A cry of pain cuts through the whirlwind, and Viala winces. “I think I broke one of them.”
“Viala!”
“A rib. Or an arm. He lives.”
“Contain them. Don’t kill them.”
“I am trying. I’ve never done this before, elf prince.”
Before he can respond, Stardust gallops from the woods straight into the whirlwind, and Tharios gasps.
“Stardust, no!”
Tharios rushes to his feet, but Viala calls him back. “Do not sacrifice yourself for a unicorn, future king.”
That gives him pause.
But he won’t sacrifice Stardust for these rebels, either. He drops his whirlwind, preparing to erect a wall of plants between the unicorn and the high borns long enough to pull Stardust away from the danger, but when the dust settles, the rebels are crudely tied together by Viala’s magic ropes, and blood drips from the tip of Stardust’s horn.
Whistling wind.
The rebels’ hearts still beat, though one grows faint. The life wielder. A puncture wound in his right shoulder seeps blood.
“Let the injured one go,” Tharios cries to Viala as he runs toward them.
“I don’t know how!”
“Then let them all go.”
“What? Tharios, no!”
“Do it. Now!”
She curses in Lothlesian before untangling the rebels from her magic ropes.
And like the disloyal cowards they are, the two uninjured elves stumble to their feet and take off into the woods, leaving their wounded companion behind.
Tharios drops to his knees beside the elf, marshaling his life magic to stop the bleeding and disinfect the wound. It’s deep, and Tharios glances over his shoulder at Stardust’s horn. She must have rammed the rebel hard.
Viala does her best to calm Stardust as Tharios works to keep the elf from bleeding out.
Father will wish to question him. And Mother.
Tharios curses again. Mother’s magic is still healing. This is the last thing they need right now.
And someone needs to take this fugitive to Darlei. If they ride into Feressa with an elven prisoner, that will surely alarm the humans.
But Elowyn needs Tharios. He can’t just leave. Overnight was one thing, but back to Darlei? He’ll have to tell Father.
Assuming the elf lives.
“Can you send a message?” Tharios calls back to Viala.
“To whom? I still haven’t mastered talking to anyone but my own people. I can’t—”
“It’s all right. I’ll try.”
“You’ll try? How?”
