Chapter 29 Svenn
Dorcha lands hard on scorched earth, wings beating dust into the air. Landon drops from the saddle before she’s fully still.
Jessica, the giant spider, lies curled on her side. Several of her legs are bent beneath her. Dark blood seeps from wounds across her pale abdomen.
Landon stops a few feet back. I stay close to Rhianelle.
“Jessica.” Rhianelle rushes forward and drops beside the spider. Golden light blooms between her palms as she presses them against one of Jessica’s wounds.
The spider’s many eyes shift toward her. You don’t have to. It’s all right.
“No.” Rhianelle’s voice breaks. Her magic flares brighter, spreading across Jessica’s body in trembling threads. “I can heal you.”
Save it for something worth saving.
“You are worth saving,” Rhianelle says. She doesn’t stop.
One of Jessica’s eyes swivels toward her. Please look after my children.
Rhianelle’s hands still. She bows her head over Jessica, tears slipping down her cheeks. “I will. I swear.”
Remember your promise.
Jessica’s legs twitch once. Her eyes slowly dim, and the last breath leaves her body in a faint shudder.
“I will keep my promise.” Rhianelle keeps her hands pressed against her long after the healing light has faded.
Around us, the remaining monsters of Astefar gather in silence. Creatures of claw, scale, fang, and shadow stand among the dead, watching Rhianelle grieve for one of their own.
She rises unsteadily and faces the creatures that answered her call and survived. They watch her, waiting.
“I will keep the promise I made,” she says. Her voice carries.
What promise? I wonder.
The monsters lower their heads. One by one, they turn toward the summoning circles, their bodies dissolving into smoke and sparks as they return to the realm from which Rhianelle called them.
Miss Bernadette remains. The enormous bear shifts, bones and fur folding inward until a woman stands before us. Her white dress is torn, and blood runs down one side of her face.
“You needn’t worry about fulfilling that promise for me,” she says, brushing ash from her sleeve. “I already made a deal with someone else.”
Rhianelle goes still for a second. Then she nods and turns away. I catch the shudder that moves through her before she controls it.
“Let’s find Blaire,” she says.
We leave Jessica to search for the Maiden of Arawynn. She’s sitting on the ground near the edge of the battlefield. Her blonde hair hangs limp, matted with ash. She looks up as we approach.
“Rhianelle,” she whispers, and her voice cracks.
My wife drops to her knees beside her friend and pulls her into a fierce embrace.
“Thank you,” Rhianelle says into Blaire’s hair. “Thank you for fighting. Thank you for holding the line.”
“I couldn’t save them all,” Blaire mutters, and she’s crying now. “I tried. I tried so hard. But there were too many. My shields kept breaking. I kept breaking.”
“You did everything you could,” Rhianelle says. “You saved lives. So many lives.”
“Not enough,” Blaire whispers.
They hold each other for a long moment.
Finally, Rhianelle pulls back. “Where are the others? Aelfric, Lady Deirdre?”
“War camp,” Blaire says, gesturing weakly toward a cluster of tents in the distance. “Everyone who’s left is there. It’s... It’s not many, Rhianelle. We lost so many.”
Rhianelle nods and helps Blaire to her feet. “Come on. Let’s get you to the healers.”
“I am a healer,” Blaire says with a ghost of a smile.
“Then let’s get you to someone who can heal the healers,” Rhianelle replies.
We walk slowly toward the war camp. Rhianelle keeps one arm around Blaire, supporting her. After only a few steps, Rhianelle wobbles and nearly falls. Blaire catches her around the waist, somehow managing to hold them both upright.
Rhianelle lets out a breath that turns into a short laugh. “I thought I was supposed to be supporting you.”
“You were doing a terrible job of it,” Blaire replies.
They laugh together, quiet and exhausted, but for a moment the sound cuts through the misery surrounding us. I stay close, watching both of them.
I’m worried, Coinneach whispers.
My shadow familiar is right. Because I can see it now. The exhaustion radiating from Rhianelle. She’s been going nonstop. She summoned multiple monsters of Astefar for the battle, fought Lilith in the throne room, and crossed into the realm of death and back.
How the fuck is she going to fight Finnbheara at dawn? She can barely stand.
The war camp stretches across what used to be farmland. Tents crowd the scorched fields. Healers move between them, their white robes stained red.
We find a healer to take Blaire. Rhianelle looks around, searching.
“This way,” I say, guiding her toward a larger tent where I can sense several familiar presences.
Rhianelle steps inside and immediately recognizes one of the healers moving between the rows of wounded.
“Taryn.”
The young healer turns at the sound of her name. Her face is pale with exhaustion, and blood stains her hands up to the wrists.
“Where is Aelfric, Taryn?” she asks, her voice desperate.
“He’s alive, but critical,” the young healer says. “We’re doing everything we can.”
A weak voice calls from one of the bedrolls.
“Elven queen.”
Rhianelle turns. A young woman in Landon’s legion lies among the wounded, her face drained of color.
Rhianelle hurries to her side and drops to her knees. “What happened, Alys?”
“Nevrin poison,” Alys whispers. It’s the same kind that struck Rainer.
Rhianelle presses both hands over the wound. Golden light spills between her fingers, but Alys catches her wrist. “There’s no cure. No antidote.”
“There has to be.” Rhianelle pulls free and forces more blessings into her. “Poison can be drawn out. I’ve done it before.”
“Not this poison,” Alys says quietly.
Landon appears at the entrance of the tent. He stops when he sees Alys, his entire body going still.
Alys looks past Rhianelle to him before turning her gaze back to the queen. “You kept your promise. Thank you, elven queen.”
Rhianelle’s magic burns brighter. “You’re going to survive.”
Landon crosses the tent and kneels beside her. He places one hand over Rhianelle’s, adding his own healing magic to hers. Their power spreads through Alys in intertwined streams of gold, but the darkness beneath her skin continues to climb.
She is too far gone.
Landon knows it. Rhianelle knows it. Still, my wife refuses to stop. Tears fall from her face onto Alys as she pours more of herself into the dying fae. Her shoulders begin to shake and the light around her hands flickers.
“Rhianelle,” I warn.
She ignores me.
Alys stares at Rhianelle’s relentless effort, her eyes watering. “I really don’t like you, elven queen. Stop…”
Alys reaches and finds Landon’s hand. Her fingers close around his. Landon looks down at their joined hands, and something in his expression breaks. I watch his face as he looks at her. The fae commander knows. He’s known since he walked in.
“Give me a moment with her,” Landon says quietly.
Rhianelle doesn’t move. Her blessing surges again. “I can still save her.”
He says it again, gentler. “Rhianelle, enough.”
Rhianelle stares at him. The healing light fades from her trembling hands. Landon gathers Alys carefully against his chest, using his remaining arm to hold her as he struggles to his feet. Every movement costs him, but he does not let her go.
Rhianelle remains on her knees long after they are gone. Her hands are still raised slightly, still shaped around the body she was trying to save. Tears run silently down her face.
I don’t say anything as she stands and searches for the next person who needs help.
We find Garrett and Shade farther into the camp, helping move the injured between crowded bedrolls. Garrett supports a bloodied knight beneath the arms while Shade clears a place for him beside an older lord.
“Lord Wesley.” Rhianelle rushes toward the Lord of Windhaven. “Let me heal you.”
Wesley shakes his head and points toward the young knight Garrett has just lowered to the ground. “Him first.”
The knight’s breathing is faint and blood soaks through the cloth pressed against his side.
Rhianelle hesitates only a moment before kneeling beside him. She places her hands over the wound, and golden light floods across his armor. The bleeding slows beneath her palms. His breathing steadies, growing stronger with every strained breath Rhianelle takes.
“He’ll live,” Garrett says, checking the knight’s pulse.
Rhianelle turns immediately toward Lord Wesley. “Now you.”
But the lord does not answer.
Shade lowers his hand from Wesley’s throat and meets her eyes. He gives a slight shake of his head.
Rhianelle stares at him, then at the person she had promised to return to. She had saved the young knight, but while she did, Lord Wesley had slipped away.
Rhianelle closes her eyes. She stays like that for a moment. Then she opens them and stands. Her eyes are already searching for the next one she can still help.
No. No more of this.
I need to get her somewhere she can rest. I find an empty tent. There’s just a bedroll and some basic supplies. I lead Rhianelle inside.
“Sit,” I tell her.
“I need to check on everyone,” she protests. “I need to—”
“Sit,” I repeat, more firmly this time. “Please, Rhianelle. Just for a moment.”
She sits. The moment she does, I see her shoulders sag. All the weight she’s been carrying suddenly visible. I kneel in front of her and start checking her armor. It’s battered and dented from her fight with Lilith. One of the shoulder plates is cracked.
“I can fix this,” I murmur, more to myself than to her. “Just need some tools. I can make it work.”
“Svenn—”
“Let me do this,” I interrupt gently. “Let me help. Please.”
She nods, too tired to argue.
I work in silence for a while, removing her armor piece by piece, examining each section and making mental notes of what needs repair and what needs replacing.
I watch her from the corner of my eye as I work.
Her eyes are half-closed, and every breath she takes is shallow. Her hands tremble whenever she thinks I’m not looking, though she quickly curls them into fists to hide it.