The strength seeped from his body, the vise-like grip of the Grimbeast the only thing keeping him upright. The skin on his face split open, warm trickles of deep crimson sliding down his jaw and staining the snow a bright ruby red. Their faces reeled in front of him, mixing with their joyous giggles in a tumultuous swarm. Until he saw those yellow eyes and that hot breath blew on his face again.
“Had enough?”
It had started to snow, the temperature dropping. Or maybe that was just him, his body growing numb as the laughter bounced inside his skull. At last the Grimbeast released his hand, and Killian crumpled to a heap.
The ice burned against his flesh, burrowing in the open wounds as he heaved in ragged gasps of air. A powerful kick landed in his ribs; there was a loud crack and a surge of blood forced out of Killian’s throat. His coughing turned to choking, and soon the air wouldn’t come at all.
He closed his eyes, his breaths slowing down. A high-pitched ringing sliced through his ears. Slowly he tilted his head up. This was it. He tried to blink. He was done.
A flash of white fangs, and his chest exploded with pain. His shoulder seeped in liquid warmth and silent screams filled his lungs. He looked up, and the Grimbeast leered down at him. Fire consumed his body, blinding-hot agony.
A roll of thunder broke through it all. It grew from the earth itself, rising up until it shook his heart and made everything start to break apart. The pressure on Killian’s chest tightened, and then all at once it wrenched away in a blistering torrent.
The fits of laughter turned to squeals of terror, and the roar grew louder until it completely enveloped them. Killian lay still, face half buried in the scorching ice, his vision filled with enormous black shadows and twisted horns. The Grimbeasts scattered, yowling in terror as they fled back into the woods. But one remained behind, weighted down by its own desire for revenge.
The enormous shadow leapt at it, and the Grimbeast’s screams shattered the air before it was sliced off with one quick, strangled cry. Everything fell quiet. A jolt rocked him, and his eyes flashed back open. It was Fedya. Half man or half beast, he couldn’t be sure. But he saw the claws and the horns, the glistening fangs. Fedya stood right in front of him, the Grimbeast dangling in the air by its neck.
He fought to keep his eyes open, his coarse gasps filling his head. The burning of the snow was beginning to fade, replaced with a lulling numbness.
“Fedya?”
His breathing was beginning to slow, his shredded lungs soaking up the frigid air.
“Fedya!”
Blood drenched Fedya’s fur, his arms and hands. It splattered across his face and soaked his cloak, and as he bent over Killian, it dripped from the tips of his hair. It was everywhere.
“You…”
A hoarse whisper creaked out from his throat, stolen by the wind that slashed his face. The Grimbeast wriggled helplessly in Fedya’s grasp, its body rapidly growing limp. Killian tried to sit up, but before he could call out again, Fedya opened his mouth and released a bone-numbing roar. The Grimbeast’s lifeless body shook in his grip before Fedya snarled and hurled the creature back onto the fallen tree.
The Grimbeast lay still, unmoving. A low sigh squeezed from Killian’s lips and his head fell back, heavy. He could hear Fedya panting. Or maybe it was his own jagged breaths, pounding his temples and making the world tremble.
No. It couldn’t be dead. Fedya wasn’t a killer. Killian tried to lift his head, look around. But sand seeped into his head, and when he looked around, nothing made sense. He stared at the tree and the Grimbeast’s body was gone. He blinked slowly, frowning. Was that the same tree as before? He couldn’t be sure. Maybe it had run away.
His eyes begged for sleep, but then he felt strong arms around him, lifting him up away from the burning snow. He still couldn’t feel his body, but he could see his fingers now, the tips raw and purple, cupped in Fedya’s hands. Then he sat down again, propped up against something solid and coarse. The snow was gone.
“Killian, you have to keep your eyes open.”
The musty scent of hay and fur quickly filled his nose. A dark pair of large, round eyes peered at him through the darkness, but they weren’t Fedya’s. That didn’t make any sense. The eyes blinked once, and faded to blackness.
“Look at me, Killian. You can’t sleep right now.”
He jerked back awake. His horse. It was his horse that had been staring at him. What a strange creature it was. He could hardly remember how she had even gotten here in the first place, or how he had for that matter. Where had all of the snow gone? When did they even come here?
Fedya walked over to him, still on all fours, and stared down at him. For a moment their gazes locked, and through Fedya’s blood-tinged mane, Killian saw the eyes of a man, soft brown and inexplicably human.
“Killian, can you feel my hand?”
Killian blinked slowly, his head lolling as he looked down. Right. Fedya was holding his hands. His thick, short fingers slowly rubbed over Killian’s palms and squeezed his fingers. His nailbeds were crusted in deep red. Killian tried to lift his hand to reach for him, but he couldn’t feel anything.
“Fedya…”
He wanted to feel his touch, yearned for the stroke of Fedya’s fingers against his flesh. But even as he watched Fedya’s hands, he felt nothing. His head dropped back down, and he coughed, a renewed spurt of blood dribbling down his chin.
“Killian.” Fedya’s voice was tight, his words clipped. “Killian, look at me.”
Then Fedya’s hands were on his cheeks, gently lifting his head back up. He sought Fedya’s warm, brown eyes. The very corners of his lips quivered, but when Fedya spoke, his voice was surprisingly calm.
“When the Grimbeast bit you, it infected you with its poison. It’s already numbed your body, and…”
Killian could barely keep his eyes open, but Fedya jerked him, forcing his eyes back open.
“Killian, you have to stay awake. Soon you’ll begin to hallucinate, but you must stay focused. I don’t have any medication here for you.”
Every time he blinked, Killian had to force his eyes back open. Fedya’s face faded out more and more, but he clung to the sound of his voice as it rose. But the words seemed to float away, and he desperately clung to them, trying to sort them out as they grew jumbled in his head.
His body jostled, harsh jerks and tugs that rattled his bones. He was vaguely aware of moving his arms and legs, coaxed by Fedya until he was resting on something warm and solid. Tiny tufts of fur tickled his nose.
“You need to try to hold on. Please, don’t let go.”
Killian’s eyes were closed again, and when he forced them open, he saw that he was strapped down, stretched out atop the back of his horse. He didn’t remember how he had gotten there, but it didn’t matter. Fedya was patting his cheek, trying to keep him awake.
“Killian, you need to ride back to the castle, their healers can help you.”
Killian forced the words through his teeth, his voice sloshed and thick. “Come with me.”
Agony flashed across Fedya’s face. He pulled his lips tight and swallowed hard. “Your horse can’t carry both of us right now. I can’t go with you.”
Liar. Even now, Killian knew Fedya was lying. But then the horse started walking and the cold wind once again slashed across his face. He glimpsed the fence up ahead, and Killian saw the front entrance—the one he had not been able to find since the first night he arrived. The gates were already swung wide open.
Killian buried his fingers in the mare’s fur, but his grasp was slippery, his fingers too big to move.
“You just have to stay awake. Whatever you do, just stay awake.”
Fedya touched his cheek, just one more time, and then he disappeared. The wind shuddered and moaned, slashing across his face, and the drumming of hooves thudded against snow. Each step pounded against his head, jolting through his spine. Fedya’s final words rang in his ears, and
he grasped at the horse’s fur as best he could, his arms stiff.
The trees rose up like phantoms, shadowy black against endless stretches of white. Their arms reached out, pulling him down to the earth where they gnashed their teeth and howled in agony. His horse huffed as she strained against their hold, kicking her hooves in defiance as they raced even faster against the rising blood-red moon.
Killian stared at its waxy face. It bulged in the sky, misshapen and far too close, creeping down on the earth, threatening to crush them beneath its rolling weight. A howl broke through it, scattering it into a million stars.
Killian knew that howl. A treacherous shriek of a woman, scorched in utmost despair. It peeled back the layers of his skin and nestled in deep until his heartbeat cracked his ribs and torrents of blood came gushing out. Still she screamed until her voice became raw and squealed like twisted metal. Misshapen iron, bursting from the ground and glittering with lights like jewels. It snaked through the trees, even faster than the beasts.
But he saw them through the trees. Tall, horned beasts made of sinew and stone. They opened their mouths and putrid yellow clouds came floating out, and they smiled in glee. So much like people, they smiled and laughed until he pulled his head back and called out for help. For anyone at all to hear him.
He wanted them back. All of them, Dmitri and Fedya and Melchior and Annette. He couldn’t remember their faces, but someone smiled at him and he wanted to smile back. Would they remember him? Would they know what he looked like?
Blue eyes. Then brown. Killian blinked. Maman? He frowned and tilted forward, and someone sang out and there was Cosette of all people, swinging around that poor tail-less cat and she finally had her fistful of shrimp and all Killian could do was laugh. He wasn’t alone anymore. He reached for her and a hand grasped his own, except Cosette was still far away. But he kept reaching anyway and more hands grasped his arms and legs and they were all with him, they were all alive and he reached for them more.
Killian fell. He didn’t know where the horse went, but the flaky snow enveloped him like a plush pillow. He smiled back at his friends. They peered in close, and he saw they weren’t his friends at all.
Strange faces with hurried voices. They grabbed him, pulled him up, and he saw the castle. He’d made it.
P
ale light streamed in from outside, casting the small room in a cheery hue of rosy pink. Killian recognized the infirmary from Thale’s castle, nestled beneath crisp white sheets and a scratchy lime-green blanket. He craned his neck, but could only catch a glimpse out of the tall window above his bed. The pink sky was rapidly shifting into pale gray. Evening.
He tried to sit up and grimaced as a sharp ache slashed through his chest.
“Not yet. The healers say at least a few more hours.”
Killian paused, his face breaking into an uncontrollable grin. The sound of Melchior’s voice drifting inside was like a soothing wave, a salve for a burn he didn’t know he even had. He sighed and rested back on his pillows. “Is that your professional opinion?”
Melchior stepped through the open doorway, two steaming teacups in hand. It took all of Killian’s willpower not to toss off his blankets and leap up to hug him.
“I’m a surgeon, Killian. Not a healer,” Melchior said with a smile, even as he rolled his eyes. He offered Killian one of the cups before sitting down on the side of the bed. “Apparently that’s a grave difference here. You know, if it were up to me, you wouldn’t leave this infirmary for at least another six months.”
“Good thing you have no power here.” Killian took a sip from his cup, and instantly crinkled his nose. “Do you always have to make this so bland?”
“I’m sorry my culinary skills aren’t up to his Highness’s standards.”
“Don’t let it happen again.” Killian’s gaze dropped to the flash of silver in Melchior’s hand as he reached into his pocket, and he instantly stiffened, the smile disappearing. “Where did you find that?”
“The healers gave it to me, said it fell out of your pocket when they found you.” Melchior placed the pocket mirror on the nightstand. “Thought you might want it back, but I think the latch is broken. I wasn’t able to open it.”
Killian eyed the mirror but he didn’t reach for it just yet. Instead, he took another sip, the warm liquid seeping through his insides. He breathed in deep, and tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling. The lights were dim, soft, and for a moment he closed his eyes. His body still ached, and every time he shifted his shoulder flared up with fire. A thick bandage wrapped around his collarbone down to his elbow, stifling his movement. “How long have I been asleep?”
“Just a day, though I’m surprised you’re already awake. You were pretty delirious when they found you.”
Killian nodded numbly, tearing his gaze from his shoulder. A day. Another day gone. He blinked slowly, but his eyelids weighed heavy, and the world pitched into darkness for far too long. No. Stay awake. He focused on Melchior.
“How long do I have to stay here?”
“At least another day or two. Most of your physical wounds should be cleared up in an hour or so, but the healers say you had quite a bit of Grimbeast poison in your blood.”
Killian glanced again at his bandages. “They got it all out, right?”
“Of course.” Melchior nodded, but his mouth was pulled into a tight line, and his fingers tightened around his cup. “But they don’t know exactly how you will recover. Grimbeast poison is lethal, and most people don’t survive an attack. To be honest, no one is certain what types of lasting effects it will have on you.” His voice hushed. “Killian, what happened?”
Killian stared at Melchior, but he suddenly felt like a mirage sitting there at the edge of the bed. The words welled up in his chest, but when he sucked in a breath his eyes began to sting and he dropped his head back to the pillow. He shook his head and cleared his throat. Not now.
“I thought you’d be back home by now,” he murmured, “I wasn’t expecting you to still be here.”
“We have a little time left. Annette’s still here too. And the Empress Merav.”
Killian blinked rapidly, urging the tears away. He didn’t look back at Melchior. His hands were beginning to burn as he gripped the teacup.
“She’s already tried to sneak in to see you twice,” Melchior said, his voice an octave lighter than before, “Annette, that is. She’s really been worried about you. I think she was afraid you wouldn’t come back.”
The forced cheerfulness in Melchior’s voice was obvious, but Killian smiled back at him anyway. He hoped it didn’t look equally as strained. “How long have I been away?”
Melchior looked down at his own teacup. The light that usually danced in his clear, blue eyes was gone, and the relaxed, patient line of his lips had grown firm. “Two weeks.”
There it was. The words hung heavy between them. Two weeks. His heart began to palpitate, his fingers trembling. Two weeks. When was the summit? When did Fedya first prick his finger on that damned rose?
“I have to get back to him. He doesn’t have that much time left.”
Melchior’s eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean? You’re not going anywhere.”
“The curse, or the spell…” His temples throbbed, and he shook his head, the room starting to spin as he strained to look back out the window. What color was the moon? “…I think if it’s not broken soon, Fedya’s going to be in a lot of trouble. I think the curse is going to take over him, and he fought the Grimbeasts too. What if he also got bit?”
“Killian, listen to me.” Melchior placed a hand on his good shoulder, and the gentle touch was enough to drain the last of his energy from him. “I know there’s a lot of powerful magic in the world, but that doesn’t mean Fedya is lost to us forever. It just might take a little bit more time than you’d like to bring him back.”
“He might not have any more time. Someone has to go get him.”
M
elchior’s grip tightened and he drew in a sharp breath. “Killian, there have been teams of people on the search for the two of you ever since you left that night. Once the chaos ended and King Ambrose heard of what happened he sent out an alert. They’ve been combing the mountains without rest for days, but no one could find you.”
“What?” Killian clamped his eyes shut. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Every time a team sets out to look for you, within a matter of minutes they find themselves back on the steps of the castle. I didn’t believe it at first either, until I joined on the search myself. We’d barely taken to the forest before a windstorm set in, and I swear it sounded like bells ringing all around us. The storm stopped suddenly, and it was like we’d never left at all.”
Killian was beginning to wobble, and he sucked in a breath, trying to stop the endless echoes. “There’s magic somehow. I don’t know how or where it came from, but it’s there.”
“I don’t doubt it.” Melchior nodded. “Wherever you’ve been, I do think, in a way, you’ve been protected. Whatever is out there hasn’t wanted you to be found, at least not yet. If anyone does find Fedya, I’m sure it will be for a reason.”
Melchior squeezed his shoulder one final time, and then let his hand drop. Killian clamped his mouth shut and forced his eyes back open. His heart sunk deeper into the pit of his stomach, and he nodded, casting his gaze down, staring at the dark-brown liquid. He hated lying there, his aching limbs completely useless. His memory was still foggy, and he strained to remember what had happened after he had ridden past the gates. Voices yelled, a mass of clamoring hands all around him. He’d stopped feeling cold before he’d reached them, and everything had become cloaked in the night sky. None of it made sense.
He shook his head again, wanting to change the subject. “Did Empress Merav...has she been here?”
“I’m not certain. Outside of her meetings for her alliance, no one has really seen her since you left.”
FAIRYTALE Page 25