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He had nothing left to give his family and friends. He was just so…empty, all of his strength pressed out by the weight bearing down on him.

But maybe if he simply focused on the next step—he mentally grimaced at the bitter taste of that thought—maybe he could find a way forward.

Merrik released a long breath. “I told Adry I will do the surgery.”

“Do you want me to let the healers know?” Mama’s voice somehow remained neutral, despite the fact that she had to be celebrating, considering how he’d been refusing this.

“Yes.” His throat closed, his chest tightening, panic coursing through him.

But Adry would be there. As long as she was there, he could face it. He could face anything with her at his side.

Before he spiraled further, Mama released him and reached for one of the bowls on the tray. “I made your favorite.”

Merrik sat up straighter and took the bowl from her, his mouth watering at the smell of the thick soup filling the bowl. Large chunks of venison, potatoes, and mushrooms floated in a thick gravy. “Linshi, Mama.”

He blew on a spoonful before he popped it in his mouth. As the savory taste burst across his tongue, his stomach gave an extra grumble, reminding him that he’d eaten far too little for the past few days.

Mama picked up her own bowl, and the two of them ate their suppers sitting on his bed, the sounds of the tree frogs and the night birds drifting through the open windows.

As Mama gathered the dishes, she drew in a deep breath, not looking at him. “Fieran called earlier today. He was asking about you.”

Merrik froze, his full stomach twisting with the surge of emotions hitting him all over again.

Guilt that he hadn’t even thought to ask about Fieran, even though his friend was hurting and healing as well.

Anger that apparently Fieran was well enough to reach a telephone. As always, Fieran bounced back from his reckless actions while Merrik was the one left struggling.

All he could manage in response was a single nod.

Chapter

Seven

Merrik lay on the wooden surgical table, his head pillowed on leather padding. He wore nothing but a hospital gown that was uncomfortably short, ending well above his knees.

The interlaced branches of this surgical suite in the hospital arched overhead while the murmur of the healers and nurses sounded from a nook in the back. After examining him with their magic, complete with plenty of dour hmms, the elven healers had stepped into the nook to consult with each other and the human surgeons who would also be involved in the complex surgery. The nurses were currently assembling the surgical instruments, gleaming silver scalpels and saw-toothed bone saws.

A shiver went through him. He felt so exposed and vulnerable, laid out on that table like a slab of beef for the butcher.

The last time he’d been unconscious, he’d woken up without a leg. What if the healers decided that they couldn’t save his left foot and ankle?

“Mama, do not let them take my other foot.” Merrik gripped her sleeve where she stood next to the table.

“Merrik…” Her blue eyes filled with compassion, her words trailing off rather than making that promise.

Of course she wouldn’t promise. If the healers said it was what was best, she’d let them take his other foot. Nor would it matter if she tried to stop the healers. They wouldn’t listen to her. She was a human. They’d override her—and perhaps even the human surgeons—without a thought.

Two of the nurses left the nook and halted beside the table, carrying trays of those gleaming, far-too-sharp instruments. One of the nurses gave Merrik a nod. “We are still waiting on one healer to arrive, but we will begin shortly.”

“No.” Merrik shook his head, his breathing growing ragged in his throat. Adry wasn’t there yet. She’d promised she’d be there. “No. She isn’t here yet.”

Why wasn’t she here? He couldn’t do this without her.

The nurse said something else, but Merrik couldn’t concentrate on the words past the roaring in his ears.

He couldn’t lie there, waiting for them to cut him open. Not without Adry. He pushed onto his elbows. “No. No, I can’t…No.”

“Merrik?” Mama’s hand rested on his arm, but her touch was too light to halt him.