I bite out a curse and climb down from the carriage. Closing the door, I give her one more look. Her eyes are wide, the vein at her throat fluttering like butterfly wings. Surging back inside and taking her right there on the carriage floor is a sharp temptation, but I have to focus on my people.
“Bitten?” I force myself to walk away from her.
“One.” Brock matches my steps.
“Where?” I follow his direction to a wide oak a few steps off the road.
One of my soldiers sits at its base, his helmet tossed aside, a grim look on his face. “Sire.” He tries to rise.
“Sit.” I drop to my haunches beside him.
He stills. “I apologize for this—” He gestures toward his bloody throat.
“Don’t apologize.” I peer at the wound, the edges turning a darker red. “What’s your name?”
“Vigel.”
“You did your duty, Vigel.”
“Not good enough, I suppose.” He manages a wan smile and a shrug.
“Can you ride?” I ask.
“I can.” He grimaces and shifts, the seeker’s poison eating away at his life. A bite like this could stop a changeling’s heart instantly, but Vigel lingers, his high fae blood trying to fight the seeker’s venom.
“You could survive this.” I meet his gaze. “A single bite doesn’t have to mean—”
“I know it’s bad.” He sighs. “I can feel it inside me, working its way deeper and deeper.”
As he says it, the dark crimson from the edge of the wound begins to spread, showing in the veins along his jaw and cheek.
“We can leave you here in the Nightlands.” I go to stand. “You could become as they are and—”
“No!” He grabs my arm.
Brock tenses.
“It’s all right,” I tell him.
“I’d rather see the sun.” Vigel removes his hold with an apologetic wince. “If I may, my lord.”
“Sit tight, Vigel.” I rise and pull Brock away to speak in private. “We can take him with us.”
“No.” Brock’s jaw is tight. “He could turn. It’s too dangerous.”
“If he turns seeker, then we’ll deal with it, but I can’t deny him a chance to see the day again.”
“And if the day kills him?”
“Then that was his choice to make.” I scrub the growth of beard on my cheek and glance at the other soldiers who pretend to be examining the trees instead of watching me. “I’m not going to leave him here.”
“We can’t let him turn and add to seeker numbers. He knew what this mission entailed.” Brock, forever a military strategist, shakes his head. “We should end it now.”
“No.” I shrug. After all, I have the final say. “We take him with us. If he turns, then we’ll do what we must. But he is a Daylander, and we will honor him for his service.”
I point to the nearest soldier. “You there. Help Vigel onto his horse. You will be responsible for him for the rest of the journey. Do you understand?”
“Yes, my lord.” He dismounts and hurries to the wounded soldier.
