“He had multiple burns and broken bones, some frostbite. I’ve healed those, but—” She hovered her hands over his skullagain, frowning.
“But what?” Talon barked. Iyana started. Her friend never spoke in that tone. “Sorry,” he said, his voice still strained. “Iyana…”
“His, uh, his head. He has multiple skull fractures, there’s swelling in the lining of his brain, and a—” she swallowed roughly “—a bleed inside his brain. I only just figured out I can mend bones, Tal. I don’t know if I can fix this.” Iyana turned her head towards him, tears springing forth. “I’m so sorry.”
“Try.”
“What?” She couldn’t try…Zane’s brain was bleeding, applying a significant amount of pressure that Iyana wasn’t sure was fixable. And even if she could repair everything, would he return whole?
Talon placed a hand over hers, lowering it to Zane’s damaged head. He brushed the prince’s matted locks back softly. “Try, Iyana. What’s the worst that could happen?”
“I could kill him,” she whispered.
“And if you do nothing? What would happen then?” Talon was too calm. Iyana had basically told him the man he loved was dying, and he was sitting there, stroking his hair. Shock. He had to be in shock.
“He dies.”
Talon nodded solemnly. “Then try, Iyana. I trust you. I don’t think you’ll let him die.”
Iyana took a deep breath, readying herself. “I think you’re putting too much faith in me, Tal, but I’ll try my best.”
Another steadying breath. Fingers situated at Zane’s temples.Please, Imera. Zaya. …Grandmother. Zane is a good man. He’s suffered enough at his father’s hands. Please let me help him.
Then she poured magic into him.
Chapter 51
Zane
He’d been floating in nothingness. No pain. No fear. No hope. Only silently awaiting the gods to pass judgment upon him. Would it be to the nine hells, battling his way through each level to atone for his wrongdoings? Or into the Everlands and Altea’s loving arms? While he didn’t have a firm hold on who he was, or what he’d done during his lifetime—however long or short it may have been—he knew death, lies, and poor decisions had marred his soul. He only hoped Phaedros wouldn’t throw him directly into the pit and instead gave him a chance at redemption.
Now he was waiting, and he had nothing but time. Floating here wasn’t unpleasant, and there was no part of him that missed being alive. If he were being honest with himself, it appeared he’d been tired of life for quite some time but wasn’t willing to end it himself. Were he to go out in a blaze of glory on the battlefield, he wouldn’t complain. Hells, he wasn’t complaining now, and he was fairly certain his cause of death was not a noble one.
Warmth suffused him.
With it came echoes of pain, and a vague sense of owning a body. His head was all pressure, and he waited for it to explode, putting an end to his miserable existence. But instead, the pain and pressure intensified. He screwed his eyes shut tighter—now painfully aware he possessed eyes—in an attempt to return to the nothingness he’d rudely been plucked from.
No.Did he speak the word aloud? Or was the pleading only within his brain?
Is he wakingup?He knew that voice.
Please don’t distract me right now.He recognized that one as well.
Swimming through the nothingness, the shell of his body surrounded him, the pain beginning to ebb.
He opened his eyes, and all was red. As his vision slowly focused, he realized the color was hair. Hair that belonged to a man. A man with blue eyes he remembered sparking with life and humor, now looking upon him with a combination of fear and hope.
Talon.The name came to him suddenly. He must have spoken it aloud because the redhead absolutely beamed, those blue eyes filling with tears soon overflowing to drip onto him like a light rainfall. Talon gently wiped the tears away from his face while more continued to fall.
“That’s right, Zane. I’m here for you. You’re going to be okay.”
Zane.Once it had passed Talon’s lips, he remembered he had a name. Swiveling his gaze, because turning his head was still too much effort, he saw a small woman sitting beside him. Blood spattered across her chest and neck.Iyana.Oh gods, was she injured? He sat upright quickly. Too quickly, as his head swam and his vision blurred. Strong hands clamped down upon his shoulders, allowing him a moment to breathe deeply, clearing the wave of vertigo.
Zane turned to Iyana ready to search for wounds, to yell at Talon for notdoinganything, when he noticed the dead man laying not far from them. A large pool of blood surrounded him, a tear near the crotch of his pants. That must be where the splatter on Iyana came from. The spurting of an artery. Had she killed this man? If so, he had grossly underestimated her, thinking her incapable of harming any living thing. Although, seeing the way she worried her lower lip between her teeth, she must have killed him in self-defense and was currently trying to ignore the panic coursing through her.
He remembered the first time he had killed a man—at the tender age of fifteen. His father had insisted Zane be the one to execute their prisoner. In his words, a boy could not be deemed a man until he had taken another’s life. Until he had seen how swiftly everything could be lost, how much power he wielded against others when their life rested in his hands. No son of Uther’s would enter adulthood without having done so. He’d balked but did as his father asked, because by that time he had realized the punishments were sometimes harsher than simply doing as Utherdemanded. This, though…it had taken two swings of his sword to behead the poor man—his teenage muscles not yet developed enough to complete the deed in one swift motion. Uther had clapped him on the shoulder, the most acknowledgement of pride Zane had ever received from his father, and then he promptly rushed to his quarters to vomit and sob the rest of the day.
Coarse hands bracketed his face, bringing him back to the present. Talon’s eyes ensnared him yet again. This man… Zane was never letting him leave his side ever again.
