The healer put a hand on her arm. “Bran knows he should have sent for you immediately after Alaunus took ill, but old men are often full of pride. Including me.” He cleared his throat. “You were right about Branwen and her babe. I did not want to make the same mistake in this case. If Alaunus recovers, it will take time, but Bran will follow through on his vow to treat you as a daughter.”
The healer’s reassurances were even more of a shock than his choice to send for her as soon as he realized the problem. Though she loathed thinking the worst of people, Aveta wondered if her betrothal to Alaunus was the cause. She had no doubt that the healer intended to ingratiate himself to her now that she was to wed the next chieftain.
Aveta set her suspicions aside. There would be time to ponder them later.
“Give me a few moments alone with him,” she requested.
Again, to her surprise, the healer nodded his head in agreement.
She entered the room where Alaunus lay and instantly recognized that there was dark magic at play here. Evil tainted the very air. At first she thought that he was no longer breathing, but as she approached the bed, she saw that his chest rose and fell with slow, shallow movements. His usually tan complexion was nearly gray and the edges of his lips were tinged blue.
Her eyes welled with tears as Aveta looked upon her beloved. Without tapping into her power, she could still sense that he was moving toward the edge of life. Once he reached the precipice, his fall into death would be quick and inevitable.
There was no time for her to wallow in fear and worry. She shook herself, wiping the tears away and removing her cloak. Unless the witch who cursed him recanted the spell, it would be up to her to save him.
Rolling up the sleeves of her dress, Aveta laid her hands on Alaunus’ head. Though she tried to avoid using her gifts in front of those she cared for, Aveta was not about to waste time. Not when Alaunus was in such dire need.
Slowly, she breathed in and opened the gate in her mind that housed her talents. She directed energy down through her arms and out of her hands, letting the power move through his mind.
His forceful personality was absent, all consciousness was still and quiet. The joy and humor that he always carried with him was muted and nearly gone. It explained why she could feel his breath and heartbeat but not his thoughts when she sought him out earlier.
Her heart aching from the changes that wreaked inside Alaunus, Aveta explored his mind, searching for the cause of his decline. If she found the root, perhaps she could call on the touch of the goddess to heal it.
After several long moments, she withdrew in frustration. Though she could sense the curse that afflicted Alaunus, it did not originate in his mind.
Unwilling to give up, Aveta laid her hands on his chest. As she repeated the process of letting the energy flow through her palms, she immediately felt the curse. It twisted and hissed within his lungs. She focused on the dark magic in an effort to discover who had done this to him.
A shadow stood before her, a hand raised in front of its black face. A small pile of shimmering gray powder lay cradled in its palm. Suddenly, there was a gust of breath and the powder filled her nose and mouth.
Aveta realized that she was seeing what occurred when Alaunus was cursed. Though she tried to see the face of the witch who cast the spell, all that remained was a silhouette, a blank shadow with no face or shape.
There would be time enough to ask Alaunus who did this to him. Aveta removed her hands from his body and moved to her basket.
“Caderyn!” she called.
He appeared in the doorway. “Yes?”
“I need you to boil water for a tea. You were correct in thinking that there is dark magic at play here.”
The healer nodded, his expression grave. “Will you be able to save him?”
“I will do everything in my power. If this does not work, then I will have to seek someone stronger than I.”
Through the night, Aveta brewed cups of tea and potions derived from herbs. Each time she would coax several sips down Alaunus’ throat, then lay her hands on his chest and attempt to heal him.
It was all for naught. There was no sign of improvement in Alaunus. Her efforts to heal him using the touch of the goddess were ineffective. The curse writhed within his lungs, worming its way toward his heart.
Exhausted and damp with sweat, Aveta curled up on the bed next to Alaunus’ still form, laying her hand over his heart.
“I will find a way to save you, my love,” she whispered the promise against his shoulder. “No matter what it requires.”
If Alaunus heard her, she would never know. His eyes remained closed and his breathing seemed even lighter and slower than before.
Pressing a kiss to his lips, she rose from the bed, gathered her things, and left the house after promising Bran and Caderyn she would return shortly. She hated the look in Bran’s eyes when she explained that she needed to seek the counsel of someone more knowledgeable than herself. It mirrored the terror she felt in her own heart.
In the golden light of the dawning sun, she did not walk toward her cottage, but toward the forest that surrounded her meadow.
She might not have the power to save Alaunus, but she knew someone who would.
