Sound returned to Ariadne first. The quiet movement of people around her, the thrum of her heartbeat in her ears, and the distant cries of a battle still raging. Though she could not hear the clash of swords, the shriek of metal on metal echoed in her mind and tangled with the present in which whimpers of pain and the steady breathing only sleep could concoct.
Scents hit her next. Herbs and salves, and the rich, metallic scent of blood filled the air. The former were soothing and provided a comfort she did not know she needed. But it was the intoxicating draft of open wounds that had her fangs aching.
The urge to feed had Ariadne’s body waking the sense of feeling, and she regretted it the moment the pain hit. It clawed its way out from her lower belly like nothing she had ever felt before, stretching through her middle and down her limbs. She grit her teeth hard to stifle a whimper and froze as she tried to curl in on herself, the muscles of her abdomen screaming in protest at the movement.
Peeling her eyes open, Ariadne blinked against the light provided by the smokeless blue flames that stretched out from lanterns at every cot. Her eyes burned, but she forced herself tokeep them open. A dhemon man lay to her right, sleeping with a bandage wrapped around half his face and another around his chest. To her left, a high fae woman sat in her cot, sipping from a steaming bowl what Ariadne could only assume to be broth. Whatever injuries brought the woman into the medic tent appeared to be healed—or nearly so.
Before she could summon her voice, Phulan swept back between the rows of cots and crouched beside her. Sweat dappled the mage’s face, and dark circles swept under her eyes from the constant physical and magical strain. Still, the subtle wrinkles at the corners of her amethyst eyes crinkled as she smiled.
“I’m shocked it took you so long to wake up,” Phulan said. “We’ve been worried sick.”
“Where is Azriel?”
He had been there. He had seen her fall. How he managed to hold himself together long enough to get her back to Phulan, Ariadne had no idea.
“Oh, probably burning down Monsumbra by now,” Phulan said casually as though they were discussing the latest gossip over a fresh pot of tea rather than the absolute destruction of his mother’s home.
Ariadne moved to sit up, hissing through her teeth as her muscles reminded her yet again that she did not, in fact, have that ability at this time. The lack of sulfur in the air told her that Razer had not given in to Azriel’s demand to set everything aflame, but she still did not like the notion that he was out there somewhere, unaware of her well-being.
“He knows you’re alive,” Almandine assured her. “And, no, they did not burn down the city.”
“I should go back out there.” Ariadne pushed to a seated position despite the pain.
Phulan, however, had other plans and forced her back down on the cot. “Absolutely not. You willrestand let him finish getting out all of his dramatic angst.”
That was certainly one way to put it. “Was he hurt?”
“Not physically, no.” Phulan pulled up Ariadne’s shirt and peeled back the bandage wrapping around her middle. “I’m sure he’ll be more than ready for the ritual once we’ve taken back the Keonis Tree.”
“Are we winning, then?”
“I heard that the Valenul army has called for a retreat.” Phulan inspected the scab, prodding through the injury with her magic. “You’re healing very well despite it all.”
Ariadne frowned. “Despite what?”
“Those bastards were coating their blades with salt.” Phulan pulled the bandage free and tossed it into a basket of dirty cloths and used wrappings. “I’ve been run ragged trying to drain all these wounds of it. Proves just how scared they were after we got through the Rusans yesterday.”
Yesterday. So it was past midnight at least. She must have been unconscious for quite some time, for she had not fought for long before that Caersan soldier skewered her. Which also meant that Azriel was out there fighting for hours, likely unaware of anything other than his raging bond
“How are others faring with the salt?” Ariadne wanted to know the answer and yet, at the same time, dreaded what it meant for the fae with healing so similar to vampires’.
Phulan shrugged. “If they get to me in time, I’m able to help them. Most couldn’t think straight long enough to realize they could’ve gotten the salt out on their own. I’ve only lost a couple because of it.”
That they lost anyone at all was more than enough for Ariadne. “Is Emillie here?”
“Of course.” Phulan hesitated. “Before I call her over, though, I need to inform you of something.”
Dread settled in Ariadne’s gut. Saying nothing, she merely searched the mage’s amethyst eyes for any sign of what she meant to discuss, only to find nothing.
“This wound of yours did not heal quite right, thanks to the salt.” Phulan glanced at her belly before sliding her gaze back up. “There is a chance you may never bear children.”
Ariadne stared at her for a long moment, the quiet din of the tent fading to nothingness as she considered her friend’s words. There had been a time she never wanted children. Her thoughts hardly strayed to the idea, except for those pinpricks of peace she experienced with Azriel. But to have the option stripped from her by a single Caersan soldier?
Devastating.
“Oh.” The only response she could deem to summon. Ariadne nodded after a moment and gave Phulan a weak smile. “You saved me, and that is all that matters. Thank you, Phulan.”
Another moment of silence stretched between them, then Phulan lifted her head high, looked around, and gestured to be joined.
