12 Theodore #2
Lachlan hadn’t budged.
“I said leave.”
He shook his head. “I promised her I wouldn’t.”
“You wouldn’t what?”
“Leave her alone with you.” Lachlan held my stare for a breath. “She’s not—”
“Fuck you, Lachlan.” Anger, terror, was tightening around my neck like a sturdy rope.
He stopped, swiped his face. “She’s not herself.
Her power… it isn’t normal now.” He glanced at Imogen, then back to me.
“She’ll have to tell you the rest herself, but I cannot leave you alone with her.
If she hurts you—” He shook his head like it was unfathomable.
“And if she knows I broke my word—” He swiped his thumb across his throat.
“The best I can do,” he finally said, “is turn my back.”
Dark red sand seeped between my fingers. I’d already started sending my power through her, but the blood still flowed. Perhaps Eftan’s blade had damaged the spell. I couldn’t close the kelp, and I couldn’t heal her with it still fused to her flesh. Panic skittered through my chest. “Shit.”
“What is it?” Lachlan glanced over his shoulder, alert.
“I have to remove the spell.”
Lachlan squeezed his eyes shut, and mumbled, “Bloody fuck.”
I’d had no Godsdamned right trying to use my power against a spell, but that line I’d read in Jesop’s book came screaming back to me.
A Mage’s magic and a God’s power are two edges of the same perfectly balanced sword.
We’d caught up to the heavy clouds that had haunted the northern horizon. They banked the afternoon light and sent a chill wind gusting through the windows and across Imogen’s clammy skin. She let out a deep moan.
“You’ll be all right,” I whispered. “I’ve got you.
” I forced more power through my hands, more than I’d ever used.
It was the first time I’d ever needed to touch to heal, and somehow it was still not enough.
Sweat beaded over my body, my breaths sawed.
It was as if the spell dodged my efforts, feinting and burrowing, but I gave chase.
I was shaking from my efforts, turning cold and ill, when the blackened line of flesh at the edge of her wound began to morph back into a smooth golden brown.
The kelp there began to curl away, and my heart began to steady.
I moved my hands to the next bit of skin in need of healing, when Imogen sucked in a scraping breath. Her eyes flew open, honey gold and rimmed in red. They locked with mine before they flicked down to where my hands pressed into her stomach.
Her face crumpled. “Theo.” She tried to roll away from me, but I stopped her. “No. No, no, no.”
I dug my fingers into her skin. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you.”
She struggled against my hold, talons extending. “No. Please.”
“I’m helping you. Imogen, let me help you.”
The next moment her whole body seized. Her chin tipped back, teeth bared, as a massive gush of sandy red sludge began to spew through the opening in the kelp. It bubbled up and rolled across her abdomen like a geyser, spilling toward the bedding.
“Lach, get the healer,” I shouted.
Lachlan spun. “I’m not leaving this cabin—”
More gritty blood poured forth, more than I imagined could ever fit inside her body.
She convulsed and gasped, just as she had after she’d taken the severing draught.
When I glanced up at her contorted face, a line of crimson dribbled from the corner of her mouth. “Lachlan, get the fucking healer, now.”
He stood there, staring, not heeding my command. Instead, he lifted his sword higher.
“Please, Lach. Get the healer.” More and more blood. I felt her slipping from me. “She can’t die.”
“Bloody fucking Gods, Theo.” Lachlan’s terror-wide eyes darted between me and Imogen, and then finally, finally, he was moving.
He threw open the door, sword still in his hand.
I kept pouring forth my power, and while the ruined skin around the wound was returning to a healthy smooth state, the filth that filled the gash still pushed its way out.
I heard Lachlan shouting for the healer just before Imogen arched and began screaming through her teeth.
She shook and thrashed. “No. Imogen, stop.” I moved further onto the mattress, throwing my leg over both of hers, pinning her still. I didn’t ease the onslaught of my power, forcing it deeper into her despite the way the wound leaked. Despite the way she fought and whimpered.
Tears poured from the corners of her eyes. Her hands clamped onto my wrists, and she squeezed tight, trying to pull them off.
“Immy.” I gave her a jolt. “Let me help you.”
For a moment, the fight went out of her limbs. Her mouth tugged down at the corners and her grip on my forearms eased, leaving her talons to rest gently against my skin. She stared up at me, dazed and fatigued, when something foreign lit her golden eyes. Something like hunger. Like need.
Her tongue swiped across her lower lip as she pressed her talons into my forearms until they hurt. “Help me.”
Gods. Her begging nearly cleaved me in two. Lachlan and Healer Carras raced in.
“Oh my Gods,” Carras breathed, eyes riveted on the bloody mess spread over Imogen’s stomach and the bed around her. Seeing such worry upon their usually composed face only brought me dread. “It’s a spell, Your Majesty. There may be no fixing it.”
“No.” I pressed harder on Imogen’s stomach, making her scream. Her heart thudded irregularly; her breaths had become a dry, shallow wheeze. The realization that healing her might be beyond my power was starting to sink into me like ripping fangs. “I demand your assistance.”
Carras didn’t delay, climbing onto the mattress and pressing their hands around my own, joining their power with mine.
Imogen still clung to my forearms, trembling from the onslaught.
The blood and sand didn’t slow, but the kelp that had been fused with Imogen’s skin had loosened completely. I peeled it away.
“Lachlan, get water and a cloth.” I needed to clean the wound before closing it. Lachlan came with a washbasin and rag. The healer reached for it and brought it to Imogen’s stomach, just as she sank her talons deep into my forearms.
I growled through my teeth at the sting.
“Your Majesty, stop,” Carras said as they reached for Imogen’s wrists and pulled. “It’s no use.”
“No. Keep. Going.”
The healer grimaced but pressed their hands back against Imogen’s stomach. Lachlan lifted his sword and positioned it over her, poised to drive it into her chest.
“Put that down,” I yelled, sweat dripping over my brow.
It wasn’t Imogen that I feared. It was the terrifyingly foreign feeling of my power draining. It had always flowed endlessly. A chill crept through my body as it dwindled. My blood poured from my arms, rolling over Imogen’s hands.
For a moment our gazes locked and I took her in. The white sheets, the dark spill of her hair, of her sandy blood. The too slow beat of her heart. “Imogen.” She went suddenly limp. Her hands fell away from my forearms. The gash in her stomach stopped oozing sand.
I grasped either side of her waist and shook her.
“Imogen?” I leaned closer, running my hands over her arms, her neck.
I reached for the still-open wound in her stomach.
It was smaller now, perhaps the size it had been when she’d first been stabbed.
I pressed a finger to its edge, when it began to bleed again, but this time it spilled pure, bright red blood.
As if from a new wound.
The healer shook their head, awed. “You removed the spell.”
The spell that had kept her alive. Now, I realized, the death wound was free to take her.
Something overcame me then. Some singular, unnerving drive that I had never felt before.
I’d thought I’d been emptied, but a new surge of my power came, so strong that it scorched.
I fought deep tremors. I thought my palms would melt where they touched Imogen, but I did not relent. I would not let her die like this.
“Your Majesty, careful.”
Lachlan drew closer, sword still at the ready. “Theo.”
Imogen’s breaths had nearly stopped. I couldn’t sense her heartbeat through my panic, but finally, the edges of her wound began to stretch toward one another, a network of fleshy threads fighting to become a tight weave.
As darkness stained the edge of my vision, the skin fully closed, leaving behind a rippling scar.
I shook out an exhale. Her heart was stronger; her breaths began to even out.
I was covered in red, sticky grit, but I dragged my trembling thumb over her taut skin, marveling at it as the reality of what had just occurred settled over me.
It had taken nearly all of me—even now I was on the brink of collapse—but my power had banished a spell.
I climbed from Imogen’s still-limp body and settled on the edge of the bed, where I tried to wipe some of the viscera from my hands. Never once did I take my eyes from her. Color was slowly rising to her tearstained cheeks. I brushed a knuckle across her chin, then a finger over her temple.
I leaned in to whisper. “Immy?”
Her eyes fluttered open, looking tired but bright, and locked with mine. A warm, magnificent smile spread slowly over her face. “There you are, dearest.” Her voice was husky and low as she reached up for me, talons still bared. “I’ve waited so long.”
Lachlan shoved me back. He dragged Imogen—far too roughly—from the bed and hoisted her up into his arms. She gave a groan as her head lolled back, arms swaying loosely.
I was struck still, stunned as Lachlan carried Imogen toward the cabin door. Something alien had hung in her gaze. Her voice had been too smooth, too honeyed, and yet I’d nearly leaned in closer. I’d been eager to. My stomach churned.
Lachlan stopped at the door. “See to Eftan,” he said, grimly. “If she’s killed him, I doubt you’ll be able to save her a second time.” Then they were gone.