My sword twirled loosely in Jyn’s hand. I was glad to not be the only one these creatures made uneasy. Meryn seemed unphased, but I pulled an arrow free and gripped my bow in my hand. She took long strides forward, eagerly anticipating whatever she thought lay inside. Her foot landed on the first step.
The world fell silent. Camion and Andimir became muted behind us as a blanket of warmth coated my skin. Magic, a sound barrier. Jyn turned his head slowly and caught my eye. A soft cracking rent the silence as stone animated, stretched. Our eyes lifted as one. A whoosh of air blasted past us.
Sound flipped back on.
Unearthly screeches filled the air and vibrated through my bones. Goosebumps shivered to life across my skin. The two unnatural winged, humanoid creatures flew above us, circling, screaming. I lifted my hands, an awkward attempt to cover my ears with a bow and arrow in hand.
“Fight through, Princess,” Jyn called out. “They want you vulnerable.”
One dove for him. Taloned, bird-like feet aimed for his shoulders. He sidestepped, claws missing his arm by a hairline. I lifted my bow, loosed an arrow, watched the point bounce harmlessly off the creature’s flesh. Meryn looked utterly bewildered, frozen in place.
Another shriek curdled my blood. I turned to Jyn. He moved, jumping in front of Meryn and swinging my sword at the creature. Metal clanged, but the marble skin deflected the blow, no more effective than the arrow I had already launched. The creature didn’t seem to like the blade, though. Her twin tried to snatch the weapon from Jyn’s hands. He managed to keep a tight grip, even as claws raked the side of his arm.
“Jyn!” I yelled. He glanced my direction long enough for his eyes to widen.
“Princess, don’t.”
I followed his gaze. My fingers, hands, arms—they glittered with purple and blue magic. I shook myself, tried to push the power back down. Distracted, I missed one of the creatures swoop down, locking a tight grip on my shoulder and arm. Pain burned through me. Unbidden, my magic took over and spread, then began climbing up the creature. Jyn slammed the sword against a marbled wing only for the smooth metal to slide off again, not so much as a mark on the sleek, black-stone feathers. The second dove for him. He spun to face it, yelled for Meryn, trying to shake her from her stupor.
Claws tightened around my shoulder, its talons scraping along my ribs. My magic grew stronger, pulling from deep inside. Burning pain ripped through my left side. Yells sounded, buried under the piercing screams of the creature gripping my arm. She released when sparkling magic shimmering along the golden veins of her body. I staggered back and gripped the small row of gashes along my ribs.
Meryn snapped back to herself then, the helplessness on her face washed clear. She met my eyes for a split second, lips moving soundlessly, before her attention landed on the two flying statues. Jyn slammed the sword up, gaping when the blade snapped against smooth stomach.
Camion and Andimir appeared, dodging the living statues as they tried to help. Jyn moved toward our companions, grabbing his daggers from the Camion’s hands. The creatures dove on them, the clang of steel on stone loud against the eerily silent night. I stumbled toward Meryn, every step shooting blasts of pain through my right side. The ache in my left side faded with my glittering magic. My limbs trembled, the dregs of my magic sitting heavy in my chest. Meryn spared me half a glance, then whispered faster.
She threw her arms wide.
Both creatures burst into flame, their howls anguished. Their golden veins grew hot, glowing orange under the heat of Meryn’s power. I pulled my bow and loosed an arrow that stuck in a river of molten gold.
“Meryn,” Jyn called, “can you do that again?”
Nodding, Meryn obliged, lighting a figure up right as she dove for Andimir. He drew his sword through a golden swirl, right above the creature’s ankle.
A heavy marble foot detached and thudded to the ground.
Instead of recoiling, the creature exploded into a fury of slashing wings, whirling on Meryn, the remaining talon aimed at her face. I grabbed Meryn’s arm and yanked her back. Claws whooshed past, missing their target.
The second creature attacked.
Talons raked across Meryn’s chest. Her jaw tightened. She crouched and slammed her palm against the earth. Before she could finish the spell, the marble figure dove for her again.
I sidestepped, shielded her. Lines of pain bloomed around my spine. Meryn’s gaped in horror as a hiss slipped from between my lips.
“Burn them,” I gritted out.
She closed her eyes. Her lips formed the words faster. Flames blazed to life again and the men fought harder, striking for the glowing veins. Meryn stood and pressed her hands against the wounds up her front.
“Why did you do that?” she scolded, her face scrunched in pain.
“You needed to finish the spell.” I winced at the tearing agony that ripped up my back and side. Exhaling slowly, I took another breath before adding, “A small price for them to finish those things off.”
Her gaze fell over my shoulder. I twisted around, staggering at the effort. The creatures lay dead on the ground in piles of shattered marble. Two small, golden blobs sank to the earth between them, then stilled. Andimir knelt beside one, poking at the jiggling substance with the end of his blade. I shot a look at Meryn, who shook her head, unsure, flinching at the motion. Her ivory skin paled, freckles dark spots in contrast, and then she swayed. Jyn caught her before she fell. He looked up at me. His eyes narrowed onto the blood steeping the shirt beneath my leathers, but I waved a hand.
“I can walk,” I panted.
Camion was there before I could take a teetering step, awkwardly trying to find a way to offer support. He scanned my shoulder and arm, throat bobbing as he said, “Can I help?”
If another blaze of pain hadn’t swarmed my senses, I might have rejoiced that he had spoken to me. I shook my head. “I can walk. Take care of Meryn first.”
He didn’t leave my side, not when Andimir scooped Meryn up, or while Jyn guarded our escape beyond the city entrance. Fetian circled anxiously above as we returned to the spot we had camped the night before. They set to work, trying to clean her wounds around the fabric of her laced top.
Camion helped me with the lacing on my leathers. The wound on my shoulder didn’t allow me the range of motion to assist myself. He pried the top away, leaving only the white cotton shirt beneath, but when he stepped to the side and saw my back, his face drained of color. Jyn noticed, murmuring quick instructions to Andimir before coming to investigate. I glanced over my shoulder, squirming under the concern that lit their eyes.
“They’re not that bad,” I insisted.
Jyn knelt and tugged lightly at the crimson-soaked fabric. I clenched my jaw, noting the frown on his lips. “How—”
“She’s foolish,” Meryn groaned. She lifted her head, ignoring Andimir’s protests. “And I owe her my life.”
“You owe me nothing,” I murmured. “I did what any of you would have done.”
I focused on the blades of grass poking up around my boots. Camion shifted closer and brushed a fingertip across the back of my hand. I glanced up, to eyes filled with unspoken thoughts, and shook my head. “Later.”
“Obviously,” he teased, but the humor didn’t reach his eyes. Instead they remained distracted by my shoulder, by the blood there.
“Meryn, can you heal yourself?” Jyn asked.
She rolled her eyes, finally relenting to Andimir’s silent pleas and laying back in the grass. “If I could, you’d already know. I can pack the wounds, ease my own pain a bit magically. Speed the healing of plants. But I can’t heal myself.”
“Well. Let’s see what we can do,” Andimir said, rolling up his sleeves.
“We need to get the top of the dress down.” Meryn reached for the shredded ribbon that tied the front. She paused, breathing heavily, then continued. “I need to know how deep they are.”
“Can you help her?” Jyn asked Camion, gesturing to the claw ma
rks scaling my back. When he motioned a yes, Jyn moved to help Andimir peel the fabric from Meryn’s chest.
“I have underclothes on,” I murmured to Camion, slowly trying to slide my arm from my sleeve. The idea of removing everything made my stomach flip. Subjective bravery, the only kind I knew.
“I need to see how badly you’re hurt,” he said. “But you know I understand. I’ll do what I can.”
While he gently pried the shirt from my back, cutting the fabric with his blade where needed, the other two examined Meryn’s wounds around her underclothing. At some point, she had drifted from consciousness again. From where I sat, most of the wounds seemed to be on her stomach and ribs. Jyn blanched at the higher wounds and I flinched. “That bad?”
Jyn’s throat bobbed. “Everything vital seems intact but—”
“But I can see bone,” Andimir said, straight faced. His nonchalance made me curious. What had he seen in these years?
I considered what Meryn had said. That she wasn’t capable of healing on touch. Maybe she wasn’t, but perhaps I could.
“Help me up,” I said to Camion, holding out a hand. He frowned, glancing at my back. “Please?”
He did, reluctantly, a muscle ticking along the line of his jaw as the wounds on my back bled fresh at the motion. Every line of my body trembled with pain and effort. I staggered forward, nearly falling, and Camion caught my elbow. I recoiled from the jolt to my shoulder before rebalancing.
“You should at least let me clean them,” he growled softly.
I gripped his arm, met his intensity with my own. “My wounds are numerous but they’re shallow, are they not?” He nodded hesitantly. “They can wait one more minute. Then I won’t move. I promise.”
Jyn helped me kneel next to Meryn. I tried not to focus on the small hints of white peeking from her wounds, instead holding my hand above them. Taking a long, steadying breath, I said, “I don’t know if this will work, but I’m going to try.”
Their eyes reflected the fear that blossomed in my chest. The tiny dregs of magic that remained might refuse to work with me. I might not be able to control them.
The magic might take all I had left.
Jyn grabbed my wrist. “Princess. This is a bad idea.”
“I can’t let her die, Jyn.”
“I know.” He hesitated a beat. “But what if you push too far, what if—”
“I’ll be careful. You know I can’t let her die, you know what losing any of you would do to me. And if this works, if I can just seal the wounds—”
“She won’t be at risk for infection,” Andimir murmured, his brow furrowing. He didn’t like the idea, but he understood.
“Let me try,” I whispered.
Jyn released my wrist to run his hands through his hair. “I don’t know if I can watch this.”
I patted his arm, wincing at the motion. Then I rested my palm on Meryn’s stomach, right below the deepest cuts. Camion’s warm hand, rough with calluses, slid into my free one. I thanked Nahara that he had chosen to stay.
Warmth flowed through me, then the soft tickling breaths of magic spread across my skin. A gasp broke the quiet, but the scar on my left side blazed to life and shook my focus. I tightened my grip on Camion’s hand, my eyes shooting open as I cut off my magic.
“Well done, Princess,” Jyn breathed.
The wounds weren’t closed, but almost. Enough that they could bandage her easily, without stitches. Enough that infection wasn’t such a serious risk. I sagged with relief.
“Your turn,” Andimir said quietly, jerking his head at Camion. A nod of his head and I was moving, carefully, back to where we had started.
I sat without protest. When my eyelids began to droop, I blinked away the fatigue. He worked gently, slowly, stopping now and again to glance at their progress with Meryn. Cold cloth slid across my skin, down each long mark, over the small row of puncture wounds across my ribs. I sat straighter when he moved to the front and watched him clean each spot with the utmost care. He wrapped my sides tightly with linen bandaging from Meryn’s bag, then tended my shoulder.
“I’ll take first watch,” Jyn said, after a while. Meryn rested peacefully, Andimir already snoring nearby.
Camion shook his head. “I’m awake. You rest. I’ll wake you when I’m tired.”
Reluctantly, Jyn agreed, then set his bedroll closer to the city entrance than the rest of us. To listen, maybe, or protect. He had always been a lighter sleeper than me.
“You should sleep too,” Camion murmured. I nodded, unwilling to argue or break the small progress we had made, when he added, “But I . . . I need to get this off my chest.”
I didn’t speak while he composed his thoughts. Then he moved closer, my heart a growing storm in my ears. Lavender filled my senses, stronger without the mingling beats of woodsmoke I was familiar with. I wanted to touch him, but I kept my hands folded in my lap. An apology bubbled on my lips again. I swallowed it so he could lead the conversation.
His fingers grazed my cheek before he wove them together in my hair, guiding my forehead to his. He inhaled, closing his eyes before he said, “I’m sorry. I’ve acted . . . poorly. Rashly.”
I moved then, restraining a wince when my wounds ached, to lift my hands to his cheeks. I tilted his head up and waited until he met my eyes. “Don’t apologize. Please.”
“I shouldn’t have—”
“Cam.” He stilled, waited. All hope of letting him lead was thrown to the wind. He was trying to bear guilt that wasn’t his—he owed me no apologies. “I was wrong. I was impulsive. And you’re right. I was selfish. I hurt you, all of you. I thought I was making the right choice but there was no choice. Only my decision.” I drew in a trembling breath. “I have more regrets than you can know.”
His grip tightened ever so slightly in my hair, then loosened. I trailed a finger up his cheekbone and took in another shaky breath. “I swear to you, forever and onward, I’ll try to listen. To let you have a say in what we do next. Because I don’t want to die, Cam. Not when I have so much to lose. Not when I have you.”
His grip released. My heart broke into a gallop and my chest tightened in fear. Too many seconds passed, or seemed to. Terror built. Had I read this wrong? Read him wrong?
Then he leaned down, tilted my chin, and his lips were on mine. Relief flowed through me, my breath failing at the strength of his kiss. There was nothing sweet or gentle about Camion’s lips right now. They moved with a hunger and desperation I wasn’t used to feeling from him. His own relief or gratitude that I was alive, I didn’t know. But I sank into him and, for a few moments, what I had done seemed insignificant against the waves of emotion I felt for this man.
Because he was right. I was impatient and impulsive. I had broken a little piece of him. I didn’t deserve him. Maybe I never would. But every time his grip tightened on my chin, every time I imagined the fury in his eyes, every time his pleas echoed in my mind, I knew . . .
I was lucky to have the people in my life that I did. Friends that made me want to do better. Be better. They made the world seem smaller, conquerable, and Camion was one of those people.
Even if I didn’t learn my lesson in the forest, even if I was still learning it for years to come, I would do everything in my power to never be the one to hurt this man again.
He was mine and I was his, and we were infinite.
When he pulled away, I caught the glisten in his eyes and felt my own well up. I kissed his nose. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I’m so sorry. And I’ll be sorry for the rest of my life. My very long, long life, filled with gray hair and grandchildren.”
More tears spilled before he kissed me again, softer this time. “Promise me, Tyli. Promise me you won’t do something like that again. Please. Please.”
“I swear to you. On the moon, the sun, the stars. Nahara. Whatever you want.”
“I want you,” he murmured.
Chapter 27
Sunlight broke through the canopy above, casting a warm
golden beam across my face. I blinked, almost rolling onto my back before I remembered what a terrible idea that would be. The shirt I had pulled from my pack the night before was twisted uncomfortably around me. I started to move before I registered arguing voices and froze.
“Natylia is still too weak,” Jyn snapped.
“I agree,” Andimir said. “Between magic use and her own wounds, if we get attacked again, she’s a liability.”
“I’m not exactly enjoying seeing her hurt,” Camion muttered, “but she needs to make the decision herself.”
“She’s not strong enough,” Jyn insisted.
“Why don’t you let Natylia decide what she is and isn’t strong enough for?” Meryn said.
Grumbles rippled through the others. I shoved myself upright, wincing, then said, “Yes, why don’t I decide what I can handle? I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine.” Jyn crossed his arms over his chest, reading the tight corners of my eyes and the way my lips pressed together. “You can barely sit up.”
“I know you’re worried,” I said, “but we need to press on.”
Jyn spun on Meryn, eyebrows raised. “Do you even know what attacked us last night?” When she shook her head, he said, “Exactly. They stumped you, Meryn. We have no idea what else could be in there.”
“My wounds are shallow,” I argued.
“You can’t lift your arm to fire your bow and your sword is broken.” Andimir picked at a loose thread on his sleeve. “From where I’m sitting, we’re going to have to wait this out or split the group.”
“Not an option.” I frowned.
“She can heal herself. Like she did me.”
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