“He’s dying!” Her shrill voice echoed in the small cave. Taavin didn’t stir. “Does this look like a man who is trying to kill you? He’s fighting for his life.”
“Good,” Sarphos said darkly. “Let him die. Better for the rest of us.”
Sarphos turned, about to squeeze through the opening. Vi stood, and with her rose a wall of flame, filling the narrow opening, licking the healer’s face and clothes. Sarphos jumped back, patting a spot on his shirt that caught fire.
“What magic is this?” His eyes darted between the singed spot and her. But Vi ignored the question. Let her powers remain mysterious. There was danger in the unknown.
“You said you were a healer—that it was youroathto heal people.”
“Oaths can be broken,” Saphos seethed.
“I know that too well,” she spat back. “Just as I also know that when negotiations break down, force may be necessary. Help him or you will not go back to the Twilight Kingdom alive. Help him or I will find the Lord of the Faithful myself and tell him that the Voice has died because of you.”
The last thing Vi ever wanted to do was align herself with Ulvarth. But Sarphos didn’t need to know that.
Sarphos continued to stare at her, narrowing his eyes slightly. “If you kill me, King Noct will demand retribution.”
“I am not of your land, and I do not fear your king. I am from across the sea—across the Shattered Islands. I am from the Dark Isle, and this man is my only ally here. Do not underestimate what I would do for the people I love.”
The glare Vi gave Sarphos hid her shock. She kept her feet on the ground, even if her head was reeling.
People I love…Love…She loved him. Her heart felt like it had just shattered into a thousand pieces only to have them all start beating in unison—a chorus that sang for Taavin alone.
Sarphos spat a curse at her in a language she didn’t understand. Vi was unflinching and unremorseful. Sarphos, however, was slowly worn down.
“If I heal him… he will harm my people.”
“He won’t.”
“If you’re from the Dark Isle as you say, you have no idea what he’s done, or what he’ll do.”
“I know him far better than you,” Vi insisted. “I’ve known him for nearly a year now. He’s not a violent man, regardless of what the Faithful do. They do it without him.”
Sarphos grumbled and shook his head, running a hand through his ruddy hair. “You really must be from the Dark Isle if you think the Faithful move in any way the Voice doesn’t command.”
“Please, Sarphos, as a healer—help him… And I give you my word he won’t harm your people.”
“She gives me her word. What’s her word good for?” Sarphos grumbled as he knelt down. Vi let him have his gripes; she’d clearly won. His eyes trailed over Taavin, taking quick stock, before flicking back up to her. “I didn’t have you pegged as someone who could be so brutal.”
Neither did she a few mere weeks ago. “You have no idea what I’m capable of.”
“I suppose I don’t,” Sarphos muttered, placing his hands on Taavin’s chest. Delicately, he lifted Taavin’s shirt. Vi looked on warily, making sure he didn’t get any smart ideas. But Sarphos was focused, his gaze serious. He had shifted from the morphi loyalist to just a cleric tending to a patient.
Vi held her breath, waiting for his assessment, and praying she’d done enough in time to save the man she’d fallen in love with.
Chapter Ten
Vi’s gazelingered on Taavin’s face. He looked so frail and small—something she never thought she’d say of the man. But wounded and prone, he seemed all too fragile. Her thumb lightly caressed the back of his hand.
“It’s not too serious.” Sarphos pulled away and began to rummage through his satchel.
“This looks serious.”
“It’sbecomingquite serious,” he agreed. “But the wound itself is uncomplicated—some broken bones, internal bleeding, and an infection going unchecked brought about by improper hygiene. All of those things have a clear and simple fix. He should be back to his normal, tyrannical self in no time.”
Vi pressed her fingertips to her lips, suppressing an involuntary noise of relief. Perhaps Raspian’s distortions hadn’t gotten on Taavin. She dared to hope.
“Prop him up for me.”
