I gently tugged her arm backwards to stop her, still not looking in her direction. I wasn’t even sure why I did it. Was I afraid of what she could do to Nevara if she lost control of her mana? Afraid that death was catching and that my bride might be next?
Her navy waves still smelled like moonshade berries beneath the potent scent of ashes, and her perfect features were marred by scrapes and soot and all the evidence of what could have so easily taken her life.
Finally, Amias took a breath in that patient, healer’s way of his, but he was the only one here with a scrap of patience left.
“Will she survive?” I asked flatly.
His eyes were too soft for the court of monsters he found himself in and entirely too easy to read. My stomach hollowed out before he uttered the first word.
“I cannot say.”
Blood rushed through my veins, icy and furious.
“Is it not your job to know?” I snapped. “Is that not your entire purpose in being here?”
I stopped just short of reminding him that he had once begged me for sanctuary, and I had granted it, a decision I had never once regretted until I stood over my best friend’s unmoving body while he told me he didn’t know if she would live or die.
Noerwyn stepped forward, already sucking in a breath to speak, but Amias held up his hand.
“Indeed, it is. But all mana has limits.” He looked at me pointedly when he said that last part, his deep green gaze lingering on mine like he was cataloguing every red vein and every purple shadow that belied the tremendous weight of the day.
“Nevara’s mana is guarding her. It’s impossible to know whether she is blocking the healing in the process, or perhaps finding a way to expedite it. It is my hope that we will know more in the morning, once everyone has had time to rest.”
Rest.
The word landed like a shot of Shivermark Gin, and exhaustion tugged at my limbs. My head was throbbing, my body stiff and aching, but there was too much to be done before rest was even an option.
The wards needed to be reinforced. The Archmage needed to be called back to deal with the mess my reckless wife had made.
And I wasn’t foolish enough to believe we had seen the last of the ancient monsters.
For all of those reasons and a hundred more, I needed to leave this room. To stop watching my best friend suffer once again, for the choices of kings she had never been allowed to refuse.
Chapter 11
Everly
The wolves were shuffling outside the door to Draven’s rooms.
I crossed the chamber to open it, ignoring the subtle sound of protest my husband made behind me. If I wasn’t allowed to wander the palace because of my so-called illness, then I wasn’t about to ignore the creatures who I had grown attached to in Draven’s many weeks off fighting monsters.
Astra was there first. Lumen crowded close on her heels, a low, anxious whine working its way from his chest as he pressed his head against my thigh. Selas and Vega barreled in after Thalos, claws clicking against the marble floors, and then a sharp squeak cut through the room, followed by a flash of white and a small, furious ball of indignant frost.
“I know,” I murmured as Batty shot straight for my collarbone, her icy little body tucking beneath my chin as though I’d been gone for weeks instead of hours. “I didn’t mean to abandon you.”
Her presence only made the chill settle deeper into my bones, frost leaching through my skin instead of providing a conduitfor my power. I shivered despite myself, fingers curling into the sleeve of my gown as I instinctively sought warmth.
Draven scoffed under his breath, even as he took a step closer, resting his hand on my arm as if to keep my mana at bay. Batty hissed back at him, pressing closer, her cold demeanor a pointed rebuke.
His exhaustion brushed against me through the bond, heavy and unguarded, tangled with a sharp frustration that echoed my own. I wished it were the only kind of heat traveling from his body to mine, but even now, I was painfully aware of every point of contact of his hand on my arm, tiny bolts of lightning zapping from his skin to mine.
But then I looked at his face.
Draven’s expression was closed off, jaw locked tight, blue-green eyes burning with restrained ice. Still devastatingly beautiful. Still my husband. And yet, stripped bare of the warmth he’d worn so openly the night before.
Nevara.
The thought landed hard.
