Now that the worst of my fear and rage had passed, my thoughts cleared.
We needed to take one of them alive if we wanted to find who was stalking Sia.
To my right, one of my guards fought a tall woman with black hair and a scar across her cheek. I tucked the pendant into my pocket and strode toward them. The woman was distracted by the fight against my man. I caught his attention and mouthed mine.
He lowered his sword and stepped back abruptly. For the briefest moment, she paused in surprise. I used it to my advantage, grabbing her from behind and gripping her throat. She thrashed, trying to swipe backwards with her sword to hit me. I knocked it from her grip, tightening my hand on her throat.
“Who sent you?” I demanded.
She growled but said nothing.
I squeezed harder. “Who sent you?”
“Fuck you,” she croaked.
“Who was the man with the yellow eyes? One of yours?”
She growled, trying to shake me off.
“Who was he?”
She laughed low, a choked sound. “Just one of the committed, and we will have her yet.”
I spun her around. “What the hell does that mean?”
She just grinned, a dark smile. Wariness shot through me. There was something off about her.
“The witch with the deathly magic will come for you yet.” She reached up to grip the vial that hung from a cord around her throat. She squeezed tightly, and I heard the faint sound of breaking glass. A small plume of powder rose up from the broken vial, and she breathed in deeply. A bit of it wafted toward me. Though I held my breath, a small amount went in my mouth.
I released her and stumbled back, coughing.
Poison.
She dropped to the ground, twitching as her eyes rolled back in her head.
I choked on the foul taste, my throat tightening. Dragging breath into my lungs was difficult, but I managed to get enough to clear my head.
Dain appeared at my side and clapped me on the back. “Are you all right?”
“Yes.” My voice sounded rough, and my throat felt like I’d swallowed nails, but the worst of it had passed. “I only breathed a small amount.”
Dain looked down at the woman, who lay dead at our feet.
“She’s a zealot,” he said. “Why else would she kill herself?”
“Some mercenaries are committed to the death, but I agree.” I frowned down at her corpse. “She doesn’t wear the same emblem as the others. She’s not a mercenary.”
“Then definitely a zealot.”
I nodded, turning to search for Sia. The battle had died down, our side victorious. The bodies of the enemy lay scattered throughout the forest, and I spotted Sia leaning against a tree and panting. A body lay at her feet.
I strode to her, desperately grateful to find her safe. She looked from the body to me, her face pale, and her eyes dark.
I frowned. “Are you all right?”
“I’m—” She swayed, drawing in a shuddering breath. “I think—”
She collapsed, her body sliding down the tree to the ground.
Fear lanced me, and I sprinted to her, going to my knees at her side.
“Sia.” I searched her body for wounds, seeking the telltale sign of blood soaking through clothing. There were a few shallow cuts—one on her right arm, her waist, her shoulder. Nothing grievous enough to cause her to pass out, though.
“Healer!” My shout cut through the quiet of the forest, and several birds launched themselves from the trees, shrieking as they flew toward the sky.
I had no idea if the healer had come with us, but I prayed she had. Gently, I swept Sia into my arms and stood.
Dain strode toward me. “What happened?”
“I don’t know. Did Merebeth come?”
“I’m here!” She ran through the forest, her cheeks red from exertion. She stopped in front of us, panting. “What happened to her?”
“I don’t know. One moment, she was fine and fighting. The next, she was pale and glassy eyed. Then she collapsed.”
Merebeth frowned. “Poison?”
I looked down at the body of the man she’d felled. There was no broken vial at his throat, nor a mercenary’s charm. “I don’t think so.” I met Merebeth’s gaze, fear welling inside me. “Fix her. Please.”
“Let me see.” She frowned, her brow creasing in concentration, and laid her hand on Sia’s stomach. Her magic swelled on the air, and her frown deepened. “Her magic feels bruised. Torn, maybe.”
“Torn? What does that mean?”
“I’m not sure. Just describing what I feel. It’s unusual.”