Valcor finally speaking up. “Or a punishment.”
“Don’t touch her.” The demand slips from my mouth, and Eldritch stops. His hand hovers in the air as he gives me a curious look. “I’ll… I’ll do it.”
I don’t know why I don’t want any of them to touch her. I glance over my shoulder. “All of you, step back. Give me some space.”
Nythen’s face betrays his irritation, but he steps back with the others. Turning back to the girl, I lean over her. “Can you hear me?”
Nothing. Probably for the best, considering what comes next. I reach for the first stake, leaning over her and forcing down my disgust as I wrap my hand around it.
The small noise makes me pause. Looking down, I feel my heart stutter again.
Her eyes are open. Hooded, flame-filled irises, a little unfocused, stare at me. The fire within them flickers around the solid black of her pupil. They shift, taking in the way I’m stretched over her, and she begins to struggle, tiny noises in the back of her throat giving away her panic.
“I stitched up your stomach.” The words come out softer than I meant, and her eyes fly to my face again before tracing up my arm, to where I hold the stake. Dark brows draw together. “I’m going to take these stakes out so I can look at your hands. Do you understand?”
Her breathing is harsh, disjointed, noisy in the silence that surrounds us. She doesn’t say anything.
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
The cold from her soaked clothing steeps into my chest, but I don’t move. I need her to understand. “I’m going to help you.”
I wait for her to respond. She presses her lips together, her breathing heavy before she nods. Her eyes close, and I feel her body tense beneath me. Bracing.
I pull the stake smoothly from her palm, and a choked cry locks in her throat as she arches. Catching her twisting arm, I pull her palm toward me, inspecting the damage.
“Careful,” Eldritch murmurs. He’s watching. All of them are.
My head shakes. “She was quilled. No luminth.”
At this moment, we’re a far bigger threat to her than she is to us, and she knows it. Her eyes open again, liquid gathering at the edges and trickling out as she looks at her ruined hand.
She’ll never cast again, most likely. A Lightbringer with no luminth to call on.
Unless I can fix it.
I busy myself by pulling my satchel close. She watches with those witch-fire eyes, tracking every movement as I rummage for a bandage and ointment to stop the wound from festering. The bleeding has slowed, hampered by the cold, and my frown deepens as I wrap my fingers around the edges of hers. The color tells me enough. She might lose them.
My hands are far bigger than hers. Tearing off my glove, I carefully ease her bandaged hand inside it.
