Shit. Maybe we need another healer. This one looks ready to keel over soon.
As though he can read my mind, Skull grumbles, “More are coming. I took this one and shouted for the others to grab supplies and then run here.” He looks over at the flaps of the tent expectantly, and I blow out a tense breath.
Auset’s hand tightens in mine, and I look down at her. She’s so pale. Her eyes are squeezed shut tightly as she grits her teeth and tries not to make a noise.
“Hey,” I call to her, moving closer to her face and trying to think of what might distract her from the tugs at her abdomen and the frantic chanting of the healer while Scorpius clips orders to the now shaking and quickly draining fae.
She opens her eyes and levels me with a stare that silently begs me to make the pain stop. I would do anything right now to be able to do just that. I scramble for something to say, for some way to make this better, but nothing comes to me.
“Tell me about where you grew up? What’s it like? What’s your favorite memory?” I stammer in hopes it will do the trick and pull her mind momentarily from the trauma of everything that’s happening right now.
Auset’s moonlit gaze narrows, and I can’t help the smile that warms my face at the tiny irate fire that sparks in her eyes.
“Why are you Scorpions so dim?” she rasps, the words requiring far too much effort as they slip out of her lush, blood-stained lips. “I already told you, I don’t remember anything before I came here,” she whispers, her words brittle and fissuring.
The flaps of the tent are shoved open, and in pour several more healers with leather cases clutched tightly in their hands. Worry loosens its talons around my throat, and Scorpius immediately starts snapping orders and instructions as healers join us around the table and add their own voices to the sacred chant that focuses their magic, guiding it to stitch and seal and smooth all of the injuries away.
A healer takes her arm from Skull, and my brother moves to the top of her head, running his fingers through her hair and whispering things in Auset’s ear that are too quiet for me to hear. I’ve never seen him be so tender with anyone. If there were any doubt about how far Auset had already sunk under our skin, the display between Skull and the little Moonling would chase it all away.
“Fine, you’re right,” I concede, recalling that she did tell us that she doesn’t know where she came from or how she got here. I thought she was just being evasive, but now I see maybe we read that wrong.
“Tell me about yours,” she asks faintly instead. “What was it like where you grew up?” She leans into Skull’s touch, her eyes once again closing as though she doesn’t have the energy to keep them open anymore. Her hand starts to go slack in mine, and dread takes flight like a million crows flapping around in my chest.
“Stay here with me, Auset,” I snap, getting in her face, like my will alone can keep her from slipping away.
Her lids flicker back, and once more, stunning silver eyes find mine. I teeter on the edge of what to do, looking over at the group of healers working on our moonbeam. Resignation rides my deep exhale, and then I lean closer to Auset and chant a ward that will keep what I say between her and me and Skull.
“I grew up in a palace,” I proclaim calmly, allowing none of the trepidation that’s tightening my throat to leak into my words. My eyes sparkle invitingly, and I force smooth, practiced charisma into my tone, daring Auset to follow where I want my story to take her. “Before you rush to perfect your curtsey,” I warn her playfully, “I wasn’t a prince. Although, many have said over the years that I have the countenance for it,” I tease, and Skull scoffs.
Not even his amused judgment can keep the grin from spreading across my face as one corner of Auset’s mouth tilts up in fleeting enjoyment.
“My mother was a kitchen maid, and if you ask me, being her son was even better than being the heir to the throne,” I hurry to continue, ignoring the twinge of pain that stabs at my soul as thoughts of my mother rush forward from where I normally keep them buried. “I got to run all around the castle, learning every private passage and secret held within the dragon stone walls. And then me and all the other children of the palace slaves sat through boring lessons with haughty tutors, learning the same silly things the princes and princesses had to learn, all because the king thought it made him look more magnanimous than he really was.” I scoff and then fake a dramatic gag, and that small twitch of amusement at the corner of Auset’s lips appears again.
All too quickly it turns into a pained gasp, and Skull smooths his fingers over the agonized clench of her features. “Almost done,” he assures her, leaning down to kiss her forehead as though sealing that promise into her skin.
“My mother made the best food,” I start again, recalling fondly the times that we braided pastry crust together or basted a big fat pheasant in the oven. “She always let us sneak the scraps the royal family didn’t eat. And on rest days, we’d pack baskets of victuals that were going to turn soon, and we’d carry them down into the city and pass it all out. We played tag in the streets as we slowly walked home to the palace afterward. The sun made the dragon stone of the palace glow blue, and the wind would sing a song to us as it snaked through the tall stocks of crops that filled the fields in rows all around the city.”
“Sounds beautiful,” Auset murmurs so quietly I almost don’t catch it.
“It was, until it wasn’t,” I agree, running my thumb softly over her cheek while I hold her hand in my other fist. “I’ll show you sometime,” I promise her, but I can see unconsciousness wrap her up in its hold and finally pull her under.
A healer brings a basin of warm water to the table and starts wiping blood from Auset’s skin, looking for anything else that needs attention. It feels wrong to let them handle her this way when she’s not awake, and I have to fight the urge to rip the cloth from the healer’s hands and do it myself. Skull picks up the discarded chakram and shoves it into a pack in his trunk. I don’t question what he’ll do with it; Skull always has his reasons.
I fidget and remove the ward I cast to keep my words to Auset private as the healers continue to work on her. I know the damage was worse than I thought simply by how many of them already look like they’re going to pass out, and that understanding makes it impossible to sit still as they continue to work. They’ve only been here a short while, but the thura required to bring our moonbeam back from the brink of death is taking an obvious toll on many of the gifted fae. I will let her drain each and every one of them dry if that’s what it takes, and I won’t even blink twice about it.
Skull moves next to me, handing me a pitcher of water before crossing his arms over his chest as though he’s standing guard over something priceless and precious. That’s exactly what she is.
“What do we do now?” I ask, my stare fixed on the slow rise and fall of Auset’s chest as she sleeps while the healers continue to clean her up and chase away the last of the damage.
Scorpius steps back from the table, that action alone supporting that she’s stable enough for him to accept that the healers can take it from here. The apprehension I’ve been wearing like a second skin from the moment Auset stumbled out from the shadows starts to crack and fall away. She’s going to be okay. We’ll make sure of it. Scorpius looks as exhausted as I know we all feel. The adrenaline is crashing in all of us as the worst of this drops back to trail behind us. He looks over at me and Skull, and I can see that he’s plotting and planning and working out how to maneuver everything so that we’re once again a step ahead of anything that could come our way. He reaches for a rag and starts to methodically clean Auset’s blood from his hands and arms.
“Now…” he answers, his black eyes growing even darker as he looks from us to the tiny blade slave that’s passed out on the black maple table. “We get the fuck out of here, and we take her with us.”
ChapterTwenty
AUSET
Igroan, every muscle in my body stiff and tight as though I haven’t moved in days. I’m lying on something soft, and I nuzzle deeper into the velvety warmth, teetering on the edge of sleep and consciousness. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I’m faintly aware that there should be pain. The last thing I remember was hot agony and sharp suffering before cold numbness crawled through me and snuffed everything out.
