51. Lora
Lora
Ebbs and darkness, what was I doing?
The moment Zaivareth collapsed, instinct took over, and I caught him in my arms.
Orders tumbled from my lips—telling Kestrel to hold him steady and Erion to check my bag for medical supplies. Meanwhile, I struggled to coax reluctant threads of healing from deep within my core.
Chaotic thoughts collided in my head.
A man was hurt. I had to help.
But he was the sun prince. I should let him bleed into the forest floor like he deserved, for all his attempts to kill me and capture Erion.
Still… Something had shifted in him before he collapsed. That confusion in his eyes when Kestrel explained our mission to close the rift. The way his face twisted—like a man watching his entire world crack apart.
And before that, the apology he’d offered Kestrel, vulnerability threading through every word…
I shook my head. I couldn’t untangle any of it.
My gaze snapped to his face as his fingers brushed my arm, feather-light and hesitant. Pain etched deep lines across his forehead, but something raw and unguarded flickered in his eyes.
“Thank you.” His voice came out rough and cracked.
The words seeped into my chest, unfurling like spring mist over frozen water—soft and treacherous.
We should just leave. Abandon this sodden silt-waste of a prince in the dirt where he belonged. I glanced at Erion, searching for an answer, some direction that made sense.
His eyes held something steady and warm, and he offered a small nod. “Even the coldest winter eventually melts into spring.”
Annoyance prickled through me. Typical Erion—always believing the best of everyone.
Kestrel clasped his hands together. “Oh, I love that. Very poetic. Mind if I use it in a song?”
Erion shrugged. “Not at all.”
With a low huff, I buried the chaos swirling through my mind and let practical efficiency take over.
Pinching Zaivareth’s blood-soaked trousers, I peeled the fabric away from the wound and ripped the tear wider.
I bit back a curse at the damage revealed beneath.
The spike had punched straight through, leaving charred flesh and exposed tissue.
Healing magic flowed from my palms, but I could barely knit the muscle back together, let alone the torn veins and sinew. This injury demanded a master healer, not someone fumbling through half-remembered lessons. Given time, maybe I could mend his flesh properly—but time wasn’t a luxury we had.
“We can’t stay here,” Erion said, as if reading my thoughts. “Guards are swarming the forest.”
Unease coiled through me. The guards would comb these woods until they found every last escaped prisoner. And if Zaivareth tried to walk, his barely-healed wound would tear open again.
I dug out a bandage from my bag and wrapped it around his thigh, pulling it tight.
“We could slip into Blightlands,” Kestrel mused. “That’s how I got away last time.”
Erion shook his head. “We’ve gone the wrong way for that.” He pointed toward the prison. “Both the keep and the border camp are between us and Blightlands.”
“Ah.” Kestrel nodded. “Right you are. Probably better if we keep going that way.” He gestured vaguely between the trees.
“What about him?” Erion said, nodding at the prince.
My gaze caught the small stream babbling through the underbrush, pouring from the direction Kestrel had indicated. “I have an idea.”
Spinning to scan our surroundings, I snapped out instructions. “Erion, help me gather those branches. Kestrel, help him drink this.” I pulled a small bottle from my bag. “Thornroot potion. It will stave off infection until I can work on the wound.”
Kestrel cradled the prince in his lap, helping him drink the healing potion, while Erion and I dragged deadfall from the underbrush.
Within moments, twigs and branches lay arranged in a rough rectangle. I drew water from the stream and let it flow into each connection point. Ice bloomed beneath my touch, crystallizing the liquid into bonds. Frost crackled across the wood until the structure held firm.
I pulled Caldera’s scarf from my bag and draped it across the framework, smoothing the fabric over the rough surface. The soft wool would cushion the worst of the jagged edges.
Together, the three of us lifted the prince onto the stretcher. He winced, a pained groan escaping his lips.
“I can walk.” His jaw clenched as he tried to push himself up.
“No.” I pressed one hand against his shoulder. “Lie down.”
His muscles tensed beneath my palm, something dangerous flaring in his amber eyes. Then he sank back without another word, staring intently at me.
Something about the way he obeyed me sparked a flicker of satisfaction beneath my ribs. This man who radiated lethal power had surrendered to a single touch of my hand. I pressed my lips tight to hide my smile.
We lowered the stretcher into the stream, and I flexed my fingers through precise patterns, creating a crystalline hull beneath it. Twirling my hands, I coaxed the water to carry him forward against the current.
Pushing the stretcher upstream demanded less effort than propelling a full boat, but maintaining the crystalline hull while directing the current required all my concentration.
Zaivareth’s gaze flickered between the passing trees and me, as if uncertain what disturbed him more—my command over the current or the fact that he’d entrusted himself so completely to me.
Shouts echoed through the trees, sharp commands cutting through the rustle of leaves, closing in on us. My heart hammered as we dropped into a crouch, hiding in the dense undergrowth.
I tugged on the shadows pooling beneath the moonlit canopy, stretching them around us like a shroud. The gloom settled over us, just thick enough to still see through. Mother had taught me that a pitch-black blob attracted more attention than a shadowy haze blending into the surroundings.
The guards’ voices drifted closer—boots crushing undergrowth, metal clinking with each step. Anyone glancing our way would see nothing but a dark patch among twisted roots and tangled brush.
Erion eased closer, his hand brushing my arm with hesitant tenderness, as if he wasn’t sure he was allowed. Maybe he worried I’d changed my mind about him. I couldn’t blame him. Ever since our kiss in the pit, we’d been through constant chaos. This thing between us was so new. So fragile.
The steps crunched closer. Too close. I held my breath as they came within ten paces. Then the sound retreated, continuing past, quickly vanishing between distant trees.
My breath escaped in a shaky rush as I let the darkness dissolve back into the shadows they’d come from.
“Nifty power, that,” Kestrel whispered with an impressed nod.
Erion pulled away, but I caught his hand and pressed my lips to his, warm and brief. A silent promise that I was still his. Because I was. I’d help him through this, whatever it took.
For the first time in my life, I let myself imagine a different future than the solitary one I’d forged for myself after Mother’s death. A home with a crackling hearth. Erion’s warm smile as his lips brushed my cheek. Laughing children with hazel eyes running around our legs.
The vision should have triggered my aching guilt, but not this time. This time it wasn’t for me. It was for him. I’d gladly give my future to the savior of the world if that’s what he needed to succeed.
And it wasn’t a bad life. I’d be content. At least, I hoped so.
A bright smile spread on Erion’s lips, just as a low groan rumbled from the stretcher.
Zaivareth’s eyes fixed on where my hand intertwined with Erion’s. A muscle along his cheek twitched.
That heated glare lit an ember of irritation beneath my ribs. I flicked my fingers, and the stretcher lurched forward in the current, sharper than necessary.
We trudged onward until my feet ached and my stomach clenched. Kestrel’s constant murmurs about his craving for food only twisted the knot of hunger in my own belly.
On three more occasions, I had to conceal us in shadows to hide from searching guards. But the night was bleeding into morning, and my trick wouldn’t work as well in daylight.
Zaivareth’s eyes fluttered in rhythm with his labored breaths. One arm dangled limp over the stretcher’s edge. His wound needed tending, soon.
My gaze snagged on a dark opening carved into the cliffside ahead.
“There.” I pointed toward it. “A cave. Let’s see if we can set up camp in there.”
Zaivareth’s eyes fluttered open, his voice weak. “Might be a brumel nest.”
A small yelp escaped Kestrel’s throat. “A brumel?”
Annoyance flickered through me. We didn’t have time for this. “It’s late spring,” I murmured. “All brumels should be out of hibernation by now.”
“Should?” Kestrel’s voice pitched higher. “What if one decided to sleep in? I don’t fancy being shredded by some grumpy fluff-ball with claws of fury who woke up in a mood for vengeance at the fools invading its bedroom.”
“There’s only one way to find out.” I grabbed the stretcher and hauled it from the water.
Erion took the rear, and Kestrel joined him with a groan. My shoulders burned as we maneuvered toward the narrow entrance.
Zaivareth’s fingers traced weak patterns through the air, and light sparked inside the cave, revealing empty stone walls bending around the shallow hollow.
“Safe,” he rasped.
His hand dropped against the stretcher with a dull thud, and the light flickered out.
Concern twisted through me at how depleted he seemed. I crushed the feeling beneath a mental heel. He could die for all I cared. The world would be better off without him.
But as we set the stretcher on the cave floor, he gave a jarring grunt that tugged at something deep in my core. I couldn’t stop myself from kneeling beside him, peeling back the bandage around his leg.
His dark gaze tracked my movements until I pulled off the last layer clinging to the wound in sticky threads. A sharp hiss escaped between his teeth.
Fabric scraps from his torn trousers clung to the wound’s edges, fused into damaged tissue. Drowning stars, I should have had his trousers removed before bandaging his leg.
I pinched the scraps, carefully tugging them free from raw flesh.
“We need something to eat.” Kestrel’s whiny voice grated against my fraying patience.
“Go,” I snapped. “Both of you. See what edible things you can find in the forest.”
Erion frowned. “I’d rather stay here.”
His unspoken “with you” hung in the air, and frustration prickled beneath my skin.
“Kestrel?” I said, my focus still on the mess beneath my fingers.
“Yes?”
“Do you know which plants are edible?”
“Um—No.”
My gaze flicked to Erion, narrowing into a glare.
Understanding dawned on his face. With a sigh, he trudged through the entrance, Kestrel following close behind.
I returned to the wound, frowning in concentration.
The prince propped himself up on one elbow, amber eyes fixed on me. My skin prickled under the weight of his stare.
Silence pressed thick between us.
The frustration poured from me in a burst. “You shouldn’t have been running with this wound. Couldn’t you feel how damaged your leg was?”
“I was bolstering,” he said, his voice parched and raspy.
A scoff burst from my throat. “That stupid power will get you killed. Pain is your body’s way of telling you it needs attention. Shutting it down is reckless.”
He didn’t answer. Those amber eyes studied me with an intensity that made me want to squirm.
“Why—” He cleared his throat. “Why are you helping me?”
His eyes softened to something genuinely curious, like he was trying to unravel a riddle written in the stars.
My jaw clenched. “It just seemed like the right thing to do.” I shot him a glare. “Don’t make me regret it.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Can’t risk upsetting the dangerous beauty keeping me alive, can I?”
An angry flush crawled up my neck. Was he mocking me? Something in his smoldering stare suggested otherwise. His eyes roamed over my face, blazing with dark intensity.
Frustration boiled in my chest. Part of me wanted to hide from that penetrating gaze. But something else—a traitorous, foolish impulse—wanted to lean closer.
The stupid fabric refused to come loose beneath my fumbling fingers, and a groan tore from my throat.
Grinding my teeth, I forced the next words out. “We need to get your trousers off.”
His eyebrows shot up, and his lips curled into a smirk. “That’s certainly one way to ease a man’s suffering. And here I was, thinking you didn’t like me.”
“Cut it out,” I snapped, folding his tunic up to reveal the waistband. “Just… try and lift your hips, will you?”
Flaming heat surged through my veins as I slid my fingers beneath his waistband. His hard abs tensed beneath my touch as I tugged the trousers down.
That insufferable smirk widened into a grin, transforming the sharp lines of his face into something almost charming.
Scoffing, I yanked the trousers down harder than necessary, making sure his undergarments stayed in place. A pained groan rumbled from him as he lifted his hips. The fabric scraped against his wound, and a sharp hiss escaped him.
“Oh, I see.” He forced the words out through clenched teeth. “Enjoy rough play, do you?”
Heat seared my cheeks. Why did he keep saying things like that? Like he was poking at something tender just to watch it bruise. Maybe he was just trying to distract himself from the pain. Or maybe he enjoyed getting a rise out of me.
I pressed my lips together as I worked the trousers down to his ankles.
The bloody mess of his thigh lay bare before me, but my treacherous gaze drifted to his uninjured leg.
Solid muscle rippled beneath the skin, every line and curve sculpted like stone shaped by ancient water.
My attention tracked higher, following the defined ridges of his stomach where the muscles formed an arrow disappearing beneath his undergarment.
“Enjoying the view?” Amusement flickered across his face.
My cheeks flooded with heat. “Just assessing the situation.”
Avoiding his gaze, I placed my hands on the edges of his wound.
Blue light bloomed beneath my palms as I channeled healing magic into his thigh. I forced my focus on weaving together tendons and flesh—and not on the corded muscle flexing beneath my fingertips.
A growling sigh of relief escaped his lips, and the sound sent a tingling shiver racing across my skin.
Silt and rot, if my body kept reacting like this, the rest of this sodden night would undoubtedly be the death of me.