34. Familiar Faces
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Familiar Faces
“There are not many to be Awakened,” Liadan said, reclining on the cushioned chair around the table where the teas and crumpets had been placed. Cassiel left me with Tabby and Liadan in the parlor nearest the entryway while he went to check on Abrax.
It shouldn’t have surprised me—there was only one way out and one way in. Or perhaps he had allowed it because I had shouted at him.
I took a sip of my tea. The warm liquid traveled down my throat, settling comfortingly in my stomach.
“How did you know I would be . . .” Liadan trailed off.
“It was pure chance,” I said. “Had it not worked on you, I would have told Morak about it and he could do the rest.”
But I had been proven right.
“We spent all night checking our people.” Liadan rubbed his temple and slumped against the back of the chair. “I am exhausted.”
“Why aren’t you sleeping?”
He rolled his head to the side to stare at me.
“Your bondmate came to request protection for you. Seems like he trusts me more than any other bloke around here.” He shrugged.
“But donae be mistaken, he warned me not to lay a finger on you.” He chuckled, watching me with a glint in his eyes. “He quite likes you.”
“He likes having a willing body,” I muttered. Even to my ears it sounded so dead.
“You said yourself that being bondmates does not mean you care for another. It is the urges that come with it,” Tabby reproached. “Perhaps he does care for you.”
“I do not believe he would if I were not his bondmate. He loathed me upon meeting me. When he discovered I was a redblood, I was sure I would be slaughtered then and there.” My fingers curled into the arms of the seat I had taken. “No, I do not think he cares for me.”
Liadan paled. Only one person could put that familiar look on his face. I winced, but kept myself composed. Tabby cleared her throat.
“Your Highness,” she mumbled.
I made a show of straightening my shoulders and turned. “Ah, my lord, how is Abrax?” I asked, my tone impersonal. Cassiel’s face was stiff, and he continued staring at me.
‘My lord?’
I did not react to his voice in my head. Only because I knew him on a personal level did I understand that the stillness on his face indicated anger.
“Get the healer!” a shout echoed through the cavernous parlor.
I set my teacup down as many people rushed toward the entrance. “Should we go?” I asked, frowning.
“No, let us wait for them to clear the area. We do not want to be a hindrance.” Tabby took a sip from her tea. From the other circular table where other groups were joined, the women remained still. “It sounds like people seeking refuge. We have a specific alarm that will sound if it is a threat.”
A sharp scream ripped through the halls.
“Now that sounds concerning.” Tabby placed her cup aside and stood. Her gown swayed around her as she walked out. I followed behind her, brushing past Cassiel. He reached for my arm, and I avoided his grip, glaring up at him. He drew straight, but another scream had me rushing.
I neared the circular entrance by the base of the stairs. Bodies compacted the space, making it difficult to see where they stared.
“Get her away from here. That will contaminate all of us.”
“Please, we need help. We are not working with the council.”
That voice . . .
“What if they sent them for—”
All other voices swam into the background. I began to shove through the crowd. One of the men I had to push turned with a shout. He looked over my shoulder at my intimidating shadow and paled, moving to the side.
“We know Damien Rinx. He told us how to get here.”
“And where is Damien?” Archer’s tone held a healthy dose of disbelief.
“We had to leave him behind west of here. He has taken to hiding. He sent us ahead because of Vera.”
“Let me through!” I shouted. “Branwen! Vera!” A crowd of ten men compacted the space.
“Miss, you should get behind,” Stewart, one of the older redblood men I met after arriving, said softly to me.
“Amara?” Branwen cried back.
“I’m here!” I shoved forward another bit.
‘For Saint’s sake, Amara, wait.’ I ignored Cassiel’s chastisement.
The group of men parted.
Branwen and Vera came into view. Dirt smudged their faces. They wore basic black gowns with snags and twigs clinging to the fabric.
“Amara, something is wrong with Vera. I do not know,” she sobbed, readjusting Vera’s arm over her shoulder.
“I am . . .” Vera started as her weight rested more heavily on Branwen. I lunged to catch her other side.
“I worry it is too far gone,” Branwen whispered.
Every single individual near us took a step back.
“Get her out of here—”
“She will infect us all—”
Voices exploded around us.
“It is not contagious by touch,” I snapped. “Archer, help me hold her up.”
He strode forward and took her arm from my side. I crouched before her and lifted the hem of the dress.
A wound spanned her ankle. Blue blood crusted the edges, and thin lines spiked outward from it. In one small section, the wound edges had begun to turn green.
There were no pockets of pus yet. Nor had the flesh around the wound turned green. Al had done so many experiments. He’d droned on so many theories and estimations, and there was only one path I could see ahead.
“We need to get her on a table.”
Tabby finally pushed through, having a much easier time of it than I did.
“Get Lucinda. Tell her to prepare for an amputation.”
Not one person moved. I looked up at Archer.
“Finley, go. Have them prepare the dining chamber,” he ordered. The young man with seemingly only twenty annum rotations took off at a sprint. Archer caught my gaze. “It is well lit.”
I jerked my chin down.
“Wait—Damien,” Vera slurred, grabbing Archer’s arm. She squeezed the fabric between her bloody fingers. I stood, brushing off the dust and dried blood on my palms.
“He is wounded near the main road,” Branwen added. “I could not help them both, and he forced me to bring Vera.”
“Jude,” Archer barked out and swooped Vera up in his arms. Jude detached from the group of men that had begun to push people back and direct them to return to what they were doing. The crowd dissipated and Jude neared, hand on the hilt of his sword. “Damien is near the main road.”
Jude nodded, already walking away. “Wilem!” He motioned for another man to follow. They both disappeared.
Archer was already striding away. I rushed to follow him.
At the section where the path broke in two, he went left.
A hand slipped into mine, and I looked over at Branwen and squeezed.
We crossed various doors until we reached another break off and he took the right.
At the end of this path was a rounded open door.
Light spilled out from inside. He easily stepped over the lip.
I followed him inside, letting go of Branwen’s hand.
Lucinda and Tabby were already there with various glinting blades, a bowl of water, and a bottle of alcohol, which explained the heavy scent upon entering.
Perfect. Lucinda had disinfected everything.
“What will you do, Amara?” Branwen’s voice trembled.
“Try to save her life. It is all we can do.” I rolled my sleeves up. Archer laid Vera on the surface covered with a bedsheet.
“You said amputation,” Vera breathed.
“Saints!” Branwen slurred, staggering. I took hold of her arm before she toppled. “She will lose her foot? Her ankle? Her leg?—”
“Do it.” Vera lifted her head, sweat beading on her temples.
Tabby took my spot helping Branwen steady herself.
It freed me to walk over to Lucinda. She watched the blades with her features stiff.
I shook out of my doze. There was no time to lose.
I wound my grip into the hem of her dress and tore it, stopping as it reached Vera’s thighs.
Her hands resting on her belly trembled.
“Is there anything we can give her so she loses consciousness?” I asked, removing her slipper and turning the leg to and fro to determine how far the infection had reached.
“No,” Tabby said, standing beside me. “We ran out of potions and supplies a sennight ago.”
“Does anyone have a gift that could help?” Tabby was already shaking her head at Branwen’s plea. “If only Hester were here.”
I stilled my hand a bit above her ankle where the warmth of the Plague ended. I did have Hester’s gift. My hand shook, but I stretched to grasp her hand, closing my eyes.
“What is she doing?” an onlooker remarked.
I paid it no mind. Upon touching her skin, I concentrated on thinking of her sleeping. I imagined her falling into unconsciousness. Nothing happened. No swell of sensation, no pressure. I hissed a breath out.
What had I been feeling when it happened?
Egan had been about to crush the lower half of Cassiel’s body. I had been scared and angry. I closed my eyes and imagined myself back then. Egan’s fingers flexing around the effigy and about to push down to shatter Cassiel.
The tension in my stomach eased, and a zap stung my hand. I yanked it back.
Branwen reached and shook Vera’s shoulder, then reached a finger under her nose. “She’s unconscious.”
Archer’s look sharpened on me. “How did you do that?”
“That is a question for later,” Tabby snapped.
I quickly tied a strip of fabric as tightly as I could, high on her leg, to help slow her bleeding.
Lucinda stepped around to the other side of the table.
She held one end of the saw’s handle. I grabbed the other side.
Gritting my teeth, I pulled toward me, then she pulled toward her.
Carefully, we sawed to and fro. Sweat beaded on my temples.
The first layer of skin was the easiest. Blood welled and spilled from the line of the saw. Branwen ran from the chamber sobbing.
“I need a moment,” Archer garbled, releasing the grip he had on the leg. The sound of retching came from him. Her leg flesh flared outward, displaying the raw pink flesh. Blue blood leaked from her wound.
“We have to finish cutting.” If not, we risked the infection spreading.
I searched for another pair of hands. Cassiel leaned against the wall, arms crossed.
‘Need my help?’