Dess’s gaze became uncharacteristically harsh. “You’re right.” He moved in the direction of the copse, the least injured of the three, leaving Oskaren and Thia to slump slowly behind.
“We have time,” Oskaren said.
Thia frowned. “For what?”
“The witch. She may have marked you, but she’ll have gone back to her lair to heal.”
Thia eyed the girl. “How long will that take?” She didn’t think they’d survive another attack.
Oskaren shrugged. “They heal slowly. Might have been longer, if the oaf hadn’t tripped.”
Thia’s stare turned withering, but she forced herself to ask, “How’s your leg?”
Oskaren looked down at it, her rugged mouth pulling into a thin line.
Thia inspected it alongside her. It was bad. Awful, actually.
Where the damage was worst, Oskaren’s bone was exposed, the flesh surrounding it rotted away by Xercae’s magic.
“It feels weak,” Oskaren admitted. “But there’s no pain. It’s numb.”
Thia didn’t know if that was good or not. She was glad the girl wasn’t in pain, as frustrating as she was. But…it looked infected. Like a venomous spider bite, slowly rotting away healthy flesh. And if it was numb, she wouldn’t be able to feel it spreading.
Dess was halted under the trees, staring up into the foliage. When Thia and Oskaren arrived, branches rustled, and a moment later, Thran leapt to the ground.
“Coward,” Dess accused.
Thran’s shoulders slumped, and Thia’s gut twisted in response. She didn’t know what to make of him, but she could see in his grimace that he hated himself more than they ever could.
“Enough,” she said to Dess, surprising herself. She surveyed the wound on Oskaren’s leg. “Let’s just get moving.”
EIGHTEEN
MOVING PROVED EASIER SAID THAN DONE. THIA WAS FAIRLY SUREher wrist was fractured, and Oskaren was becoming more gray and clammy by the minute. It wasn’t long before the girl collapsed, shaking.
“Are you in pain?” Thia asked.
Oskaren shook her head. “Still numb.” Her teeth rattled.
“Can you stand?”
The girl tried. Her arms gave out, and she shut her eyes, mouth twisted in discomfort.
Thia turned to Dess. “Can you carry her?”
“Yes,” he said immediately, then hid his face with a wipe of his forehead on the back of his sleeve. When he emerged, his expression was carefully neutral. “Thran,help me.” Disdain riddled the way he said the older man’s name.
Thran didn’t comment but approached with his head ducked.
Together, the two men lifted Oskaren, exhaustion apparent in their twin grimaces. Thran held Oskaren’s legs, his own shoulders shaking, while Dess struggled to walk backward with his hands under the girl’s arms. She hung as deadweight between them, eyes shut against a too bright sky. Thia stumbled along behind them, cradling her wrist to her chest as it throbbed. She needed a splint, but there was nothing in the grass that could help.
The city grew larger as they approached, the details of Cyning’s walls becoming visible. Hewn from a gray-brown stone, they were jagged and rough, like they’d been built with a haphazard hand. Below, a narrow gate marked the only break in the wall, tiny dots of what Thia assumed were people stretching in a line in front of it.
Oskaren let out a cry. Her legs flailed, one boot catching Thran across the jaw. He dropped her, stumbling back, and Dess curled forward as her full weight fell to him. Oskaren screamed, eyes rolling back in her head as something yellow and oozing dripped from her leg.
Thia cursed. She rushed forward, pinning Oskaren’s legs to the ground by sitting on the girl’s ankles while she thrashed underneath her. “Oskaren.” Thia grimaced. “What do you feel? What’s happening?”
The girl didn’t respond. Her arms yanked free of Dess, and he grunted, crouching to match Thia’s position over the girl’s shoulders, locking her down.
