Madan swung hard. If he came in with force, the soldier wouldn’t help his comrade while Ehrun went for the kill. Distraction was the least he could do to get Luce to Phulan, but as always, it was kill or be killed, and Madan would be damned if he didn’t walk his ass off this field to Whelan.
Maximizing on the rush of anger that flooded his veins at the thought of Whelan in that medic tent, it didn’t take long for him to dispatch the vampire. He rained the strikes down hard and fast, forcing the soldier to stumble. Another swing from the side and the vampire slipped, landing hard in the frozen mud long enough for Madan to whip the tip of his blade back through his neck.
A roar announced Brutis’s arrival. Their allies scattered, as they’d been trained to do to make way for the dragons, leaving their enemies to be crushed or ripped into by his massive teeth.
Madan shoved his bloodied sword back into its sheath—a risky move, particularly in the freezing temperatures—and hurried to where Ehrun was leveling the pike where Luce no longer moved.He helped support her limp body as Brutis shifted his foreclaw awkwardly to try to hold her with as little impact as possible.
Then Ehrun held up a hand, grabbed the pike as close to Luce as he could manage, and, gritting his teeth, snapped the massive shaft with a grunt. As if Madan needed a reminder that the dhemon could, quite literally, break him in half.
With far more manageable cargo now in hand, Brutis lifted off without a word. Only a wash of uncertainty made its way through the vinculum. Madan returned the same sensation. There was nothing else he could possibly feel in that moment as Luce was carried away.
After all, he didn’t even know if she was still alive.
Helping in the medic tent felt different to Emillie this time. She found her rhythm quicker than before, falling into the same pattern she had grown so accustomed to during the Battle of Monsumbra. Most curious of all, the number of injuries brought back appeared to be less.
“Do you think the rest of them are alright?” she asked Margot as they worked together to clean and bandage none other than a disgruntled and silent Lhuka, who had been brought in more than distraught about beingsaved. Behind them, Phulan’s magic lit up the tent as she worked with Whelan. Emillie had been stunned when Madan’s partner was brought to them, and Phulan’s hesitation to answer the one question they all asked—would he survive?—did not bode well.
The elder Caersan hummed, her wizened hands moving with more dexterity than many vampires far younger. When she looked up, her green eyes crinkled at the corners as she said, “Imost certainly hope so. No one has said anything different, so it is all I can assume.”
But Emillie was not so certain that the numbers were as reliable as they seemed. While fewer injuries could very well be a sign that their army had grown to work together since Eastwood, even their latest additions of Valenul soldiers, it could also hide something far more sinister. Fewer bodies in the medic tent had the potential to mean that there were fewer people to bring back for healing because they were dead instead.
“We would know,” Emillie said cautiously, “if people were dying, right?”
Margot lifted her gaze for a beat before refocusing on her work, making Lhuka wince in pain as the bandages tightened. “That would depend, I suppose, on whether or not anyone reallyknew.”
“Who would know?” Emillie asked, more to herself than to the Dowager Caldwell.
A long silence passed between them, punctuated only by the cries of the injured as they were treated by the dhemon women, Revelie, and Phulan. Magic hung heavy in the air again, choking each breath with a strange sensation that attempted to awaken parts of Emillie that were too dormant to respond. Vampires though they were by a curse, her ancient mage blood would never not be a part of her.
“I have a feeling,” Margot said as she finished off her final bandage and stood, “we will know soon enough.”
“By morning?” Emillie pondered, doing the same.
The Caersan woman sighed. “At the very latest, I would assume.”
With that, Margot turned and headed to another patient a couple of beds down. Emillie watched her go for a moment before asking Lhuka if he needed anything else. His only response was a distant stare and a small shake of his head. Of allthe dhemons close to Azriel, he had been the most impacted by Gavrhil’s death. His actions since then were almost as though hewantedto die.
Survivor’s guilt, Phulan had called it.
Rather than push for more information, Emillie moved to a Caersan man she had never seen before. It was odd that he was in the medic tent at all, given that he should be healing on his own. In fact, at first glance, it appeared that he was uninjured at all.
“What ails you?” Emillie asked as she settled in beside the soldier.
The man’s eyes fluttered, his breathing ragged. Then he opened his mouth to reveal something that Emillie had hoped to never witness again: aegrisolis ate away at his lips. When she inspected closer, parts of his cheek appeared to be rotting away as well. It was as though he had been splashed with that horrible liquid sunshine, and it now decayed the parts it had touched.
Emillie ripped her hands back from him in an instant, her heart kicking up its speed as she studied it. Finding her voice, she called, “Phulan?”
It was another minute before the mage arrived at her side and cursed under her breath, swiping an arm over her brow to dry the sweat from working on Whelan for so long. She shook her head and tilted the Caersan man’s head back toward her to inspect the spreading aegrisolis a little closer. “Well, then.”
“What can we do?” Emillie asked, too frightened to touch the man again. What if there was still some of the poison on his skin?
Phulan sighed and sat back, her face somber. After a moment of contemplation, she shook her head without a word. The motion was damning enough on its own.
Emillie’s world seemed to tilt on its axis. This was the first time she had seen the mage quite so grim. Something like guiltdanced in her eyes, but Emillie knew better than to question why. She knew that feeling all too well. She had felt it herself after her father died, as she played out every other scenario that could have led to his death. As she considered every other set of words she could have used instead of those most wretched: that she hated him and wished him dead.
“Go to another patient, Em,” Phulan said and nodded away from the soldier. “I will take care of him.”
At first, Emillie’s feet did not want to agree with the mage. She remained still as she asked, “What are you going to do?”
