Chapter 6
Blood roars in my ears as my magic cries out for help.
Darkness continues to creep over my eyes. Pressure like thousands of needles digs into my skin where I touch the Fae, but I cannot pull away from the male. Something holds me hostage. Something is determined to destroy me.
My lungs tighten, each desperate breath too shallow.
Panic claws up my throat.
Then—
RELEASE ME!
The command slams into my mind, jolting me from the white-hot agony searing through my skull.
I gasp for air, disoriented. My vision swims.
What—
RELEASE ME!
The unnatural voice ricochets inside my head, echoing with such force it rattles my bones.
I pry my mouth open to finally scream, but all that escapes is a thick exhale of black smoke. It coils in the air like a living thing before vanishing.
Then my body flies backwards.
The world tips, and my head slams into something solid. Bright stars explode behind my eyes. I slump onto the ground.
A snarl demands my attention.
“What did you do to him?” Draven’s face comes into view, his fangs bared, his eyes glowing white with fury. He hovers over me, inches away. His hot breath brushes my cheeks.
“W-what?” I blink rapidly, my vision struggling to focus. “I-I didn’t—”
“WHAT DID YOU DO?”
My heart stutters.
Slender fingers clamp onto his shoulder. “Back the fuck up, Draven.”
He’s yanked away, replaced by Jaxon.
Jaxon crouches in front of me, his sharp eyes scanning my face. He holds out a hand. I flinch.
He pauses. “You hit your head. I need to check the wound.”
“Are…are you a healer?” I manage to ask.
One corner of his mouth lifts. “Not exactly, but we’ve made do with my skills this far.”
My head is too fuzzy to ask what he means. I take his hand, and he gently pulls me into a sitting position. Then his fingers brush my temple.
Warmth seeps from his touch, spreading across my scalp. I hold still as he closes his eyes.
His magic is careful as it slinks through me, gently probing to assess my injury. My whole body tenses, not because the magic hurts, but because I recognize it.
It feels like mine.
But no. It can’t be. Jaxon is Shadow Fae. And I’m...something else.
Unease coils in my gut. Draven’s heavy footsteps seem to shake the ground as he paces the tent like a caged beast.
My breath catches when I spot the Fae on the cot, his arms and legs flailing, his mouth open in a silent scream, but his eyes remain shut.
By the Gods…
The tanned Fae holds the thrashing male down. Shadows slither down his back, anchoring the cot in place.
I swallow hard and croak, “What’s wrong with him?”
Draven whirls and levels me with a fierce glare. “You tell us. You triggered it.”
“I-I didn’t!” I gape at the accusation. “All I did was touch him!”
And then my magic felt like it was dying…
Draven huffs, then shoots a loaded look to Jaxon.
I try to summon my power—my ever-fickle, often-unreliable power. Usually, it simmers beneath the surface, lazy but present.
Now?
Nothing.
A faint flicker. A dying ember. Barely there.
I clench my fists, hiding the tremor in my fingers.
The tan Fae rises from the cot and approaches. I scoot back until I hit the wooden trunk, the likely source of the pounding headache radiating from the back of my skull.
He stops a foot away, his strong jaw clenched, smoky eyes hard. The silence around him is suffocating. I can't read him. I don’t want to. Draven is dangerous—all Fae are.
But this guy? I don’t know… There's something about the tumultuous storm of darkness in his metal-grey eyes that makes me believe he’s the one I should be worried about.
I avert my gaze, staring up at the tent’s emblem—a thorny vine coiled around a selmary rose. A rare flower. One I’ve only ever read about in Juniper’s oldest healing tomes.
“How did you do it?” he asks finally, his voice quiet, deliberate.
I drop my gaze, forcing myself to meet the unnamed Fae’s unsettling stare. “Do what?”
“Disconnect from him.” He jerks his head to the Fae lying on the cot.
My forehead furrows. “I didn’t.”
“You did,” he states. “We saw it.”
I sputter. “You think I threw myself across the room on purpose?”
Draven snarls. “It doesn’t matter how you freed yourself. The point is, you ignited his ailment. That means you have the ability to cure it.”
“No, I can’t. I don’t even know what happened.”
“Then you’ll figure it out. Jaxon,” Draven snaps at the man kneeling next to me. “Get her up.”
I rip my arm away when Jaxon reaches for me. “I’ve got it.”
I push myself up, wobbling from the sudden move, but I recoil when Jaxon tries to help me.
I march toward the cot, ignoring the pain pulsing through my skull. The three Fae form a silent, menacing wall behind me.
I scan the unconscious male and do another assessment. Same gray skin. Shallow breaths hold the same pace. I cross my arms and purse my lips.
He seized in pain after we touched, but I highly doubt my timid magic caused the agony that ripped through us both.
No. Whatever happened, I’m almost certain it came from the male lying in front of me.
I release a slow breath and think. “You say he wasn’t injured by a blade or a blow?”
“Correct.”
I jolt when the tanned Fae’s breath disturbs the loose strands of hair hanging by my neck.
I fight off a shiver and inch closer to the cot, instinct screaming at me to put distance between me and the unnerving Fae.
“And you’ve ruled out that this is some sort of poison?” I ask. “Or perhaps an allergic reaction to something he ingested or came into contact with?”
“We have,” Jaxon huffs.
I take another breath then say in the strongest voice I can manage, “Then this ailment must be caused by magic.”
Silence.
I don’t turn to see their reaction. I don’t need to. I know I’m right.
But then the question creeps in: Why do the powerful Fae think I can help?
Unless…
No.
If they knew what I really was, I’d already be dead.
But just to be sure, I keep my lips pressed together and wait for one of them to speak, unwilling to incriminate myself should they have any suspicions.
After several long, anxiety-spiking seconds, a throat clears.
Draven speaks again, his voice low. “Our comrade is cursed.”
An ache throbs in my chest. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he snaps. “Just help him.”
I turn around, wide-eyed. “How? I mend bones. I treat wounds and infections. I don’t undo curses.”
His jaw muscle tics. “Then at least find a way to slow down the decay.”
My stomach twists. “Decay?”
He tosses an arm toward the cot. “His graying skin is just the start. Next, his flesh and muscle will waste away.”
Gods…
I’ve witnessed my fair share of nasty diseases—illnesses that scar and debilitate—conditions I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.
But that sort of deterioration? On a body that was created by the Old Gods to be near indestructible? I can’t fathom the agony.
“That’s…” I swallow. “Horrific.”
“It is.” Draven’s eyes flash. “That’s why you need to help him.”
“I wish I could, but—”
“I don’t want excuses,” he growls, hands fisted at his sides. “We didn’t come all this way to be told the renowned Verdanthian healer can’t help us!”
I rear back, wincing when my hip hits the corner of the table placed beside the cot, littered with unfamiliar vials and damp cloths.
Jaxon slams a palm on Draven’s chest, halting his advance.
“You will help us.” Draven rises on his toes and barks over his friend’s shoulder, “Or the Shadow Prince will burn Verdanthia to ash.”
My heart pounds, but not from the threat.
“You…” I whisper, then pause to lick my lips. “You knew who I was before I spoke at the meeting.”
This time, it’s the unnamed Fae who speaks. “We’d heard stories of a skilled mortal healer in Verdanthia.”
He appears calm, but the energetic shadows swirling around his feet tell a different story.
Draven sneers and adds, “Except we expected a capable old crone, not a simpering, weak-willed—”
“Enough,” the Fae snaps, jerking his head to the exit. “Jaxon.”
Jaxon shoves Draven toward the tent flap. “Let’s go.”
Draven bares his teeth. “Don’t fucking touch me.”
His friend doesn’t listen.
Shadows wrap around Draven’s torso, joining Jaxon in his efforts.
Draven roars when he’s finally shoved outside. My ears ring as I wait for him to rush back in.
He doesn’t.
I continue to stare at the swaying fabric and begin to piece together the puzzle thrown into my lap.
Fae came to Verdanthia. They said they’d heard rumors that a rebellion was rising here. Was that true? Or was it a ruse? A ruse to get to…me?
“Forgive Draven. Our companion’s ailment has been a strain on us all.”
I drag my gaze away from Draven’s retreating curses. The smoky shadows in the unnamed Fae’s eyes flicker when I meet his stare.
My throat dries.
Shit.
We’re alone.
I back up, my hand landing on the crowded table. “I-I can imagine.”
He doesn’t speak. He just watches me. Waiting.
I dig my fingernails into the wood. “H-how did you hear about me?”
Who ratted me out to mankind's worst enemy?
Shadows curl down his arms, flowing to the floor.
I glance at my own, unsurprised to see the shadows remain, though their color isn’t as pronounced as before. As if they’re wearing off like a graphite mark on stone that’s left out in the rain.
“Our squad was passing through Cardovia when our soldier fell ill.”
I lift my gaze, surprised he answered.
He continues, wearing a careful mask. “We heard rumors of a miracle worker living in Verdanthia. So, we came here.”
Damn.
I had no idea my reputation had traveled so far.
I bite my lip.
“I don’t know how to help him.” I glance at the cot. “I’m not familiar with magic.”
Liar.
He doesn’t falter. “That is unfortunate, but irrelevant.”
“Please,” I whisper. “Let me go home. I can’t do anything for your friend.”
“You will return home this evening.”
My lips part slightly.
“But that doesn’t release you from the deal.”
I snap my lips closed then frown. “But I just told you I can’t—”
“Fae deals aren’t undone because of regret or lack of skill,” he says coolly. “You made one. You’ll see it through.”
“Or wh—”
Before I can finish, heat sears the base of my throat.
My hand flies to my neck.
His dark gaze tracks the movement with an almost bored expression. “Or the deal will be broken, and you and your beloved town will pay the price.”
The burn intensifies.
Tears prick the corners of my eyes, but I hold the Fae’s stare—his cold, cruel stare. “This isn’t fair.”
“Perhaps not. But it is your fate.”
Bastards. The lot of them. All Fae. Every single one in existence.
They’ve trapped me with an impossible task. And when I fail, everyone I love will suffer for it.
I drag in a shaky breath and drop my hand. I have to warn Ferria. I have to warn everyone.
I’ll play along for now. I’ll attempt to treat the injured Fae. I’ll stall for time so the others can run.
The Fae lifts a hand. My hip digs into the table as I lean away from the shadows slithering off his fingertips, twisting into a symbol—beautiful, intricate, and sharp.
It floats toward me, and I gasp when it hits my throat, sending a burst of tingles over my skin.
“What—” I press my fingers to my neck. The burning is gone, but an unsettling pressure sits on my chest, burrowing deeper into my flesh, nestling itself just above my heart. “What was that?”
His dark eyes flash. “Insurance.”
My mouth opens, but he speaks again, his voice taking on a powerful, otherworldly cadence.
“You, Elara Stonebloom, are now bound. You cannot speak of our friend’s illness or our agreement to anyone in Verdanthia.”
Bound?!
The weight of his words adds to the pressure in my chest, searing into my soul.
Tremors wrack my body. “What in the hells did you just do to me?”
“Go home, Elara.” He takes a step back, his spine straight as he looks down his sharp nose at me. “Rest. You’re going to need it.”
The tent flap whips open, and Jaxon steps into view.
The slightly less menacing Fae’s gaze flits between me and his tanned friend before he says, “Let’s go, little healer. Before your lover does something foolish.”
My brows knit together. “What?”
“Come.” He motions me forward with his hand. “See for yourself.”
I pause before stepping forward, sparing one last look at the Fae hovering protectively over his ailing friend.
“Ten days, Elara,” he murmurs without looking up. “That’s how long you have to slow his decay…or Verdanthia will rot with him.”