“Slowly,” the voice coaxes. “Try to make your exhales longer than your inhales. It will help calm you.”
It’s Llyr. Even though he must be close, I cannot see him, but his familiar voice soothes my anxiety.
“We will be fine, Laïna. You will be fine.” A hand emerges from the mist to stroke my back, the gentle gesture slowly bringing me back to the present.
The pass. We’re currently traversing the pass, where the mist nearly consumed my very essence. The mere thought of it threatens to incite another panic attack. I gulp down another deep breath to calm my frayed nerves and cast a disdainful scowl at the mist, which twists and twirls in return, as if mocking my very existence.
Beyond the mist and the pass lies our destination. I square my shoulders. I can do this.
“Are you ready to continue?” Llyr’s deep voice says from somewhere in front of me.
I nod, then realize he can’t see me. “Yes,” I say, although I feel nothing but. “Yes. I’m—”
I’m interrupted by a cacophony of shrill screeches, and I hunch down in the saddle, arms above my head to shield myself as bats swoop down, their leathery wings brushing against me.
Startled by the sudden commotion, Maeve leaps sideways. I cling to the saddle, fighting to stay seated as the rope between me and Llyr tightens.
There’s a resounding thud, followed by a long line of curses that echo through the air.
Oh, Father.
I regain control of Maeve, but I can hear the sound of Llyr’s stallion’s hooves pounding the ground in the distance.
“Easy, boy.” Llyr’s voice is strained.
“Are you hurt?” I shout into the mist. The bats continue to swarm around us, and it takes all my skills to keep Maeve calm. I can’t see where he is, and I don’t want the mare to accidentally trample him.
“I am... wounded,” he says from somewhere within the gray blanket. It’s clear from his tense speech that he’s in pain.
“Hold on,” I say. “I’m coming.” I slide down from the saddle, feeling out the rough rocks beneath my feet as I gingerly place them between the jagged edges. How the horses navigate this treacherous terrain is beyond me.
Leading Maeve along, I walk with cautious steps, relying on the rope connecting us to guide me through the haze. My heart races as I come dangerously close to stumbling over Llyr. He’s a dark outline in the mist, but I can tell he’s half sitting, his back pressed against a boulder, with a tight grip on his thigh. Although I can’t make out his face, I can hear his labored breathing and feel how he writhes in pain when I place a hand on his thigh.
Leaning in to inspect the wound, I feel the color drain from my face. Blood pulses from a deep gash, the red a stark contrast against the muted colors of the surroundings.
This is not the time to panic, Laïna. Stay focused.
I can barely hear my own thoughts over the rapid thump-thump-thump of my heart. With trembling fingers, I tear a strip from the bottom of my underskirts. Acting as quickly as I can, I create an improvised tourniquet and secure it around Llyr’s wounded leg in a desperate attempt to stop the relentless bleeding. I tear more strips and wrap them tightly around the wound, the fabric quickly soaking through with blood. This wound will require stitching.
“Can you get up?” I ask.
“I’ll manage.”
I reach out a hand to support him, but I’m not strong enough to bear his heavy weight, and instead, he pulls me to my knees—an indicator of how much pain he’s in.
“Wounds . . . cannot . . . heal in here,” he says between clenched teeth.
I wince. It’s clear each word is an effort.
“It is part of its dark magic . . . It is why so many . . . die . . . in here.”
Is he aware of how severe his bleeding is? He’ll join the ranks due to blood loss before we’re out of here. Unless...
“Should we go ba—”
“No!”
The intensity in his voice makes me jump.
