Vivienne barely registered it. Her gaze had already locked onto Owen. A strangled noise lodged in her throat.He’s worse. So much worse.
His skin, once sun-bronzed and strong, had turned the shade of storm clouds, his breath shallow, rattling. The venom had spread across his chest, curling up his neck like creeping ivy, dark veins etching a cruel map of his impending death.
She staggered forward, her knees nearly giving out beneath her. “Owen?” Her voice wavered, raw with fear. “Owen, it’s me. It’s Vivienne. We found the flowers, and?—”
Her fingers grasped his hand, recoiling instantly.
Cold.
Not the feverish heat that had ravaged him before, but a creeping, deathly chill. The bottom dropped out of her stomach.
“All we can do is try,” Cirrus murmured behind her.
Try?A hot spark of fury ignited in her chest, flaring through the exhaustion and fear.
“No,” she snapped, her voice like a whip crack in the stillness. “We don’t just ‘try.’ We do everything. Every godsdamned thing. Wewillsave him.”
She tore her tote from her shoulders and shoved it into Cirrus’ hands, her fingers trembling but relentless. Cirrus unwrapped the handkerchief, revealing the bundle of glowing Noctilum petals. Lewis’ breath caught as his eyes widened.
“You—” His voice broke with astonishment. “Are those the?—?”
“We can have a botany lesson later,” Florence interjected, smacking his reaching hand away from the flowers.
Cirrus leaned in, his expression fierce. “You read the cave walls, Banns. What do we do next?”
Vivienne swallowed, forcing herself to focus. “The paintings said the petals can be ingested or applied directly to the wound,” she said, her hands already moving, plucking the delicate petals from their stems. “We do both.”
Cirrus and Lewis worked quickly, using the last of their water to grind the petals into a luminescent paste. Florence crouched beside Owen, tugging at the silken bandage wound around his arm. The Arachsylphs had done their work well—the silk was stronger than any fabric, nearly impossible to remove.
"How do we get this damned thing off?" Florence muttered, yanking at the unyielding threads.
Lewis pursed his lips, then whistled—a sharp, deliberate note that echoed through the cavern.
Vivienne stiffened as something shifted in the shadows. A pale, glistening figure emerged from the darkness, its many legs whispering against the stone.
Cirrus made a strangled noise, pressing himself back against the wall, his breath shallow.
One of Florence’s daggers was already in her palm. "What in the everdarkis that?"
Lewis grinned, extending a finger to stroke the creature’s gossamer fur. The Arachsylph let out a soft, clicking purr.
"This," Lewis said proudly, "is Charlie."
“Charlie?” Florence echoed, dumbfounded.
"He’s an Arachsylph," Lewis explained.
"His group wove Owen’s bandage. This one kept coming out to check on their patient. We’ve bonded.”
Cirrus dry-heaved.
Lewis made a slicing motion above the commander’s arm.
The spider-like creature observed them with its glimmering, multifaceted eyes before lifting its hooked appendages. In a series of quick, precise movements, it sliced through the silk, unraveling the protective layer.
The second the bandage fell away, bile rose in Vivienne’s throat.
The wound was far worse than she had feared. The flesh around the bite was necrotic, swollen, blackened with creeping veins. Twin punctures gaped like bottomless pits, oozing a sickly dark fluid. The infection had spread viciously, unchecked.
