“What happened?” she murmured.
How did he explain what he had witnessed when he wasn’t even sure himself? What did the ancient mean when it said he’d made his choice?
“I found your guard injured, and he told me you were missing.” Better to start with the concrete facts.
A faint sheen lingered on her skin, and heat radiated off her. She was burning up with a fever. Had corruption already started to take hold? He suddenly felt very protective of her, but if she were infected, he couldn’t reverse it. Would her family kill her if she were? Perhaps he could take her with him? He shook his head; that was foolishness. His best chance at survival was alone.
“You’re hurt!” she said, and very gently, her hand brushed over his wound.
The dragon stirred again, lifting a curious head, sniffing in her direction, and Erich pulled away. With it this close to the surface, it made his moods unpredictable. He didn’t want to do something he would regret.
“It’s nothing.”
“I think I can get it out for you, if you’ll let me stand.”
He set her on her feet, but his hands lingered too long on her hips, and he felt a spark of desire shoot through him. Her eyes flicked up to meet his and held. It was reckless to desire something; he’d learned that the hard way. But in that moment, he wanted her, badly. Erich turned his head away, breaking their stare.
“Go ahead,” he said.
“This will likely hurt.”
“I can handle it.”
She grasped the arrow with both hands, and he braced for the pain. Though the dragon curse allowed him to heal quickly, he felt pain like any man. She pulled it out with a wet pop and then gasped.
He didn’t have a chance to ask her what had surprised her because horse hooves thundered toward them, and he positioned himself between her and the oncoming riders. Prince Mathias, flanked by several Midnight Guards, approached. Irrational panic clawed at his throat. But when Prince Mathias dismounted, he walked straight over to Liane and grasped her by the shoulders.
“Liane, are you hurt?” Prince Mathias said, scanning her up and down.
“I’m fine, but someone shot Prince Erich,” Liane said, gesturing behind her.
With a nod from Mathias, the guards dismounted and went to investigate. Erich couldn’t help but notice how Liane took the arrow and hid it in the band of her pants, beneath her loose tunic shirt. Their eyes met, and he pretended to not have seen.
“You’re burning up with fever,” Mathias said, pressing his the back of his hand to Liane’s forehead.“We should have a healer see you both.”
“I don’t—” she said, then shouting cut her off.
Clenching a fist, Erich held his breath. Metal rang, and grunts followed. Then minutes dragged by, and silence settled over the forest. They waited for what felt like an eternity before the Midnight Guard emerged from the forest, hauling a man with shorn black hair and a mottled black splotch across his face and neck between them. The withering. It’d started to creep over the tips of his fingers, shriveling them up like dried fruit. Erich was surprised the man had been able to hold a bow, but despite the advanced stage of his corruption, he struggled against four guards with the strength of ten men.
He broke free suddenly and came charging toward Liane, hands outstretched and grasping, but before he could reach her, an arrow pierced him through the eye, and he slumped to the ground in a heap.
Liane half screamed and covered her mouth with her hand.
“Mathias.”
“It had to be done. This is more kindness than he deserved. Better the withering slowly kills him for trying to kill you.” Then he turned to Erich and clamped him on his good shoulder. “Thank you for protecting my sister.”
Erich shouldn’t, but his eyes went to the dead man on the ground. This was what happened to his kind. Corruption could not be allowed to exist, and so it was stamped out. His mouth felt suddenly very dry.
“It was nothing,” he said.
No one spoke as they rode back. Liane looked as pale as fresh milk, and her brother kept shooting furtive glances in her direction, as if he wanted to say something but thought better of it. When they returned to the hunter’s party, priests were waiting with a litter for Liane, and they’d already strapped in her guard. And though Erich insisted his injuries were minor, they insisted he see a healer at the temple.
As they made a slow, arduous return to the city, he tried to plot his escape. But with guards surrounding him on all sides, that was impossible. By the time they arrived, his wound would have knitted back together. If he didn’t get away before then, he’d have a difficult time explaining it to the healer, and he feared he’d end up like the withered man.
They reached the temple without an opportunity for escape, and priests and priestesses greeted them at the temple steps before whisking Liane inside to the women’s wing of the temple. Erich and Liane’s guard were taken to the men’s. The guard’s injuries were more severe, and he was given a short reprieve when they sat him down on a cot in the infirmary.
As he waited, Erich glanced around the infirmary. There was one exit next to the bed where the guard was being treated. At the opposite end of the room was a big window, and next to it, an old man being tended by another priest hacked into a stained handkerchief, his body convulsing as he wheezed for each breath. Erich wasn’t a healer, but he knew a death rattle when he heard one. When he caught his breath, the acolyte handed him a steaming cup from which the man took small sips.
