by Raye Wagner
The wound was still there but much smaller and no longer a hole all the way through him. The lesion still oozed blood but at a much slower pace.
I could barely keep my eyes open, and the thought of willing anything seemed insurmountable. But he wasn’t even conscious, and he was still bleeding. My mind raced for another option. I discarded trying more tears on the wound because there was something stronger . . . King Irdelron drank Phaetyn blood from his golden vial.
I picked up a stone, breaking the brittle shard so one side had a sharp edge. I sliced the rock through the meat of my palm and stared as blue-tinged blood dripped out. I pushed the gash to his chest, mixing our blood. His confidence that I couldn’t hurt him better be right. I waited, staring at the wound, hoping for a miracle. Was he getting better? The wound seemed smaller. I looked at my palm and swore. My palm had healed; Tyrrik had not.
I cut my palm deeper this time, squeezing the blood into his wound. My heart pounded in my ears as my blood oozed, and I dripped it into the deep erosion. I wiped at his blood with the bottom edge of my aketon, trying to see if anything was helping. I sobbed as the width and depth of the lesion waned. The tissue fused, the terrible, punctured injury melding together.
I swallowed the lump at the back of my throat. Tyrrik was still out of it, and he’d lost so much blood. How much blood could a Drae lose and still live?
I didn’t stop until Tyrrik’s skin had knit together into a pale line. I sagged against him, head pounding, vision blurry. Wavering, I lay my head on his chest, concentrating, and hiccupped again when I heard his heartbeat. The rate was steady but slow. His respirations weren’t wet anymore, and although they were slow, his breaths were deeper.
My lips trembled, and I heaved a sigh. Not dead. I closed my eyes and whispered, “Please be okay.”
12
The sky was dark and the air crisp when I awoke. Our twin moons provided the only light, hugging high in the blackness. My body was stiff and achy, and my disorientation disappeared as soon as Tyrrik shifted beside me.
He groaned, and I sat bolt upright.
“Drak,” I mumbled, shaking off the lingering fogginess. I ran my hands over his now perfectly smooth chest, assuring myself his wound hadn’t opened again. “Tyrrik,” I said in a tight voice. “You’re al’right?”
He chuckled wearily, a low throaty sound of warm embers. “Just weak. Are you okay, Khosana?”
A tear slipped from my eye, emotions breaking away from my control. “You’re worried about me? I nearly killed you.”
His eyes found mine, slightly unfocused. “You’ve been Drae less than three days; the fault was mine. I should’ve been clearer. You saved my life.”
I sniffed, nodding my head, my chest heaving. “I thought you were dying.”
Smiling, he tugged on my hand, and I let him pull me down. Resting my head on his chest, shoulders still shaking, I listened to the steady thumping of his heart as I absorbed what he’d said. “What happened to the rocks here? Why are they covered in Phaetyn blood?”
“Maybe it’s how the Phaetyn protect their forest.” Tyrrik ran his hand over my hair, trailing his fingers down my back.
Welcome to Zivost forest.
Tyrrik’s touch was a major breach in our boundaries, but I was too tired to care. In fact, if I was honest, I craved reassurance right now. “You really would’ve died?”
His face was painted with gore, but when he smiled, my heart lifted.
“I was dying, Ryn. You saved me.”
I harrumphed and patted his chest through his torn and bloody aketon. With a deep breath, I sat up and said, “I figured I owed you.”
“How are you feeling?” Tyrrik asked, sitting and wincing with the movement.
I grimaced, watching him. I hadn’t almost died, so I had no idea why he was asking me. “Al’right. How are you?”
He smiled sardonically. “About how you’d expect. I’ll not be much help today I’m afraid.” Tyrrik shifted on the shale, the rocks rubbing against each other, and winced again. “I need to stand up; my ass is numb.”
I held my hand up to stop him from saying anything else. “I did not need to know that.” I stood, stretching more, and my muscles loosened. “I’m guessing I’m not getting steak today.” I pointed at the woods on the other side of the rock wall. “How do we get into the forest?”
Tyrrik watched me with hooded eyes. “I’m not sure. Will you help me up?”
His words were a punch to my gut, and I spun to face him. “You can’t stand?”
One glance at his stained and torn tunic, his still pale skin underneath, and his trembling hands told me he really wasn’t healed. “Didn’t I heal you?” I thought of our kiss and brought my fingers to my lips. Blushing, I wondered if he knew how I’d healed him. “Did it not work?”
He tilted his head and raised his eyebrows. “No, you did more than I could’ve imagined possible.” He frowned. “Truly.”
I helped him stand and, less than a minute later, helped him sit back down because he was too weak to maintain standing.
Tyrrik scrubbed at his face and dropped his head in his hands.
“What do you need?” I asked. Guilt churned in my gut, making me nauseated, and the hollowness in my chest was an ache I deserved. I’d almost killed him.
“Nothing,” he answered. “I’m just exhausted. I-I . . . It’s going to take me a little time to heal.” He grimaced. “A long time, judging by how I feel. I’ve never been injured this badly.”
I shook my head. “We can’t stay here for a long time. We need to meet Dyter and . . .” What was his name? “The Phaetyn guy.”
Tyrrik quirked an eyebrow, drawing a reluctant smile out of me.
“What can I do to help you heal?” My feelings for Tyrrik were a tangled mess, and seeing as I’d only admitted there was a tangled mess, I wasn’t yet sure I wanted to sort those feelings out. My chest clenched as I recalled the rock splicing through his right shoulder.
He sighed. “Kissing me might help.”
My heart thumped in my chest, and I blinked. “Are you serious?”
The prospect excited me more than it should, though witnessing Tyrrik nearly die had brought more dread than I’d expected too. I scowled as a smirk lifted the corner of his full mouth.
He reached into his pocket and drew out the ruby, extending the gem toward me as he said, “You shifted.”
“I also lost control.” I felt guilty, but I also really wanted the pretty gem. I accepted it with a smile, and tucked the ruby next to the gold trinket in my tunic. A deal was a deal.
“You earned it.” He groaned and lay flat on the rocky ground.
The first moment I got, I was going to inspect my shiny objects side by side, but for now . . . “Tyrrik, seriously, what do you need? I want to help.”
He said with a sigh, “I need to eat and sleep. I’m whole; you healed me. But I need to regain stamina.”
“What if I get some water? Will you teach me how to make nectar? Would that help?”
He blinked, and his nervousness coursed through our bond. “Yes. That would help. But I don’t have a water skin.”
I grinned and held up the empty one he’d given me before we took off. “Good thing I have mine. Just point me in the direction of water and Ryn the . . .” I wasn’t useless any more. I was . . . “Fearless shall provide.”
“Ryn the Fearless has forgotten about her new Drae senses,” he drawled, tapping his nose.
Oh, yeah. I tilted my head back, feeling the ripple of my silver hair down my back, closed my eyes, and sniffed. No good. My attention was too divided. I let the chirping and chittering of the small animals in the surrounding area fade and forced myself to tune out Tyrrik’s quickened breathing too. Water, water, water.
I sniffed again and pulled in a long inhale. Now that my other senses were muted, I focused on the scents assailing me. Tyrrik’s pine needle, smoke, and steel aroma overwhelmed everything else.
Hot potatoes, he smelled so go
od. I opened my eyes and glared at him, clambering to my feet. “I can’t smell anything with you near.”
He lifted his head and peeled his eyelids back for a brief moment. With a small smile, he asked, “Why are you still sniffing then?”
I caught myself mid-inhale. Because you smell amazing. There was no way I was going to tell him that. Oh wait, maybe I just did. Drak. “Umm,” I mumbled, trying to cover my thoughts. “Allergies.”
He snorted as he shifted on the shale, obviously not believing my lie.
As he closed his eyes, Tyrrik murmured, “Right.”
I didn’t bother responding. I turned my attention to the ground and wobbled off down the row of sharp pikes. As I got farther away from the deadly rocks, I noticed the spikes extended all around the forest in a wide, sharp band, creating a deadly barrier.
“I don’t think they want visitors,” I mumbled to myself. Clearly, the Phaetyn weren’t the welcoming type Kamoi portrayed them to be. Still, with someone like Emperor Draedyn around, I couldn’t blame them.
About a hundred paces away from the Drae, I closed my eyes. Pushing away the constant barrage of information from my skin, ears, and eyes, I inhaled again. Sorting through the smells away from Tyrrik proved much easier, and the crisp, clear scent of water sang to me.
“There’s water just over that way,” I shouted back to him, pointing away from the wall of death.
He called in a dry voice that barely reached me, despite my super sensitive hearing, “I know.”
I wrinkled my nose but said nothing. Sure, he’d known, and I was an egg with five yolks. I’d ignore his haughty attitude and lack of gratitude. Being Ryn the Fearless also meant being the bigger person. I could give the win to others on occasion—I could be gracious. I took another deep breath as I trudged over the rocks like a lumbering mule. Life as a hero wasn’t all it was cracked up to be, but I could roll.
Setting out in the opposite direction to the forest and its morbid welcoming mat, I walked, swinging the empty skin, and my weary muscles slowly released their tension and woke up. As I continued picking through the rocks, my stiffness disappeared, and my usual energy emerged. I recovered enough that I stopped walking like I was riding a horse, too, so everything was on the up and up. I glanced back at Tyrrik. He was still lying right where I’d left him, looking pretty much dead.
“Good, good.” I gave myself an inane pep talk, not believing a word of it.
I rounded a mound of large boulders, and the pointy rocks and lush forest were lost from view. My ears twitched at the faint trickle of water ahead. I sniffed, and my mouth watered. Oh yeah, there was water ahead, and for some reason it smelled really good.
I climbed up the side of the hill a short way, and a few boulder mounds later, about a quarter of the way up, I crouched by a thin stream squeezing out from between two bulky rocks. My eyes followed the filter of water where it continued down the slope, branching and twisting toward the wall of death. I squinted, focusing on where the water ran down, disappearing into the spiked rocks, in the direction of the forest.
I filled the water skin and guzzled the contents before re-filling it. The water wouldn’t sate my hunger for long, but it was all I had for now.
After taking care of my other business—that a woman didn’t want to do in close range of a man with heightened senses—I made my way back to Tyrrik.
The morning rays lit the sky, even though the sun still hid among the Gemond mountains. More light painted the horror of yesterday, vividly displaying the dried evidence all around the Drae.
“Hey,” I said, approaching him with forced cheeriness. “I found water.”
He didn’t reply, but his chest rose and fell in steady rhythm, my only reassurance he wasn’t dead. I sighed as I sat down next to him and mumbled, “Guess I’m making nectar on my own.”
I uncorked the water skin and stuck my forefinger in the hole, wiggling the digit around and thinking of nectar and Tyrrik being better as I hummed. Removing my finger, I sniffed at the contents. Still water, delicious water . . . Did its mouth-watering scent have something to do with the forest?
This nectar thing wasn’t as clear cut as I’d thought. I cracked my neck while I contemplated how I might get the water to change. Clearing my throat, I chanted, “Water, water, in the skin, turn to nectar and I’ll . . .” I paused, thinking hard for a suitable rhyming word. “Grin, win, thin . . . din?”
“What are you doing?” Tyrrik asked.
I yelped and threw the skin in the air. The liquid, still water, spilled over the rocks. Face burning, I scurried to pick the water skin up, taking my time re-corking it before turning back toward the Drae.
“Umm . . . Making nectar?” I squeaked.
The silence behind me was suspicious. Had he fallen asleep again?
I glanced over my shoulder to find Tyrrik wide awake, his expression smooth like when we were in the Quota Fields. Except his lip twitched and his eyes were watering.
“Are you okay?” I asked, crossing to him. Was he going delirious? Was that even possible?
“Fine,” he wheezed, and his hand twitched.
He didn’t sound fine, more like he’d lose consciousness any moment. I waggled the water skin over him. “Any pointers on making Drae juice? You said that would help.”
Tyrrik shut his eyes, shifting on the flat rock. “Yes. Put your finger in—”
“Tried that.”
Several moments passed before he continued. “And think of how much you want to help me. Remember you just need to will it.”
“I did,” I growled and then scrunched my nose at my own hypocrisy. Sure, I’d saved Tyrrik’s life. And yeah, in the moment, with blood everywhere and his sputtering breathing, I’d been frantic to save him. But most of the time, I didn’t want his help; I wasn’t even sure I wanted to be near him, yet part of me felt like I may need him. This Drae business was serious, what with turning into a Drae and making nectar. And, the sparkly object obsession . . . I absently patted my pocket to make sure I still had my trinkets. So, to sit under the sun now, when the danger was past, and to not only say I wanted to, but truly feel a sincere desire to . . . help Tyrrik? He’d callously broken my heart, and I wasn’t sure I could ever forgive him.
Did I want to help him?
With a sigh, I uncorked the flagon and dipped my pinky inside. I want to help Tyrrik; I want to help Tyrrik. I sniffed the flagon and sighed again.
“Maybe you could try another poem?” Tyrrik murmured, his eyes still closed.
“You did hear,” I said, aghast. How mortifying.
He didn’t answer.
I scowled because there was no way he’d been sleep-talking just now. I was beginning to understand that the Lord Drae possessed a wicked sense of humor, one which reminded me of . . . my dungeon buddy, Ty.
My heart gave a sharp pang. His humor reminded me of Ty because Ty’s humor had come from Tyrrik. Admitting that the characteristics of Ty and Tyr were real parts of the Drae scraped at a barely-healed wound. After just a few days in the Drae’s company, the gaping wound had begun to heal. I sat dumbfounded with my finger in the flagon as my heart told my head what it hadn’t yet acknowledged. I knew why he did those things; I mean, I knew why on a surface level. If I had been in his shoes, how far would I have gone to break the blood oath with Irdelron? But I wanted to know why the Drae manipulated me in the way he had. Why get me to fall in love with Tyr when Ty would’ve sufficed?
Until I had an actual explanation and apology from him, there would always be something between us. But did that mean I wanted him hurt? I took a deep breath and let my heart answer. No. Not anymore.
“That’s it,” Tyrrik croaked.
I frowned at the waterskin. “Really?”
“It will just smell like water to you, but I can smell the difference, just as you can smell the výživa I make for you.”
“Nectar!” I announced, bounding to my feet, taking his word for it. If all it took was me wanting to heal him, I’d prob
ably created the most potent nectar ever. “I have glorious nectar for you. Ryn the Fearless has provided for the incredibly weak, once again!”
Tyrrik dragged an eyelid open. His skin was sallow, and the coloring under his eyes appeared bruised. He really didn’t look great. I’m sure blood loss did that to a person . . . or a Drae. I should get some of the nectar into him pronto.
I cupped the back of his head and lifted, holding the water skin to his lips and tipping a small amount in. The muscles in his neck worked as he swallowed. I repeated the process, tipping in as much as he could handle, and then lowered his head.
He rested his hand on mine as I made to re-cork the skin.
“Thank you for making me výživa,” he whispered. “It is a great gift.”
I swallowed, staring at his forehead as I answered, “Don’t mention it. I hope it helps you heal.”
I met his eyes, and my breath caught at the blazing darkness there.
“Nothing has ever tasted so sweet,” he said in a rough voice.
His smoky scent surrounded me. My heart skipped a beat, and my mouth dried. I might want him healed, but I wasn’t going to let him hurt me again. I wriggled my hand out of his grip as my cheeks warmed. “Okay, right. Swell. Great.”
I searched for somewhere else to look and bit my lip, but my gaze returned to Tyrrik like a stupid magpie to a stupid glinting object. I rationalized my reaction by telling myself I was just checking to see if he was still awake, but his eyes were dark pools of secrets, and I couldn’t stop the desire to know their depths. Shouting caught my attention, and I reeled away from Tyrrik’s hypnotizing eyes and shot to my feet.
“People are here,” I said, enormously relieved at the timely interruption until I realized people were here. I whirled toward the voices and squeaked, “People are here.”
“Get behind me.” Tyrrik slurred from the ground.