Something stirred in the air, and Killian whipped his head toward the trees. Two shadows formed, their silhouettes clouded. He heard panting breaths, and his heart hammered. Their figures grew more defined: two people, their hands clasped together.
“Manny?” he asked hesitantly. He guarded his heart against false hope—yet who else would show up here in the middle of the night?
“Oh, thank the gods,” he heard a familiar voice shout. And then Manny was running toward him, his face ashen, a cut across his cheek. The two men gripped each other tightly by the shoulders, grateful to be reunited. Killian held out his arm, and Sera joined them, the three of them embracing as Killian’s heart nearly beat out of his chest.
They stood like that for a while, their arms wrapped tightly around one another, unable to let go.
Sera’s voice wavered as she asked, “Where’s Elyse?”
Finally, Killian took a step back. Manny still held Sera, and she leaned into him as if she needed the support. She, too, had several cuts up and down her arms, but they appeared superficial.
“She’s inside, getting healed,” Killian answered. He tried not to let his anger rise again, but he could hear it in his voice.
“Is she all right?” Manny asked with a glance toward the clinic.
“Aye,” Killian said. “She lost a good amount of blood, but she was up and walking.”
“She left us,” Sera breathed. She said it as if she couldn’t quite believe it, as if she’d been denying it up until that point. “She looked right at me and then—then she disappeared.”
“I know,” Killian said solemnly. He looked at his bare feet, unable to meet their gazes. He had nothing to be ashamed of, yet he felt guilty for Elyse’s actions. “I’m so sorry. I told her to take us back, but she said she’d lost too much blood to travel that far again. And Corin didn’t have any transportation potions.” He chanced a glimpse at his friend’s faces, at the cut across Manny’s cheek. “I’m glad you’re alive.”
“We grabbed our packs when we heard the commotion,” Manny said, patting the satchel on his back. “We were trying to get as many people inside as we could, and then…” He trailed off, and Killian knew he was hearing the same sickening crack as the earth split open to swallow the street.
Sera continued for him. “As soon as the street began to crumble, we tried to gather whoever we could and transport them away, but it was so terrible. Everyone was panicking and running around, and the street was falling so fast.”
“We had a few potions in our bags, so we went to the palace first,” Manny explained. “But when you weren’t there, we thought we’d try here.”
“That was smart,” Killian said, grateful Elyse had picked a place that was somewhat predictable.
The door to the clinic opened, and Privya strode to Killian and the others. “Manny. Sera,” she said by way of greeting. Her gazelingered over their wounds. “I would be happy to heal those for you.”
“Thank you,” Sera said.
“We’re sorry to impose—” Manny began, but Privya lifted her hand.
“It’s no imposition,” she offered with a hint of warmth. “You’re always welcome here.”
“How’s Elyse?” Killian asked.
Privya cocked a brow. “I gave her something to make her sleep,” she answered. “She needs rest—but mostly, I was tired of her glaring at me.”
Killian suppressed a smile. Being around Privya was soothing, as if even her personality had a medicinal quality.
“Get inside,” the healer said with a nod of her head toward the clinic. “You need rest as well.”
Manny and Sera, haggard as they were, didn’t argue. They hobbled toward the clinic, Privya and Killian falling into step behind them.
In a low voice, Killian asked, “Can you give me something to sleep, too? Something to stifle my dreams, if possible?”
Privya agreed, and less than ten minutes later, Killian was asleep in a spare room. The bitter potion Privya provided worked. Killian didn’t dream about the flutter of black wings, about Lazarus’s wretched smile, or about the cold determination in Elyse’s eyes as she abandoned her friends.
At least, not that night.
15
Killian
Killian slept well past sunrise. He was groggy when he rose, and his head pulsed at his temples. Slogging through his thoughts was like wading through mud. He sat on the edge of the single bed with his back to the window and waited for the fog in his mind to clear.
