“Bye, Nithyria,” yells Calliope as the guard lets us out the door.
Quinn runs me up the stairs and out of the dungeon. I can’t believe how strong she is. We pass a servant in the hallway, and she shouts at them, “Alchemist. King’s quarters. Right now!”
I moan as the room seems to darken.
“What the hell! Sylvie, did you do that? I can’t see.”
I think I might have. I try to let it go.
“Don’t you fucking die on me. I promised him I’d get you. He’s going tokillme if you die.”
We enter into a passage—it has to be one of the secret passages I’ve been looking for, but I’m too incoherent to see it—and we emerge in Ronan’s living room.
“Help!” yells Quinn. I raise my head weakly in time to see Ronan leap from across the room.
Quinn lowers me onto a couch, and Ronan places his hands on my body.
The relief is immediate. He touches my leg, my hip, my arm, and the pain just fades away. His hands are so warm, and the light is so bright and comforting.
“Ronan—”
“Don’t try to talk yet.” He gently lifts my head and reaches the big, angry bruise at the back where the guard hit me. Twice.
I flinch at the touch. The pain is deep there.
“I know,” he whispers soothingly. “It won’t take long.”
I let him touch me, and it hurts for a moment, but then the warmth spreads bone deep until it tingles and then vanishes, taking the pain with it.
“Ronan,” I say again. He’s looking at me, and his beautiful, perfect face is terrified. He’s so terrified of losing me.
I didn’t want him to die, I realize.
That’s why I shot the arrow.
Idon’twant him to die.
I reach up and throw my arms around his neck, pulling him to me.
I hear a soft grunt as I knock the air from his lungs. Then he relaxes into my embrace. His body is so warm against mine with the weight of his chest pressing into me, holding me tightly against him. “Thank you,” he murmurs, again and again, his voice low and soft. He gently strokes my back, and I just stay there in his arms for a long, comforting moment.
“Told you,” I hear Quinn whisper as I part from Ronan. Taran slips her a coin.
Ronan doesn’t ask them what they were betting on. I suspect he already knows.
Zara presses an elixir into my hands. “The light doesn’t always reach everything internal,” she explains. “This should help with the rest. You’ll need to take it every six to eight hours for two days, maybe three, just to be sure.”
“Thank you,” I say, and I take a sip from the cup she hands me. It’s warm, and it tastes of honey and a strange, woody herb that reminds me of the temple.
“Frankincense,” she says. “For the bleeding.”
“Sir, we need to discuss the tournament—” Cyrus begins. There are a lot of people in the room, I realize with some embarrassment.
“Quinn, can you take her to my bath? And see about those guards when you’re down there before I do something I’ll regret.”
“I’ll go too,” says Zara.
“I can manage,” I say, standing up. Really, there’s nothing wrong with me now, and I hate to miss whatever is about to be discussed. But I do absolutely reek of the dungeon floor. “I’m feeling fine.”
