I lift the injured man into my arms, blankets and all. To me, he’s as light as a leaf, even though he’s big and strong and would probably feel like he weighed a ton if my old self was carrying him.
I bring him outside, where I’m promptly met with the point of a sword.
The lad’s arm trembles as he places the tip of his sword close to my neck.
“Kastel, put the sword down.” Finley’s voice is calm. Her scent surrounds me; warm, sweet, and utterly intoxicating. I don’t dare glance behind me.
“Fin, who the fuck is this guy?” The lad is having none of it. I don’t blame him. I wouldn’t trust me, either. “What is he doing? What can he even do when Aderick’s in this state?” His voice cracks. Desperation and fury fill his words.
A dangerous combination.
“If you want your brother to live, then lower your sword and listen to me,” I say softly. “I’m taking him to the best healer in Tyron. I can get him there faster than anyone else. The three of you will continue toward Tyron Castle. An escort will meet you along the way.”
“You’d better do as you say, because we are guests of the Archduke, and he will hear of this,” Kastel threatens.
Given the circumstances, it’s a reasonable thing to do.
“I’m sure he will,” I say mildly.
“If my brother dies…”
“If I get him to the healer on time, he won’t die.” I have that much faith in my physician’s abilities.
Unable to help myself, I steal a glance at the strange woman; this Finley, who is apparently my betrothed.
She’s standing in the middle of the road, staring at me with wide eyes. The wind whips at her unbound hair, scattering the rich brown tendrils. Her complexion is pale. I must’ve taken a little too much from her. I see the faint evidence of my momentary madness at the base of her neck—two tiny puncture marks, surrounded by the faintest of bruising.
I’m not going to lie to myself. I would gladly drink from her again.
What am I going to do with this unexpectedly alluring creature?
She crosses her arms and glares at me, chin thrust forward, jaw set in a stubborn line. I get the feeling she’s going to curse me to all eternity if anything happens to this poor lad in my arms.
Very well.
I’ll do everything in my power to make sure he lives.
I tip my head in acknowledgment.
Then I move, faster than the human eye can follow, leaving her sharp intake of breath in my wake.
10
CORVAN
It doesn’t take me long to reach the gates of my castle.
Edinvar—immovable heart. Mountain Fortress. Tyron Castle. They’re all names for the imposing stone structure that rises up out of the vast forest, crowning an impressive stone hill that gives it spectacular views out across the city of Sanzar and the vast lands of southern Tyron.
Built by my ancestors when the Rahavan Empire was newly formed, it’s the last bastion of civilization before the hills rise into the unforgiving mountain ranges of Khatur.
Many would consider Edinvar crude and unrefined, but I like it. It’s highly defensible. I find it incredibly reassuring. In some places, the stone walls are as thick as my entire armspan.
Most importantly, it’s quiet.
I return the way I came—through the rear gates, which are normally reserved for soldiers and supply carts and the like.
The sentry atop the wall is a solemn figure. He stands with his halberd in one hand, crossbow at the ready, silently watching the forest from above the parapet.
Not everyone rests on Seinmas.
There’s always someone on guard.
I glance up, and we lock eyes. He greets me with a respectful salute, eyebrows lifting at the sight of the wounded lad in my arms. “Do you need assistance, Your Highness?”
“I’ll sort the lad out. Go and find Captain Kinnivar,” I order. “There’s a party of three headed this way on the Central Road. He’s to send an escort to meet them. I want them to be given meals and rooms in the East Wing. They are to be treated as honored guests—but also closely watched.”
Fearing the kid’s life is about to slip away, I increase my speed again. To the guard, I’d appear as nothing but a blur, but he barely reacts as I leave him.
My men are used to this kind of thing by now.
I cross the courtyard, following the path along the walls until I reach the entrance to a tall circular tower.
The heavy wooden doors creak faintly as I push them open and go inside. Holding the boy as steady as possible, I make my way up the stone staircase. He’s light in my arms, like a child’s toy. The uneven steps are nothing beneath my feet; I feel weightless, almost as if I could levitate.
Everything is easier.
More detailed.
More excruciating.
In a heartbeat, I’m in the large, circular chambers at the top, poring over a detailed scientific text alongside Vinciel Sacrosan, my brilliant healer, and formerly medicin-chief of the armies under my command.
“Ciel,” I say quietly, from over his shoulder. Ciel is what he prefers to be called.
He jumps out of his seat, the wooden chair hitting the floor with a clatter. “Hecoa be damned,” he blurts. “Could you at least knock or something? You disrupted my flow-state. Iacovo’s Compendium of Quaternian Physics is not a text that one simply—” Vinciel’s mouth clamps shut as he realizes what’s in my arms. His attention shifts like lightning. One look at the lad’s face, and he’s immediately grasped the gravity of the situation. “It was quicker to bring him straight to me, wasn’t it? Well, if you want me to save his life, then you’ll do exactly what I say.”
I tip my head obligingly. “What do you need?”
“What’s the damage?”
“I haven’t dared check the wound. Impaling from a blade is what I’ve been told. He’s obviously lost a lot of blood. Too much.” I’ve seen many such injuries on the battlefield. I’ve held men in my arms as they died, watching the life fade from their eyes. There’s a feeling when you see death take hold; a certain kind of dread. And the thought comes—or at least, it used to: tomorrow, that could be me.
Suddenly, her face blazes bright in my mind. I can’t forget that fierce look of hers. If this boy dies, then surely she will curse me for all eternity.
But death does as she pleases.
“Just save his life, won’t you, Ciel?”
“Lay him on the table.” Vinciel removes his gold-rimmed glasses, folding them and slipping them into his pocket. He rolls up his shirtsleeves and ties his long golden hair at the nape of his neck. He goes over to the basin and fills it, dipping his hands and forearms into the water. Then he starts to scrub, raising a soapy lather. “Do not unwrap his bindings until I say. That green chest of drawers over there. Third drawer from the top. Get me all of the gauze. And in the top drawer, there’s a blue bottle of ether. I need the wooden instrument-case from that desk over there. Open it, lay it beside the patient, where I can easily reach.”
I lay the young man on the table and gather the equipment, exactly as Vinciel has instructed. I think nothing of the fact that he’s issuing me commands as if I’m some young apprentice.
In Vinciel’s lair, even the Archduke of Tyron defers to his knowledge and expertise.