“You waking up uninjured was more pressing than a vague, rather unhelpful message from the gods,” he replied as we entered the banquet hall, and I almost tripped.
“You cannot be serious,” I stated.
He frowned. “I’m completely serious.”
There was no way he was being honest. The omen was far more important than anything that had to do with me. When was the last time the gods had sent any sort of message? There was nothing in the history books, and even if there had been, it was doubtful it would’ve been accurate.
But there was something more pressing than the blood tree, and it was what awaited us here.
The injured had been placed in a room adjacent to the banquet hall. Before the doors even opened, I could feel the pain radiating through the stone walls. My pulse tripped, even though my steps didn’t slow.
Casteel stepped in before me, and was immediately greeted by Alastir.
“I see you’ve returned,” Casteel said as I took in the room, thoughts of the blood tree fading. Six cots were set up, all of them occupied by men, except the last one. Red stained the bandage around her neck. I recognized her. One of the knights had grabbed her, and I was surprised to see that she had survived. But her skin was only a shade away from death, and she was impossibly still. An older woman sat beside her, hands pressed together as her lips moved in a silent prayer.
“And I see I should’ve returned earlier,” Alastir commented.
“You returned soon enough, according to Elijah.” Casteel clasped the older wolven’s hand. “I heard you and your men took care of the rest of the knights.”
Alastir nodded absently as he surveyed the room, lips set in a thin line. “Damn them. These people didn’t deserve this.”
“The Ascended will pay.”
“Will they?” Alastir asked.
“It is a promise that won’t be broken,” Casteel answered.
Alastir let out a shuddering breath as he turned to me. “I’m glad to hear that you were safely returned, Penellaphe, and that they were unsuccessful in their attempts to retrieve you.”
Unsure of what he’d been told, I nodded as I murmured my thanks. My skin buzzed with the need to move forward. Only one, the woman, seemed to have moved beyond pain. I twisted to Casteel.
Catching my eye, he nodded. I hurried forward, to the first man. He was an older gentleman with more gray than black in his hair. I didn’t know what his injuries were, but his unfocused gray eyes tracked me. I opened myself, sucking in a sharp breath as anguish, both mental and physical, came from the beds and those perched beside them. It crowded out the air, choking and suffocating. My gaze briefly swept to the woman and then to the elder beside her. Some would not leave this room. Others knew this. Hands giving in to a slight tremor, I focused on the man before me.
“I’m sorry about what was done to you,” I whispered, and the man said not a word as I placed my hand on his.
Normally, it took a few moments for me to call upon the kind of memories that led to the easing of pain. I’d think of the sandy beaches of the Stroud Sea, of holding my mother’s hand. But this time, I felt warmth in the skin of my palm. I didn’t have to pull upon anything, only thought of taking the pain. I knew the moment my gift reached him. His mouth went lax as his chest rose with a deeper, steadier breath. I held his hand until the clouds left his eyes. He stared, but did not speak, and neither did the man beside him, one too young to carry the haunted look in his eyes. I eased his pain from whatever wounds the blanket covered and from what ran deeper. Grief. Raw and potent.
“Who did you lose?” I asked once he’d stopped trembling, aware that no one was speaking. Not Alastir. Not Casteel, who shadowed me through the room.
“My…my grandfather,” he said hoarsely. “How did you…how did you know?”
Shaking my head, I placed his arm by his side. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
Eyes followed me as I made my way to the next man and knelt. In the back of my mind, I wondered if it was Casteel’s blood that made it easier for me to use my gift or if it was because of the Culling. Either way, I was happy to find that it worked with little effort. Continuing to dwell upon happier times was not easy when death clouded the room.
The man before me was slipping in and out of consciousness, twitching and moaning softly as I placed my hand on his, channeling my energy into him. His sweat-dampened brows smoothed out within seconds.
“What did you do?” a young woman demanded as she fell to her knees beside the man, dropping an armful of clean towels. “What did she do?”