Chapter 31
Chapter
Thirty-One
“I don’t know why he did that.” Araya hovered over Thorne as the door crashed closed on Loren’s heels, her shield flickering and dying with the danger gone. “We were just talking. He wanted me to work on my magic with you—”
“I think I’ll pass,” he rasped, his chuckle turning into a groan as Araya pressed the hem of her skirt against his wound. He slumped back, his head thudding against the stone wall.
“You’re bleeding too much,” Araya said, her voice shaking as his blood soaked the thick woolen fabric. “You need to Heal yourself—”
“Magic doesn’t play nicely with shadow-inflicted wounds.
” Thorne leaned forward, his breaths coming shallow and uneven.
“Bind it as tightly as you can—good.” He smiled at her, but his face was too pale, his lips already tinged blue.
His hands trembled as he held them out to her.
“Now, help me up. We have to get to Veria.”
Araya wedged her shoulder under his good arm, bracing herself as he hauled himself upright with a hiss. He was far heavier than she expected, his weight crushing down on her with every step.
“Goddess—” Veria’s face went white as Araya shoved through the door, her eyes widening. “Sit him here.” The clatter of knives and pans stilled under her hand as she swept the workbench clear with a burst of magic, taking Thorne’s other side to help lever him onto the heavy table.
“Keep pressure on that wound,” Veria ordered. She sliced through Thorne’s shirt with a pair of kitchen shears, revealing the bruised and frost-bitten skin beneath.
“It’s shadow rot,” Thorne said, trying to sit up again. “The real problem is my arm. A poultice of yarrow and honey—”
“Will help stop the bleeding and slow the spread,” Veria snapped, shoving him back down on the table. “I was helping your mother make poultices before you were even out of swaddling, Thorne Emberwood. I know what kind of poultice to make for shadow rot.”
“Sorry, sorry—” Thorne laughed weakly, falling back against the table. “I’ll just lay here and concentrate on not dying then.”
Araya’s gaze whipped toward Veria. “Is he going to die?”
The older female’s mouth pressed into a grim line. “Not if we slow the bleeding long enough for him to Heal himself.”
A mortar and pestle leapt across the room, already grinding green leaves and honey into a thick, sticky paste. Veria snatched it out of the air, scooping the mixture inside out with her bare hands and slathering it across the torn flesh of Thorne’s arm, ignoring how he hissed and flinched.
“Clean cloths,” Veria barked, nodding toward the whistling kettle. “Soak them and bring them here—quickly now, dear.”
Araya scrambled for the clean towels Veria kept folded neatly beside the workbench, throwing them into a bowl and dumping the contents of the kettle overtop.
Steam curled into the air, but Veria didn’t hesitate to plunge her hand into the water, wringing out the first cloth and pressing it over the poultice
Thorne groaned, his back arching as steam rose from his arm, but Veria didn’t let him move. She added towel after towel, until finally blood stopped soaking the white linen.
“There,” she breathed, sitting back. “There we go. Now he’ll be able to take care of it himself. See?”
Araya stared down at Thorne’s face. He did look pinker—less pale. But his eyes were closed and his brow furrowed in pain.
“You did the right thing by getting him here.” Veria took Araya’s hand, gently pulling her away. “Now come sit down. It’s going to be a while yet.”
Thorne didn’t open his eyes again until the sun had set, stirring with a groan that had Araya leaping to her feet, the untouched bowl of soup Veria had pressed on her forgotten as she rushed to his side.
“Remind me not to get in between the two of you again.” Thorne groaned, accepting her hand as he shoved himself to a seated position. He peeled back the layers of now-cooled linen, grimacing at whatever he saw beneath. “Goddess help me. Veria?”
“She left to fetch Ilyana.” Araya stared at Thorne, unable to tear her gaze away from the shadowmarks that snaked across his chest, dark bands scarring his skin where the shadows had tried to crush him.
But her own skin was unmarked, even though she’d been right there—prying the shadows off him and shoving them away. “Why don’t they hurt me?”
Thorne let out a short, pained laugh. “Because you’re his mate.” He grabbed a fresh cloth, carefully wiping the poultice away to study the twisting marks left behind. “He was protecting you.”
“Protecting me?” Her broke, rising high and thin. “From what—his best friend?”
“We all know dara’el has a mind of its own.” Thorne’s mouth curved into a thin smile. “They must have seen me as a threat.”
Araya swallowed, bile burning the back of her throat as she thought of the shadows—snarling and tearing as they dragged Thorne across the stones. Loren fighting them—and failing.
“Are they—” she hesitated, almost afraid of what the answer might be. “Are they going mad? Like they did with his father?”
Thorne’s head snapped up, his amber gaze wary. “What do you know about that?”
“Only what Eloria told me.” Araya wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly chilled despite the warmth of the kitchen.
“She said the shadows went mad when their mother died—because the king had lost his mate. That they slaughtered every person on that battlefield—human and fae alike.” She forced herself to take another breath, her voice trembling. “What’s happening now…is it my fault?”
“You aren’t dead, Araya,” Thorne said kindly.
“There isn’t much known about incomplete mate bonds—Eloria has Ysella pulling all the information she can find about them now.
I think everyone here assumed you’d eventually agree to the mate bond—but Loren has been very clear that he won’t see you forced into it.
What happened with him in the Nw Dominion…
it’s not something he ever would have chosen to put on you. ”
Araya nodded, though her throat ached. No matter what she thought about what Loren had done, she knew claiming her without her consent was something he’d never stop punishing himself for.
“Did you know the whole time?” she asked softly, staring down at her own hands rather than look at Thorne and be confronted by what the shadows had done to him. “About the mate bond?”
“We did.” Thorne rubbed his good hand over his face, suddenly looking years older. “But it wasn’t our place to say anything. Loren didn’t want to tell you—he almost killed Nyra over it.”
Araya’s brow furrowed. “She wanted to tell me?”
“She wanted to kill you,” Thorne said bluntly. “And leave your body behind for the Shaws to find. She thought it was too dangerous to steal Jaxon Shaw’s bond out from under his nose.”
Araya stared at him, stunned.
“Well,” she said when she found her voice again. “She wasn’t wrong. That would have solved a lot of problems. If I can’t find a way to break the bond it would probably still work—”
“Don’t even suggest that,” Thorne cut her off sharply. “Especially not in front of Loren. Unless you want to see the shadows destroy everything and everyone they can reach.”
“We should consider all the options.” Araya looked away. “Even the unpalatable ones.”
Thorne was silent for a long moment.
“You’re serious then,” he said finally.“About breaking the bond and going back?”
“I don’t see any other way for this to end,” Araya whispered. “I don’t want to be used to hurt Loren, but what Jaxon did to those females…” her voice caught. “I can’t let them get hurt because of me either. I’m just trying to protect them both. I just wish he understood that.”
“I think—”
But whatever Thorne was about to say was cut off as the door swung open, Ilyana hurrying in on Veria’s heels.
“Of course you’re sitting up,” the Healer grumbled, glaring at him. “Is it too much to ask that you follow your own instructions?”
“Healers make the worst patients—” Thorne grunted, his voice faltering as Ilyana shoved him back down onto the table, her hands already glowing as she palpated the writhing shadowmarks that covered his chest.
“You shielded him?” she asked, glancing at Araya.
Araya nodded mutely.
“Then you saved his life,” Ilyana said. “Here—help me get him up. He’ll be more comfortable in his rooms.”
Together, they eased Thorne from the table, half-carrying him back through the corridors to his chamber. By the time they settled him on the bed, sweat had plastered his hair to his forehead, though his smile was stubborn as ever.
“Stubborn male,” Ilyana muttered, smoothing the sheet over his bare chest. She turned back to Araya, her expression gentler. “Eryn sent something for you,” she said, rummaging in her satchel and pulling out a leather-bound folder. “Here—he said you’d want it right away.”
Araya took the folder automatically, her throat suddenly dry as she stared down at the note tucked into the front. I hope this has all the answers you need, Miss Starwind. Written in common—not Valenya.
Her stomach dropped, realizing what must be inside. Accountings of couples who had severed their mate bonds. Why they’d done it—and how. Everything she’d been searching for since she learned the bond existed, delivered to her in a neat little package.
“Thank you,” she managed, realizing Ilyana was staring at her. “I’ll just—”
The Healer nodded, still watching her carefully. “You should get some rest,” she said. “What you did today—you really did save Thorne’s life, Araya. I’m glad you were there.”
Araya dipped her head politely, barely hearing anything else Ilyana said as she stumbled into the hall. For a moment, she just stood there, staring down the corridor toward her own door. But the folder was heavy in her hands, the neat black letters of Eryn’s note seared into her mind.
Rest—she should be tired. Exhausted, even. But instead her heartbeat thundered in her ears, her feet carrying her past her own door without pause. There would be no rest for her—not until she knew exactly what Eryn had found.