Chapter 26 Svenn
I stay with Rhianelle through the quiet hours.
The candles in the corners melt lower, wax pooling at their bases. I match her inhalations, shallow as they are. I count them like prayer beads. Each one is a small rebellion against the sentence spoken just beyond that curtain.
Six days.
That's all they've given her. That's all the healers believe Hrolf's blood has bought.
The cruelty of it. How close we came to saving her.
Rhianelle doesn't stir. Her lips part once when I shift her pillow, adjusting it to support her head better. She makes no sound, no complaint.
I touch her cheek. The heat there is fading. Hour by hour, the warmth leaches away. Her skin feels like porcelain, smooth and far too fragile.
The Hlaryan healers won't meet my eyes anymore. That's how I know we're losing her. They move around Rhianelle's bed with the carefulness reserved for the dying.
Yesterday, a group of healers arrived from Kashran at Rainer's behest. The best healers in all the elven kingdoms, masters of their craft with centuries of experience. They examined her for hours, consulted their texts and tried every remedy in their arsenal.
None of it worked.
Rhianelle lies still in the infirmary bed, her chest barely rising with each labored breath. The silver of her hair has lost its luster.
Rainer Wiolant sits by her bedside when I'm not there. He holds her hand and speaks to her in low tones, telling her stories of her childhood with her sister.
"Name your price," Rainer says to the latest healer, his voice cracking with desperation. "Anything. I'll give you diamonds from Nyrr, the Wiolant estates in the south, our entire fleet of ships, every coin in our vaults. Take it all. Just bring her back."
The healer shakes his head, the same gesture as all the others before him. "My lord, there's nothing more we can do. The blood transfusion came too late. Her body is shutting down. Her organs are failing one by one. We can make her comfortable, but we cannot stop what's happening."
"There must be something," Rainer insists. "Some spell, some herb, some ancient remedy—"
"If there were, we would use it." The healer's voice is kind but firm. "I'm sorry, Lord Wiolant. Your niece has perhaps five days remaining. Six if fortune favors her."
Garrett made the right decision to spare her uncle. At least he's doing something useful. He's trying with everything he has.
I'm useless.
All my power, all my monsters, none of it can save her.
Through the window, I catch sight of her knights in the courtyard below.
Eyepatch hasn't slept or eaten, as far as I've seen. Red sits on a bench nearby, head in his hands. Darstan hasn't spoken in two days. He merely stands guard at the entrance to the healing house like a statue, as if his vigilance alone could keep death at bay.
I can't stay in this room any longer, watching her slip away breath by breath. The walls are closing in. I need air but I hate to leave her side even for a second.
Rainer is here. The healers are here. She's not alone. Coinneach whispers. I'll stand watch.
The shadow familiar rarely concerns himself with me. My survival has never ranked high on his list of priorities. Rhianelle, however, is another matter entirely. For her, he would tear through realms. The fact that he is comforting me now unsettles me like hell.
I brush my thumb once across her cheek before stepping back and forcing myself toward the door. If I hesitate, I will not leave at all. I need to properly thank Hrolf for what he did. I was too consumed by grief before to express my gratitude adequately.
My feet carry me through the healing house corridors. I nearly collide with Blaire in the hallway. She's moving fast, shouldering past me with a traveling pack slung over her back. Her eyes are hollow but fierce with determination.
"Going somewhere?" Siofra calls after her from down the hall.
Blaire doesn't slow. "Yes."
"Where?"
"To find help." Her voice has gone flat, hard with purpose. "Since everyone here seems content to watch her die."
"Blaire, you can't just—"
"Don't tell me to accept it." She whirls on Siofra and there's something wild in her eyes. "I refuse to accept it. There's always another way. I just have to find it."
I go after her.
"Blaire."
She doesn't slow down. I fall into step beside her anyway, matching her pace down the corridor.
"You found a way?" I demand.
She glances at me sideways. A single nod. "I'm going to try."
"Where will you go?"
She stops then. "Astefar."
The word settles heavy in the space between us.
"The forbidden forest?" My voice lowers.
"Don't try to stop me. The old gods there might listen. They bargain. They always bargain." A flicker of something dark crosses her face. "I have to try."
I understand. But Astefar does not give without taking more.
"I'm coming with you."
She turns to face me fully and there is something in her expression that is almost gentle beneath the desperation. "You can't. It has to be me alone or it won't work at all."
I look at her for a long moment. The pack on her back. The hollowness around her eyes. The determination underneath that nothing is going to touch.
Blaire holds my gaze. "Let me go, Svenn."
She turns and continues down the corridor. At the last moment she glances back over her shoulder. "Don't worry. If there is a way to save her, I will find it. If there is a price, I will pay it."
I don't follow this time.
She's gone around the corner and I'm left standing in the hallway alone.
Astefar.
The dark forest where Rhianelle and Blaire spent their childhood, where the trees whisper and the ground desires blood. Blaire is willing to walk back into that place, to face whatever still lurks beneath its canopy, on the slim hope that ancient gods or older monsters might grant mercy.
I feel two things at once. Gratitude and shame.
Blaire is moving, doing something while I'm still here.
I make myself walk to the prison forge. The guards recognize me and step aside without question. Hrolf looks up as I approach his cell.
"Did it work?" he asks. Hope flickers in his weathered face. "The blood... did it save the lass?"
I open my mouth to answer. No sound comes out.
My throat constricts with the weight of impending loss. I came here to say thank you. To express my gratitude for the sacrifice he made. But I can't even form the words.
If I open my mouth, I might scream and never stop.
Hrolf studies my face, reading the devastation written there.
"Ah," he says quietly. "I see."
"The transfusion bought time." The words come out flat. "But not enough of it."
Hrolf is quiet for a long moment. He doesn't offer comfort and I'm grateful for it.
"There is a way to save her," Hrolf says suddenly, moving closer to the bars. "If you're not above using fae magic."
My head snaps up. "Tell me."
"There's a healer who lives in the land of the fae," Hrolf replies, his voice low but certain. "Best I've ever known. If anyone can bring her back from the edge, it's him."
"Is he good?" My voice fractures with desperate hope. "Can he really help her?"
Hrolf scratches his beard, choosing his words carefully. "He's treated many horses and wyverns. They say there's no creature he can't bring back from death's door. No disease he can't cure."
I pause and stare at him. My brain slowly processes what he just said. "You want me to take my wife to an animal doctor?"
"He's good," Hrolf insists, meeting my gaze without flinching. "Trust me on this. I've seen his work. He can cure any disease, mend any wound. Things that shouldn't be possible, he makes them possible."
An animal doctor… for Rhianelle.
But what choice do I have? The best healers in the elven kingdoms have failed. Elven medicine has reached its limits. Anastarros blessings, one of the Seventy-seven, have proven useless. We're out of options.
"But he might not even be at his usual place," Hrolf warns. "During warring times, the fae retreat to their deep places. Hide themselves away from the world."
"Can you find him?"
"I know where to start looking." Hrolf stands, gripping the bars. "But I'm warning you now. It's dangerous territory. Fae lands don't follow normal rules. The paths shift and time moves differently. That's before we account for whatever creatures live there."
"I don't care about the danger," I say, stepping closer. "Point it out to me on a map."
"I can't point to it on any map." Hrolf shakes his head slowly. "It lies beyond charted borders. Their sanctuaries are warded, hidden. You won't find them inked on parchment."
"But you know where to start," I press.
He exhales slowly. "I know where to begin looking. But the journey will be difficult. There's no guarantee we'll find him."
I don't hesitate. "Lead the way then."
Hrolf lifts a brow. "I'm still a prisoner, last I checked."
"Not anymore."
Shadows surge outward in a wave, climbing the bars and pulling them apart piece by piece. Darkness seeps into the metal, devouring their shape and turning them into nothing.
The cell stands open and Hrolf steps through cautiously. "You know the elves will try to stop us."
"Let them try."
We make it exactly three blocks through the city before running into a wall of elven nobility. Commanders, generals, lords and ladies from various regions who've arrived to visit their dying queen. They take one look at Hrolf walking free beside me and swords sing from sheaths.
"What is the meaning of this?" Lord Ctibor demands, his face flushing red. "Why is the terrorist free? Why is the Butcher of Dunrovin walking our streets?"
"He's leading me to a healer," I say with forced calm. "In Avalon. Someone who might be able to save Rhianelle."
"You cannot be serious." Lord Kharlis's face twists with outrage. "Letting this monster lead you anywhere? How do we know it's not a trick? How do we know he won't lead you straight into a fae ambush?"