Eliam hadn't moved from where he'd slumped against an oak trunk, his hand pressed to his shoulder where blood still seeped between his fingers. The ice blade had left more than just a wound—she could see frost spreading slowly from the injury, white tendrils creeping across his skin.
"Let me see," Thaine said, crouching beside him with professional efficiency.
Eliam removed his hand reluctantly, revealing the deep puncture wound. Ice crystals glinted within it, and more concerning was the second wound lower down where Malachar's blade had found the space between his ribs during their fight. Both wounds wept blood steadily, and the flesh around them had gone gray-white with cold.
"Ice magic," Thaine stated the obvious. "It's preventing the wounds from closing. You need to burn it out or it'll reach your heart."
Eliam nodded, his jaw clenched as he placed his palm over the shoulder wound. Green light flickered weakly, forest magic trying to purge winter's touch. The ice fought back, and Eliam made a sound of pain through gritted teeth as the two magics warred in his flesh.
The frost receded slightly but didn't disappear. He tried again, and this time Briar saw him sway, exhaustion written across his features. The shadow walking, the summoning, the fight—it had all taken its toll, and now this healing was draining what little remained.
Frederick, who had been quiet in his bowl on the ground beside Karse, suddenly became agitated. The sprite swirled in tight circles, creating a tiny waterspout that splashed over the rim.
"What's wrong with it?" Karse asked, his voice still rough from the cold he'd endured.
Frederick's response was to flow completely out of his bowl, something Briar had rarely seen him do. He formed a tiny rivulet on the forest floor, moving with determined purpose toward the trees.
"Frederick?" Briar struggled to her feet, concerned. The sprite had been so weak in the mountain, and now he was expending energy he couldn't spare.
The rivulet of water reached the base of a moss-covered boulder and began flowing up it, defying gravity in the way only magical water could. At the top, Frederick reformed into his sprite shape and began gesturing frantically back the way he'd come.
"I think he wants us to follow," Briar said.
"We don't have time for—" Thaine began, but Eliam cut him off with a raised hand.
"The sprite's found something." Eliam pushed himself to his feet with visible effort, fresh blood seeping through his shirt. "Water knows water. We follow."
Frederick led them through the trees, staying visible as a ribbon of water that gleamed in the moonlight. The path wound between ancient oaks and over moss-covered stones, and gradually Briar became aware of a change in the air. It grew warmer, heavier, carrying a faint mineral scent.
They heard it before they saw it—the soft bubbling of water over stone. Frederick disappeared over a small rise, and when they crested it, Briar saw what he'd found.
The hot spring was nestled in a natural depression, surrounded by smooth stones worn by centuries of mineral-rich water. Steam rose from its surface in gentle wisps, and the water itself was crystal clear despite the late hour, somehow luminous from within. Frederick was already there, floating in the shallows where the temperature was bearable for him, his form more solid and healthy-looking than she'd seen since they'd left the Star Court.
"Clever sprite," Thaine admitted, then looked at Eliam. "The heat might help draw out the ice magic."
Eliam was already moving toward the spring, though his steps were unsteady. He sat heavily on one of the smooth stones at the edge, working to remove his blood-soaked shirt with trembling fingers. The movement pulled at both wounds, making him hiss through his teeth.
"You two keep watch," Briar said to Thaine and Karse. "Please."
Thaine looked like he might argue, but something in her expression stopped him. He nodded once and moved back toward the trees, taking position where he could watch the approaches. Karse followed more slowly, still recovering from his imprisonment but understanding the need for privacy.
Briar approached Eliam carefully, kneeling beside him on the stones. Up close, she could see how bad the wounds really were. The ice had spread further while they walked, creating patterns like frozen veins beneath his skin.
"You need to get in the water," she said softly. "The heat will help."
"I know." But he didn't move immediately, just sat there breathing carefully, gathering strength.
She helped him with his boots, her fingers working the laces when his own couldn't manage the task. The simple domesticity of it, after everything that had happened, made her chest tight with emotion she couldn't name.
When she finished with his boots, he stood slowly and began working at the fastenings of his trousers. His movements were stiff, pained, and she could see him struggling with the simple task. Without thinking, she reached to help, then stopped, her hands hovering uncertainly.
"I can manage," he said, but his fingers fumbled at the ties, slick with blood from his wounds.
She helped anyway, keeping her touch clinical, practical. This was about healing, about necessity. When he finally stepped into the spring, the sound that escaped him was part relief, part agony as the hot water hit the ice-infected wounds.
He sank down until the water reached his chest, bracing himself against the smooth stones at the spring's edge. The mineral-rich water turned pink around him as it worked to clean the blood from his injuries. She could see the ice magic fighting the heat, steam rising where the two forces met.
Briar hesitated at the edge, still fully dressed in the gown from Malachar's castle. It was ruined anyway—blood-stained, torn, smelling of fear and mountain cold. And Eliam needed help. The wounds on his back, where the ice blade had entered, he couldn't reach properly himself.
