Astrophel stiffens as Tansy cleans his wounds, crushing my fingers as he bites back a groan.
She sets the cloth down and extracts the bottle of silver liquid from her basket. ‘Peace-poppy for you, too. It’s going to take time to stitch this, probably best you’re not awake through it.’
Astrophel swallows the argent drops Tansy shakes onto his tongue.
His eyes roll back, his muscles slacken. Before long, he too lies in a drugged stupor.
I look away as Tansy works, focusing on the shadows the lanterns cast on the glistening cabin walls, but I catch glimpses of mangled flesh. He’s injured because of me, because he fought to protect me from that frostfang. I fight to keep my breaths steady and shallow as Tansy closes the wounds. When I summon the courage to look again, the worst is over – the sutures piecing Astrophel’s arm together, neat and precise.
‘I need to make up a salve to reduce the risk of infection.’ Tansy tucks an unruly curl behind her ear, replaces the needle and ether in her pack, and draws out a wooden mortar and pestle along with further restoratives. Some things I recognise, like honey and vinegar, but others are foreign to me.
My regard for Xylian healing only increases the longer I spend in Tansy’s company. If – when – we succeed in ending Arden’s curse, I’ll introduce their herbs and methods to Estelia.
‘I’ve done all I can,’ Tansy murmurs as she pounds the ingredients into a thick paste. ‘Astrophel’s wounds are deep. He’s lost a lot of blood. He’ll struggle to use that arm for a while – some damage might even prove permanent. But if we keep the wounds clean, allow him to rest, he should recover.’ She sighs, lowering her voice further still. ‘I’m less hopeful for Blayze.’
I follow her gaze. Maris is still kneeling beside him, quietly stroking his cheek. Her eyes never leave his face.
Tansy wrinkles her brow. ‘A strike like that should have killed him instantly.’
I swallow. ‘Blayze is stronger than most.’
‘We have to hope his heart wasn’t damaged by the lightning, that he wasn’t starved of air too long while he lay unconscious. As for his legs…’
The room starts to spin. Panic surges like a dark, choking wave. I count backwards from ten to ground myself, steady my breathing. I can’t fall apart. Not now.
Tansy’s eyes flick to Briar, asleep at her feet. ‘I could ask her to give blood, but she’s still so weak after what that monster did to her in Galtair.’ Tansy’s throat bobs, and she grips the wooden bowl tighter in her lap. ‘I’ll give the salve a chance to work; I won’t ask her to sacrifice any more. Not yet.’
She bends to her work, transferring the paste to an earthen vessel. While she slathers it thickly on Astrophel’s wounds, I take my chance to check on Blayze.
Serafine stands watch at his shoulder, eyes glittering like fire-opals. I kneel beside Maris, trying to imagine Blayze, the strongest man I’ve ever met, unable to walk – addled. I let my gaze sweep over him, taking in the livid fern-scars embroidering his torso, his neck.
I blink. Look again. My eyes lock on the point where auburn curls kiss his collarbones, on a mark that shouldn’t be there, a mark usually hidden by his torc.
Is it part of the lightning burns? But even as the thought crosses my mind, I reject it. There’s no denying what that mark is. That faint mark in the shape of a flame.
Flame-kissed. Flame-cursed.
Blayze is Flame-Branded.
FEVERED
LEILANI
Astral Mountain, Meissa, Northern Realm of Estelia
Ruined Age: 800 Sunrings, 205 Moonsrisings Post-Sickening
THECANDLEONthe windowsill sputters, its wavering flame casting long shadows over the glistening walls. It’s almost burnt down, but I’ll not light another. The sky is starting to brighten, it won’t be long till dawnrise, and we need to ration our store, for who knows how long we’ll be stuck in this star-forsaken cabin, waiting for Blayze and Astrophel to recover before we can attempt the mountain? The words ‘if they ever recover’ scratch at the door of my mind, like unwelcome guests. I refuse them entry.
I peer through the grimed window, scanning the mountainside for the hundredth time since beginning my watch. Though my brandsong whispers danger, everything is still. The wind whistling over the mountain face, and occasional soft snores from the other members of the Quaternity, drifting from the platform above me, are the only sounds. Even Serafine’s plaintive croons, a constant ambient noise since Blayze sustained his injuries, are temporarily stilled. After three moonsrisings, she finally left his side tonight, presumably to hunt. She’s yet to return, leaving me alone in my vigil.
I stretch my legs to ease the cramped muscles. I’ve been at my post longer than I thought. The poppy elixir will wear off soon and, assuming the pattern since the lightning strike holds true, Blayze’s night terrors will begin. When they do, I’ll hand the watch to one of the others, make a proper sweep of the perimeter. Hunt for tracks in the snow.
The image of Arden’s pitiless face in the mooncrystal, the memory of her feral beauty, those burning eyes so full of hate, niggles like a loose tooth. She’s out there somewhere, lurking. I’m sure of it. Waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
Blayze twitches, ripples of pain distorting his features. My chest tightens. In spite of everything – how angry I am at him for keeping the truth of himself from me – it’s hard to watch him suffer. I place my hand to his brow, smoothing back a forelock that falls stubbornly forwards. It’s damp. Scalding. Moving him to the cabin’s cooler ground level hasn’t broken his fever. Despite Tansy’s best efforts, his wounds are infected.
So, we watch. And wait.
