Thirty more seconds have passed.
Dread is stacking up in my gut like the heavy bricks of an insurmountable wall. It feels as if I’m counting the increments of Auren’s soul slipping away bit by bit.
I’ve seen what happens when I wait too long to reverse the rot, and I know just how damaging it is. I know how much danger I put her in.
Guilt ravages me for what I’ve done, for the magic holding her hostage, but my resolve to keep her safe hardens. I spare another glance behind me, but Ranhold is now out of view, the clouds blocking the kingdom completely.
From the corner of my eye, I see a dark shadow cut through the clouds, and I’m not at all surprised at the timberwing and rider that swoops in. The beast’s size somehow makes even Osrik look small in comparison. He watches me wordlessly, hands tight on the reins, and I give a nod.
I hope I’ve gone far enough, because I don’t dare wait a second longer. With a tug on the reins, I make Argo dive. My timberwing lets out a call, and I curl over Auren, bracing for our descent.
When Osrik sees I’m making to land, he lets out a sharp whistle and follows suit. In the distance, I can hear the call of more timberwings answering back.
Where I go, my Wrath follows.
My eyes burn with the force of the wind that rushes up at me as we continue to drop, cutting through heavy clouds saturated with the impending storm.
The lines of power along my jaw writhe and snap as I monitor the link of my magic now swirling inside of Auren. Rot. Corrosion. Death. It doesn’t belong anywhere near her, and yet, I put it there.
I fucking hate it.
My knees lock in as I lean forward and grip the hold of my timberwing’s strap. “Come on…” I murmur.
Maybe Argo can feel my rushing panic, because he somehow manages to dive even faster. Water freezes at the corners of my squinting eyes, and my heart pounds against my chest loud enough to compete with the rushing wind.
“Almost,” I say against her hair. “Just hold on a few seconds more.”
Finally, we cut through the last of the mist and clouds, only to be greeted by the frozen ground below, brandishing the world like a sheet of gray. When it looks like we’re going to crash right into it, Argo lifts up at the last moment and swoops in a circle right alongside Osrik’s timberwing before both land on their taloned feet, kicking up a spray of snow like the sea crashing into the hull of a ship.
My frozen fingers are already unhooking the buckle holding me in place. I slip down, taking the impact of the jump with my knees so as not to jar Auren too much. Before I can take a single step forward, Os is there, ripping off his cloak and laying it on the ground just as I see more timberwings landing like shadowed spectators.
“Stay back,” I call over my shoulder.
I lay Auren down on the cloak, the faintest traces of rotten lines stretching up the veins in her neck. Her hair is spilled in a halo around her, somehow gleaming even in the darkness. She looks so small with my cloak tucked around her, so lifeless.
I kneel over her, immediately focusing as I snap my eyes closed. My magic is there, clinging to her prone form like a poison. Unnatural decay is slogging through her veins and withering the heart in her chest. It’s slinking up her deteriorating throat, barred by her unmoving lips.
Tension rolls through me. Instinctually, I want to yank the magic out of her as quickly as possible, but I’ve found pulling it out too fast is like ripping a blade from a wound. I don’t want to do any more damage than I’ve already done.
Carefully, I call the power back inch by inch so as not to shock her system. Behind me, I can hear the murmured words of the rest of my Wrath, uncertain footsteps shifting in the snow, timberwings chuffing at one another, and thunder from the clouds we just departed signaling a cold front blowing in.
I shove all of that away and keep my awareness on the magic coursing through her. Like the roots of a weed, I drag it out as gently as I can manage. Fingers dig through soil, removing the rotten stasis I buried her in, letting her body reacclimate. I’m meticulous, lifting each bit of corrupted patches like drying clay, ridding it piece by cracked piece.
Despite the biting air, sweat beads at my temples. My teeth clench as I pull the power back to me, back to the recesses carved from my veins to simmer in my own spoils. I get it all out of her, until there’s just one single fragment left. One seed left buried in the center of her chest.
Yet when I call to it, try to unearth it from her depths, I find resistance. Instead of withdrawing like the rest, this piece sinks in its thorns as if it’s trying to stay.