Tyrina closed the jars, continuing her work, undisturbed by the guard’s outburst. Once she had set them away, she finally deigned him a glance. “Oh, you’re here.” Her eyes moved to the needle and thread. “Yeah . . . I won’t be needing those anymore. Thanks though.” She made a gesture to the entrance. “You can wait over there, I’ll be a little longer.”
“You have some nerve,” he sneered.
She stood and shrugged, rolling her shoulders backwards. His words didn’t seem to affect her at all. “She had some things I needed, so I took them. Don’t let her pretty face fool you into pitying her, she’s just like the rest of them,” Tyrina said with little care for the guard’s opinion. “She’d kill us if she got the chance. Now get out and let me work.”
The guard was in Tyrina’s face in a second. His massive body hovered over her, his face so close his nose almost pressed against hers as he yelled, “You fool! You think King Hendrix is going to like her mutilated?!”
Tyrina blanched—the first and only crack in her composure.
The guard hesitated, drawing back a step. Then, as if trying to recover the moment, he straightened his uniform and cleared his throat. “Just heal the creature before you get yourself in any more trouble.”
Tyrina rolled her eyes. “Don’t come crying to me when I don’t have what I need to heal you and your men then.” But she obeyed, gathering what she needed at the table before returning to kneel beside Luna.
Sighing with fake resignation, Tyrina drawled, “I know that all hurt.” She placed a hand to her heart as if to show it had actually pained her. “But it’s for the greater good. I’m sure even a heartless creature like yourself can understand that.”
Pure hate pulsed through Luna. It rang in her ears, clouded her vision. She had never wished death on anyone . . . but now, she prayed this woman would suffer a life that would make torture feel like a dream.
“This is going to sting a bit,” Tyrina warned, dipping the cloth in the water bowl.
If she had the energy, Luna would’ve laughed; a bit of water would be nothing compared to what she just experienced.
Water dripped onto her arm as Tyrina wrung out the rag over her wound. It stung—biting like a hornet—causing Luna to flinch. Over and over, Tyrina dribbled water across her arm, cleaning the arrow and wound. As the unicornbane dust was washed away, small traces of energy began to return to Luna, though she was nowhere near normal yet.
Once satisfied, Tyrina yanked the arrow out.
Luna screamed as light seeped from the wound, spilling down her arm as Tyrina poured water over it, letting the runoff soak into the blanket and pool beneath. At first, the blood gushed out, but the bleeding slowed as her magic returned, then it stopped.
Tyrina pinched the skin together. Within a few shallow breaths, the wound stitched itself closed, leaving nothing behind but a faint shimmering scar.
A flicker of strength returned and, slowly—shakily—Luna lifted her injured arm. Pain still pulsed deep beneath the surface. The skin looked whole, but the muscles still felt raw, torn. Like the arrow was still buried there—invisible but aching. It’d probably be days before she felt fully right again.
Tyrina’s touch was rough as she brushed away the remaining white powder from Luna’s body.
“She lost a lot of blood,” the healer muttered. “I’ll bring tea to the officers’ tent for her in a bit. It should help her recover enough to travel.”
The guard grumbled something under his breath, then reached down and hauled Luna to her feet. “Let’s go, unicorn.”
Her knees buckled and she staggered, but she refused to lean on him—she’d sooner collapse than need his help. At this point, she honestly would prefer death over being touched again.
Her legs gave out, and she hit the ground.
Pain flared.
Then—nothing.
The pain rang in her ears, spiking through her body with each furious pound of her heart. It felt like she’d been tossed around in a tornado and left for dead in a field. Something was pressing into her back uncomfortably. She tried to move her arms but found they wouldn’t budge; they were stuck behind her. Bound with rope, perhaps?
Where she was flashed through her mind’s haze and her eyes sprang open.
White canvas walls stared back at her.
A group of men surrounded a large wooden table which stood in the center of the tent, its surface cluttered with maps and various weapons. Their faces were tense, voices low. Many more soldiers lined the perimeter of the space, their postures rigid, hands resting on the hilts of their swords as if Luna could somehow unbind her wrists and attack them at any moment.
Someone was speaking to her. Blinking fast, Luna tried to focus on the figure crouched in front of her.
William.
Angry lines scarred his face, but she wasn’t afraid. The worst had already happened—what more could he do?
