I still have the healer in my left hand. Her face is stark with fear and shock, but she’s looking at me, not at the Tarvans, or the battle, or the gore. I draw a dagger and throw it at the man charging us. It sticks in his eye, and he crumples without a sound.
Across from me, Beta Team slices through the remaining Tarvans with ferocious efficiency. Two stumble back from their onslaught, trapped between Beta Team and me. The younger one turns my way, cocking back a small throwing ax. Griffin’s knife lands in his kidney before the man can complete the throw.
I stare across the bloody space at Griffin, my eyes telling him I could have handled the tribesman myself.
He stares back, his brilliant, battle-bright eyes telling me he knows.
The last Tarvan sloshes through the liquefied remains of his companions. His frantic eyes dart between us, me on one side, Beta Team on the other. He knows it’s over, the defeat total. Making a placating motion, he goes to lay down his sword. As the leader, Griffin steps forward to accept his surrender, but the man abruptly twists and throws his blade with a quick, powerful snap of muscle. It flies end over end and buries itself in Griffin’s chest.
My scream snuffs out the storm. Silence crashes down as magic collapses back into me. Confusion, disbelief, and the rawest pain I’ve ever felt make me stumble. I lose my grip on the healer, and she runs. I’m slow to move and then waste time chasing her down. I grab her by the hair and jerk her back while Carver sprints toward the fleeing Tarvan, ruthlessly taking his revenge.
Griffin drops to his knees, shock etched across his rapidly paling features. Tarvan swords are short. A skilled warrior can throw one with relative accuracy. It’s not a technique used in Sinta, and no one was expecting it. Griffin grips the hilt and pulls out the blade, his face turning ashen. Blood washes down his front, shiny and dark. Kato and Flynn ease him to the ground while I scramble to his side, dragging the healer down with me. My shadow falls across Griffin’s face.
“You saved us. Again.” He reaches up to touch my cheek. I try to turn into his hand, but his fingers fall too soon.
“You should have taken me with you!”
The anguish in my voice makes him frown. “How did you know?”
“Soothsayer. Remember?”
He smiles faintly and then coughs. Blood bubbles in his mouth, drips from his lips. “…thought that was a front.”
“Usually. Not always.”
His eyes lock on mine. They lack their usual piercing clarity. “My kingdom’s treasure. My treasure. So glad I found you.”
My eyes sting, and my heart aches, and I want to rip someone apart with my bare hands. He coughs, and there’s more blood. Too much blood.
“Merciless, merciless Cat.” He sounds proud of me. His voice is weakening. There’s blood everywhere. I’m kneeling in it. It’s on my hand, which is pressed to his wound. It’s in the air, damp and metallic in the dry heat.
I yank the healer’s hand down and hold it to Griffin’s chest. “Heal him.”
Her eyes are huge. “Not him. Not Hoi Polloi southern warlord scum.”
Everything in me flattens. My anger is surprisingly cold, a torrent of emotion frozen solid in an instant. I shove her hand away from Griffin and blow on it. The softest breath melts the entire appendage, leaving the charred stump of a wrist bone and mangled, blistered skin.
Her breath starts coming in short bursts. Her eyes turn unfocused. I’m afraid she’ll lose consciousness, so I give her a shake. “Heal. Him.”
She spits on me. “I’d rather die.”
There’s no searing pain, no roasted organs to tell me that she’s lying. Why would she do this? Do idiocy and prejudice run this deep? Griffin is a thousand times better than any royal Sinta has ever seen. She should be falling on her knees to kiss his feet.
I don’t have time to teach her a lesson in humanity, or to show her how little I have myself. I grab her head and squeeze. She screams as magic rips from her and jumps to me. I’ve never absorbed a healer’s power before. I’ve never actually taken any magic that wasn’t either given to me or directed at me, except that euphoria in Velos. There’s something liquid about healing magic, but it’s not a soft current. It’s a raging tide, and it hits me so hard it knocks me over.
My back hits the ground. Carver sits me up, holding me steady while I grab the healer again. Like a swamp leech, I take everything she’s got. I drain her until her skin turns gray. I drain her until she’ll regret denying me until her dying day. I drain her until she slumps to the side, limp and vacant.