52. To Save a Life
Chapter fifty-two
To Save a Life
G lass shards shredded the skirt of Solveig’s dress, biting into the exposed skin of her legs as she crawled to him.
“We need a healer.” Wrenn shouted.
No one came to save the enemy.
They were alone.
Wrenn’s gaze flew to the princess. “Please. Don’t let him die.”
“I. I can’t,” Solveig stuttered. “I never learned that type of magic.” Her chest tightened with despair. This couldn’t be happening, she thought, not again.
Emmerich convulsed, foaming at the mouth. His usually warm brown skin turned ashen. The acrid, bitter scent that Solveig had caught earlier invaded her senses. Potent now. When still no one came forward, Wrenn looked at her again.
“Try.”
Solveig stared helplessly at the woman who, not thirty minutes ago, had reminded her of the pile of bodies she’d stacked up behind her over the years. She couldn’t save the prince. They’d curated her magic to destroy, not rescue. But she knew she couldn’t sit there and watch him take his last breaths and know she had done nothing to stop it.
Slowly, achingly slow, Solveig reached out a hand. Laying it on the prince’s exposed neck. Feeling for his pulse. It was weak, but it was there. He was still there, his skin cold and clammy beneath her shaking fingers.
Closing her eyes, she searched down deep within her. Stretching her magic, unsure whether it would be enough. The darkness reared its head, answering her call. Waiting to devour, but she held it back, searching for something else. Anything else.
She could sense it. The bitterness that surrounded the prince was in his blood. Swimming through his body, aiming straight for his heart. This was something she could stop, or at least she could try. Either way, he was dead.
The Reaper held the prince’s life in her hands as he lay dying on the floor. With every shallow inhale and even weaker exhale, his chest did not move. As the death knell approached, everything that made him, him, was slowly slipping away.
She opened her eyes, hand shaking as it reached for the split of her dress, to the hidden thigh holster releasing her dagger. She grasped the jewelled hilt, bringing the shining tip to his throat, when Wrenn grabbed her arm, eyes wide.
“What are you doing?”
“I am no healer, Commander. I’m going to save him the only way I know how.”
“You’ll kill him.”
“He’s dead, anyway.”
They stared at each other for a beat before Wrenn finally released her arm. Solveig wasted no time slicing into the side of the prince’s neck. The dagger clattered to the floor beside her as she placed her hand over the wound. Reaching out to her magic once more. Just his blood, she told herself. Nothing else. Drain the poisoned blood and he may live, lose control and…
Her head snapped to the Commander’s. “Take his wrist.” Her lips trembled as she thrust her dagger towards her. “If his pulse strengthens, his colour returns, his chest rises, anything, and I don’t stop, you take me down.”
Wrenn didn’t respond as she grasped the weapon.
“I need your word, Commander,” Solveig pleaded, her voice shaking.
“I promise. Now save him,” Wrenn cried, her grip tightened on the dagger.
Solveig nodded, closing her eyes once more. Reaching out to her waiting power, this time she let the darkness rip free. The prince’s blood flowed from his neck, pooling on the ground between them, staining all in its path.
Her plan was dangerous. There was always the risk that the poison had spread too far. That she could drain too much. She was a murderer playing a healer the only way she knew how.
As more of the prince’s blood drained, she tasted the acrid bitterness begin to fade. Her arm shook. Breaths becoming laboured as pain ripped through her skull. She felt something dripping from her nose, mixing with the prince’s blood on the floor.
“Solveig?” she heard Wrenn stammer through the haze of her power.
The commander’s eyes fixed on the blood trickling from her nose, stark against her pallid skin and the white of her dress. But Solveig didn’t stop. Would not stop until every drop of that bitterness left his body, no matter the cost.
As her vision faded, and her mind blacked out. That bitter taste vanished, and she could feel the prince’s strong pulse against her hand. She used everything inside her. Screaming mentally and outwardly as she ripped her hand away and caged the darkness. Falling backward on the glass, the tiny shards biting into her skin.
Emmerich coughed.
Once.
Twice.
He was alive.
He was breathing.
And the Reaper of Luxenal had just used her darkest power to save a life in front of a crowd of her parents’ most trusted advisors. A few minutes passed before a group of servants rushed over with a bed sheet instructed by Teris. They placed the prince atop it and made their way toward his chambers. Solveig and Wrenn followed behind them. As the doors to the ballroom closed, she heard Prince Killian shout.
“Grab a drink, restart the music, and someone clean this mess up.” The ball resumed on Killian’s command as if a prince of the realm hadn’t almost died before their very eyes.