Liam caught up to them, frowning at Aya’s unsteadiness. Aya didn’t even acknowledge him.
“Is she dead?” she asked instead. She swayed again, and Will moved with her, his grip tightening.
“Who, Aya love?” Will prodded.
She blinked once more, as if trying to clear her mind.
“The demigod,” she rasped.
It was the last thing she said before her body went entirely limp in his arms.
45
Aidon wanted to put as much distance between them and Sitya as possible. But even he could tell Will’s strength waned the further they rode.
It’d been a miracle Dauphine and Cole had found three horses. She’d certainly bled for them.
Aidon glanced down at the makeshift bandage Cole had wrapped around the mercenary’s leg. It was more crimson than white. Most of her weight rested against him, her head tilted back against his shoulder as they galloped on. He kept one arm wrapped tightly around her waist lest she fell.
He should have tied her into the saddle the way Will had with Aya.
Liam whistled sharply to get their attention, the wolves keeping pace with his and Cole’s horse. He pointed ahead where, just before the horizon, a small structure stood. From the distance, it looked like a shed, but Aidon sent up a silent plea to whoever was watching over them that it was a chance at a reprieve.
He had to believe someone greater than himself was listening. There was no other explanation for how they’d managed to escape Sitya and reach the plains.
Nor for how Aya had survived…everything.
He’d witnessed her power once, had seen those webs of light explode throughout the throne room in Trahir. It wasnothingcompared to what she had done to the fortress.
“We’ll ride ahead and scope out the area,” Liam called, his heels urging their horse on. Azul tore after him, and after a nod from Will, Akeeta followed. But Tyr remained back, keeping perfect pace with Will and Aya’s horse.
He’d been shooting glances at his bonded every so often—as if he, too, needed reassurance she had merely fallen into unconsciousness instead of something worse.
Please don’t let it be worse.
Aidon peered down at Dauphine’s face. A sickly pallor had blanched her skin, and her eyes blinked heavily as she fought to keep them open.
“I’m surprised someone bested you in a fight,” he cajoled. “And over a horse nonetheless.”
“We all have off days,” Dauphine retorted, her voice tight with pain. “And it was three horses.” She winced as Aidon pushed their horse faster, and Aidon curled his arm tighter around her waist, his palm finding the dip of her hip as he pressed in to keep her in place.
They rode on in silence, Aidon’s gaze fixed steadily on the structure. Dauphine let out a quiet grunt as she shifted in the saddle, and it had Aidon casting another wary glance at the bandage.
They’d need to stop soon, shelter or not.
“I thought you’d be happy I’m bleeding out,” she teased, her head falling against his shoulder as she tipped her chin up to meet his gaze.
“Did you?”
“Don’t tell me you finallycare.”
Fine. He wouldn’t. It’s not as though he could explain it to himself anyway.
Why he’d screamed her name when the citadel startedto fall. Why he’d felt vicious relief when he’d found her unharmed. Why he’d been reluctant to let her go with Cole to find them an escape, and why he’d felt that twisting panic in his chest when they had reappeared with three horses in tow and blood streaming from her leg.
Brushes with death always did have a way of sharpening his focus and presenting clarity on a silver platter.
“Aidon,” she murmured.
