Chapter 18

Chapter

Eighteen

RANE

A ndrin clenched his jaw as Othor probed the bloody furrows below his ribs.

I leaned against a post at the foot of the bed with my arms folded over my chest and anger simmering in my gut. The scent of blood was thick in the air.

“Fuck!” Andrin growled, the muscles in his bare chest bunching. He sucked in a breath as Othor pinched the edges of the wound together. Red splotches stained the sheet under him. Bloodstained towels and rolls of bleached white linen littered the bedside table. Nerissa stood just behind Othor, a bowl of pinkish water in her hands.

Or maybe she was Elodie.

Othor straightened. For once, his perfect composure appeared in danger of unraveling. Sweat darkened his hairline, and his skin was tinged with gray. “This isn’t healing like it should.”

“Try again,” I said. A wave of helplessness crashed over me. I could take Andrin’s shadows. But I was useless when it came to flesh and blood.

Othor’s lips thinned as he swung his head toward me. “Have you been sleeping while I worked? I’ve tried a dozen times already.”

I pushed away from the bedpost. “Your king is injured. You’re a healer. So heal him.”

Othor narrowed his eyes. “My energy isn’t infinite. Magic is a give and take?—”

“Spare me the magic lesson,” I snapped. “If I have to hear even a moment of philosophy, I’ll vomit.”

“As if you’d recognize it. You’ve never visited the castle library in your life.”

“Right, because you’re usually in it.”

“Both of you shut up,” Andrin said. He glared at me as he adjusted the loose sheet that covered his nudity. “If Othor overexerts himself, he won’t be able to help me or anyone else for days.” Andrin looked at Othor. “Just wrap the wound. It’ll close on its own by morning.”

Othor hesitated. Then he placed his palms on Andrin’s ribs. “Let me try one more time.” He closed his eyes. Light glowed under his hands. Suddenly, he slumped forward.

Andrin shot off the pillows, catching Othor before he could faceplant on the bed. Nerissa yelped, nearly dropping the bowl as I rounded the bed and grabbed Othor by the shoulders. He moaned softly, his eyelids fluttering as I supported his weight.

Nerissa shoved the bowl onto the bedside table, then pressed her fingertips to Othor’s neck. “His pulse is steady. I think he just fainted.”

“He’s drained,” Andrin said. “He needs rest.”

“We should take him to his chamber,” Nerissa said. She looked at me. “Can you carry him by yourself, my lord, or should I summon one of the knights? We could also put him on one of the couches in the main chamber.”

“I can manage alone.” The knights were probably drunk. And I’d carry Othor to the fucking Covenant before I let him sleep in my room.

I looked at Andrin. “I’ll be right back. Don’t leave that bed or I’ll kill you myself.” His grimace followed me as I hefted Othor into my arms and carried him from the bedchamber. With Nerissa’s help, I sped him through the corridors. When we reached his chamber, Nerissa rushed inside and turned down the bedding.

“Put him here, my lord,” she said. “I’ll make sure he gets everything he needs.”

I settled Othor on the bed. He moaned but didn’t rouse as Nerissa removed his boots. She lit a lamp, which threw light around the bedchamber. Othor’s personal space was as cool and austere as he was, with black furniture and walls lined with ancient books. The scent of herbs and incense filled the air.

“Thank you, Nerissa,” I said.

“Oh, I’m Elodie, my lord.”

Damn. “I knew that.”

She offered an indulgent smile, but she said nothing as I left Othor’s quarters and hurried back to Andrin.

When I entered the bedchamber, Ginhad and Mirella stood next to the bed. Andrin looked paler than when I’d left him, his skin blending with the pillows at his back. The ragged tail of his braid descended over his thick chest. His fingers were tight on the sheet over his lap.

“What is it?” I demanded, moving to the end of the bed. I raked my gaze down Andrin’s chest, hunting for injuries I’d missed. “Did you get up?”

“No,” Andrin bit out. “If I remember correctly, you promised to kill me if I tried.”

Ginhad looked between us. “His Majesty says Lord Othor is drained, but…” Ginhad turned wary eyes to Mirella as he trailed off.

She stared at Andrin’s wound, an inscrutable look on her face. Her yellow gown was stained and rumpled from the trip to the Covenant. Had I really fetched the dress for her just this morning? It felt like a hundred years had passed since I woke to find Andrin missing from our bed.

As if she felt my regard, Mirella lifted her gaze to mine. Her eyes hardened. The collar gleamed in the chamber’s dim light.

Ginhad cleared his throat. “This might be a bad time to bring this up, but Lord Othor isn’t the only healer among us.” He cast another cautious look at Mirella.

“You have the gift?” Andrin asked her, clearly making the connection.

She squared her shoulders. “Yes.”

Andrin’s expression turned skeptical. “You’ve said nothing about this.”

Silence held as she stared at him. “You’re right,” she said slowly, “I should have mentioned it the first time you threatened me.” She frowned, appearing to reconsider. “Or should I have waited until the fifth?”

Andrin returned her stare. “The first time would have been fine,” he muttered after a moment.

She drew a sharp breath?—

“Maybe,” Ginhad said, stepping between her and the bed, “Lady Mirella could try to help the king.” He gave her a hopeful look. “Like you helped Thraxos in the courtyard?”

She’d helped Thraxos? I looked at Andrin, who appeared as confused as I felt.

Mirella’s frown deepened as she considered Ginhad. “Thraxos is a horse.” Her brow smoothed, and a malicious smile curved her lips as she looked past him to Andrin on the bed. “Although, you have a point. My gift has always worked better on beasts.”

“Forget it,” Andrin said tightly. He caught my eye and motioned to the bedside table. “Just wrap my ribs. I’ll sleep it off.”

Frustration rose, along with worry. The furrows continued to bleed. “Maybe you should let her try…”

“I’ll wrap it myself,” Andrin said. He twisted toward the bedside table, and a sickening snap split the air. His hoarse cry tore through the room as he collapsed back onto the pillows. Blood welled anew from his side, and a jagged sliver of bone broke through the torn flesh, gleaming red in the dim light. His head lolled on the pillow, his eyes closed and a frown between his brows.

“Andrin!” I barked, fear spiking as I raced to the side of the bed opposite Mirella and Ginhad.

“It’s a broken rib,” Mirella said, bending over Andrin.

“You think?” I snapped.

Andrin moaned, his legs restless under the sheet. The covering slipped, and red caught my eye. I yanked the sheet from his lap. The bedding beneath him was soaked with blood.

Mirella sucked in a breath. Then she began rolling up her sleeves.

“What are you doing?”

She tossed me an impatient look. “What does it look like?” She extended a hand toward Andrin.

I caught her wrist. “If you hurt him, I’ll?—”

“What?” she asked. “Lock me in a cage? Make me serve you on my knees? Take my virginity in an open field while strangers watch?”

Challenge flowed between us. She held my stare, her golden eyes steady.

I released her. “Heal him,” I said quietly. “Please.”

“Stay out of my way,” she answered just as softly. Then she lay her hands on Andrin and closed her eyes.

A hush fell over the chamber. Andrin was still, his lashes dark against his pale cheeks. Light flared under Mirella’s palms. The edges of Andrin’s wounds twitched. The sliver of rib bone retreated.

Mirella gasped. Her eyes moved rapidly under her closed lids, as if she watched something only she could see. The light under her hands built, spreading over Andrin’s chest and down his side. Magic flooded the chamber. A fluttering noise made me look over my shoulder, where the heavy curtains on either side of the closed balcony doors fluttered despite a lack of wind.

Ginhad’s swift intake of air made me face Mirella again. My breath caught as her hair lifted away from her face. Her eyes moved faster, and her lips parted as her breathing grew labored. The gashes on Andrin’s side closed.

Power thrummed in the air, a buzz of energy pressing against my temples. My heart raced as the light flared, flooding the room with a brightness that turned night into day. A sudden wind whipped around me, tugging at my hair and sending linens tumbling from the bedside table.

Mirella cried out, her voice lost in the rising howl. The wind snapped fabric and rattled the furniture. Then the light erupted, blinding and final, before winking out.

Andrin’s eyes flew open.

Mirella staggered backward, her chest heaving. Ginhad steadied her with a hand on her shoulder.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

She nodded, but her eyes were stark as she gazed at Andrin. “You saw your mother in the trees.”

Andrin looked like he’d seen a ghost. “Yes,” he croaked. “You…saw?”

“And the children,” she whispered. “All of them.”

Squeezing his eyes shut, Andrin gave his head a single, hard shake. “It’s been years since I looked. I was stupid this time. Once the shadows have your attention, the visions become real.”

Shock froze me in place. Blood rushed in my ears, disbelief and a hollow sort of awe spreading through me as I looked at Mirella. Because Andrin was describing what he’d seen in the Edelfen. Mirella couldn’t have seen it too, unless…

“She’s a werek ,” I breathed.

Ginhad startled, then gaped at Mirella with an expression that matched how I felt.

Mirella looked perplexed—and more than a little self-conscious—as she gazed around the bed. “A what?”

“A werek ,” Andrin said. “It’s a rare gift. My father was the last among us to possess it.” He rose from the bed, pulling the sheet with him and wrapping it around his waist. He stood before Mirella and tipped her chin up with a gentle hand. “You can see through the eyes of others.”

Mirella swallowed. “When I heal someone…or something, I can see their injury. Sometimes, I get a glimpse of what they see immediately after I’ve healed them.”

Andrin shook his head. “Being a werek has nothing to do with healing, although it makes sense that you’ve experienced the gift that way. My father could see through another’s eyes anytime he chose. You’ve probably been doing it naturally without realizing it.”

The bloodied sheet draped around Andrin’s hips. Above it, his side was whole, not even a trace of pink to show where his vision had gored him. He’d been fine until just before we stepped from the forest into the meadow. Then something in the trees had caught his eye.

And when he fell, I’d been unable to help him. I could draw shadows from the air. I could remove them, paving the way for light to shine. But I couldn’t fight monsters I couldn’t see.

The sheet around Andrin’s hips was more red than white. He’d lost so much blood—and, as usual, he’d concealed just how much the Edelfen cost him. One day, the price would be too high.

But not tonight. Tonight, Mirella had bought him more time.

I moved without thinking, rounding the bed. Mirella turned at my approach.

“You healed Andrin,” I said.

“Yes,” she answered, wariness hovering in her eyes. They widened slightly when I stepped into her and brushed my forehead against hers.

She jolted…but she didn’t pull away. I brought my hands up slowly and then rested them on her shoulders. When she stayed where she was, I closed my eyes.

“Thank you,” I murmured.

Somewhere next to me, Ginhad spoke on a satisfied-sounding sigh. “This is the second time that’s happened tonight.”