Chapter 28 – Azaria
AZARIA
Heat. Too much. Pulsing in my veins. Crawling beneath skin. Burning through bone.
Fire in my blood—mouth sealed—can’t scream.
I tried to move. To thrash. Anything. My body wouldn’t listen. Limp. But everything inside was screaming.
Get it out. Get it out. Make it stop.
A whimper slipped out. Pathetic. All I had.
Can’t breathe. Can’t speak. Can’t see.
Shapes. Shadows. Voices drifting in and out.
“Fight it.”
A voice. Familiar.
Who—?
Gods, it felt like worms. Something alive beneath my skin. Writhing. Eating me from the inside.
A cry rose. Died in my throat.
Pain. Thick. Pulsing. Sharp enough to blot out everything else.
My name. My thoughts. Gone.
Something is breaking.
That smell. The hounds. The same stench.
But inside me now. Inside. Burning. Rotting. Copper and sulfur, and ash.
Coming from me.
“Fight it, Azaria.”
There again. Warm. Steady.
I know that voice. But can’t—can’t hold it. Can’t place it.
I gagged. Everything spun. Dark. Too bright. Dark again.
Where am I? On my side? My back?
Nowhere at all.
A hand. My chest.
Magic—his magic. I know this. Know him.
Blood calling to blood.
Quinton.
Please.
But it didn’t work. They squirmed harder. Deeper.
Another scream caught behind my teeth.
Please. Someone. Help me.
Get it out. Get it out.
Minutes? Hours? No sense of anything. Pain. And voices. And burning.
My lips tried to form words. Nothing came.
Somewhere, someone cursed. A body shifted.
Dain. I knew that voice too.
Wanted to reach for him. Tell him I was still here.
But my body belonged to someone else now.
Something else.
Get it out. Get it out. Get it out.
Burning. Freezing. Melting. Breaking.
Please. Make it?—
Something. Pushing. Hard.
Inside me. Against the rot.
Fighting. Tearing.
Too much. Too much pain.
I can’t?—
It didn’t hurt anymore. Not like before. The burning was gone—the rot, the pressure, the scream trapped in my throat. All of it had bled away into something quieter. Something still. I wasn’t floating. Wasn’t falling either.
I couldn’t open my eyes. Couldn’t move. But I could feel. A slow, gentle thrum beneath my skin. Not pain. Not magic. Something else. Like a heartbeat that didn’t belong to me, pulsing faintly along my ribs. Tingling. Whispering.
“You’re safe. He saved you.”
Thrum. Thrum.
Quinton. His presence lingered, but it was different now. Quieter. Like his magic had curled up beside mine and gone still.
Then—
Another voice. Rougher. Closer. Anchoring.
“I’ve got you, Az.”
Dain.
Gods.
His voice cracked through the quiet. I wanted to reach for it, to follow it back to wherever they were. Wherever I was. The fog around me shifted, thinning just a little. Enough that I could hear the world outside this dream.
Alive. I was still alive. Wasn’t I?
My lungs burned faintly. Not from pain. From want.
I needed to breathe. To speak. To open my eyes. To move.
I needed?—
I needed to wake up.
The pain rose. Deep. Low. Twisting in my gut, like someone had reached inside and twisted everything backward.
Gods.
I winced. My stomach felt like it had been flayed open and packed with burning coals.
Every breath pressed against something bruised.
My throat was dry, my tongue thick, and my limbs…
Heavy. Like they weren’t mine yet. A groan slipped out before I could stop it.
A small sound, hoarse and broken, but it felt like my whole body echoed with it.
I had to move. Had to do something. I shifted slowly, every inch of me screaming in resistance.
“Shiiit…” I muttered, dragging the word through clenched teeth.
This felt like a hangover from hells. Like I’d gone ten rounds in the sparring ring, gotten drunk on firewine, then been hit by a carriage.
Or a god.
Or both.
Soft light filtered through my eyelids. Not harsh, but steady and warm. I forced my eyes open. White ceiling, clean linens, the faint smell of antiseptic and herbs.
Recovery wing.
Palace.
How—?
A hand touched my shoulder—steady, warm, and familiar. It didn’t startle me. It anchored me.
“Az—”
Dain. Dain.
I turned my head slowly until I could see him.
He sat beside the bed, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. He looked like death. His hair was mussed, circles carved under his eyes, jaw clenched tight. He watched me like he still didn’t quite believe I was real. And maybe I didn’t either. But I was breathing. Conscious. Alive.
“Take it easy,” he said softly. “You’re all right now.”
I reached for him without thinking, fingers trembling as they curled around the edge of his jacket. The fabric was worn and warm, and solid under my palm.
Real.
He didn’t move. He looked at me with something raw in his eyes, like he’d come undone and hadn’t quite figured out how to put himself back together yet.
I gripped the cloth a little tighter. Because I didn’t know what had happened. Not yet. But I was here. And so was he.
Dain didn’t move as I clung to him, my arm resting heavy on his leg, my fist gripping his jacket like a lifeline. I wasn’t ready to let go. He stayed there, as if the world hadn’t nearly ended. Like I hadn’t nearly?—
No. Don’t think about that.
He brushed the damp strands of hair from my cheek, careful and gentle. The way he’d done a hundred times before, after a fight, a fever, a long night with too much on my mind.
“You’re all right,” he murmured again, voice even softer now. “You’re safe.”
Safe.
The word rang strangely in my chest, like it didn’t know where to settle. But I clung to it anyway.
I closed my eyes. Breathed in deep, and regretted it immediately as my stomach clenched, a hollow ache curling under my ribs like something had been torn out and only half put back. But I was alive. I could feel it: the breath in my lungs, the blood in my veins.
“How long was I out?” I asked, voice cracked and rough.
“Hours,” Dain said quietly. “Too many.”
A pause. Then, softer, almost fragile: “What happened out there, Az?”
I let out a slow, ragged breath. “I’d gone to my tent for the night,” I said. “I was going to sleep. But before I did, I… felt it.”
He waited, silent.
“There was this… tug. Right here.” I touched the spot beneath my sternum.
“Like something pulling me upright.” I swallowed, throat sand-dry.
“So I followed it.” I looked up at him. “I don’t know how I got past the wards.
I shouldn’t have been able to. One moment I was in camp, the next, I was in the trees. ”
He frowned, but didn’t interrupt.
“I didn’t think. Didn’t stop. Everything blurred. The pull kept going. I followed it.” Another shaky breath. “And then I saw them.”
Dain’s fingers twitched against my arm. “The hounds.”
Even saying the word made my skin crawl. The memory of their sick eyes, their silence before the violence, etched into me like claw marks.
“They looked at me like they knew me,” I said softly.
“Like they were searching for something.” A pause.
“And then they attacked.” My stomach twisted again, not from pain this time, but from memory.
“I can’t get the smell out of my head. Rot, ash, and sulfur.
Like the world was decomposing around me.
” I glanced up at him. “You didn’t smell it? ”
Dain shook his head. “No.”
I stared for a moment, then blinked. “Of course,” I muttered, deadpan. Because why would they? Why would anyone else sense what I had? Of course, it had to be me.
I hadn’t meant to speak, but the words kept coming, like if I didn’t let them out, they’d rot inside me the way the hounds had tried to.
“They were ravaged,” I said, voice rough.
“Torn open in places they shouldn’t still be moving.
Like someone stitched them together wrong and called it good enough. ”
Dain’s hand stayed on my arm. The weight of it made the memories easier to hold.
“They didn’t snarl. Didn’t growl. Just moved. Every lash of those claws, every snap of their jaws meant to kill.”
Gods, that smell. I could still taste it.
“I tried to fight. I did.” The words scraped against my throat.
“I don’t know when one of them got to me.
My side, I think. Doesn’t matter. It was fast, and by the time I felt it, I knew I wasn’t going to last.” I looked down at my hand, still gripping his jacket.
My knuckles were white. “I was getting tired,” I whispered.
“Could barely lift my blade. My body felt like it was starting to shut down, like… like it knew what was coming.” Another shaky breath.
“One more hit. That’s all it would’ve taken. ”
Silence.
Then I looked up at him—at Dain, steady and silent, jaw tight with all the words he wasn’t saying.
“But then,” I said softly, “you all came.”
That’s what did it. Not magic. Not some surge of strength or divine fury.
Them.
The sound of boots in the grass. The gleam of blades in the moonlight. Familiar voices shouting my name, surrounding me.
A dozen hounds could have circled me, but in that moment, I knew?—
I wasn’t alone anymore.
Dain’s jaw clenched. His hand stayed on my arm, but something shifted in his expression: something raw and carefully controlled.
“We got there as fast as we could,” he said quietly. “But you were already down. Bleeding. Coughing up blood.”
My stomach tightened.
“The wound—” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “It wasn’t a cut. The rot was in your blood. We could see it spreading.”
Shit.
“Quinton knew what it was immediately,” Dain continued. “Abyssal rot. Said it was saturated in the hounds’ blood, and now it was in yours.”
I closed my eyes.
“We got you back to camp. Got you in the tent.” His voice dropped. “You were dying, Az. Fast. Quinton tried to heal you, but?—”
He stopped.
“But what?”
Dain’s hand tightened on my arm. “The rot fought him. Your body fought him. There was something inside you—something that recognized his magic as a threat and shoved him out.”
My eyes snapped open. “What?”
“He said it felt like you had magic,” Dain said carefully. “Something protective. Defensive. Every time he tried to reach the rot, this thing pushed back.”
The binding. My light magic. Still caged, still bound, but awake enough to recognize danger.
“He had to force it,” Dain said roughly. “Pushed past whatever was blocking him and drove the rot out manually. All of it. You—” He swallowed hard. “You purged it. Black sludge, bile, blood. Everything.”
I stared at him, heart pounding. “And Quinton?”
Dain’s expression went carefully blank. “Burned himself out. Second time he’s done it for you. This time—” His jaw clenched. “This time he didn’t stay conscious. He collapsed the moment you stabilized.”
Guilt slammed into me, freezing me. He could lose his magic. Forever. For me. “Where is he?”
“Here,” Dain said. “Recovery wing. Elias is with him.”
I tried to sit up. “I need to see him?—”
Dain’s hand pressed firmly on my shoulder. “Not yet.”
“Dain—”
“He’s unconscious, Az. Has been since we got here. And you—” His voice gentled. “You barely woke up. You’re not strong enough yet.”
“I don’t care?—”
I tried to push myself up again. His hand held firm.
“Stop that.”
A voice cut through the room like a blade. No knock. No warning. Just the click of the latch and the quiet authority of someone who didn’t need permission.
Myrin.
She swept into the room, dark auburn braid swinging, green eyes sharp as she took in the scene: me, half-sitting, gripping Dain’s jacket, him leaning over me like he was afraid I’d disappear if he let go. Her mouth pressed into a line.
“Good,” she said flatly. “You’re awake. About time.”
She moved to the foot of the bed, hands already lifting.
Magic flared—cool and invasive—sweeping through me before I could protest. I felt it slide along my ribs, probe the wound on my side, press against my chest. Diagnostic, clinical, and thorough.
After a moment, she lowered her hands, face unreadable.
“Fever’s down. Wound closed clean. No rot left in your system.” Her gaze flicked to Dain, then back to me. “You’ll live.”
Relief hit me immediately. “Quinton—” I started.
“Did his job,” Myrin cut in, voice clipped. “Reckless, dangerous, nearly killed himself doing it. But effective.”
My chest tightened. “Is he?—?”
“Unconscious. Burnout.” She said it matter-of-factly, like she was reporting the weather. “Second time he’s pushed himself past his limits for you. This time, it was worse.”
Guilt slammed into me again, heavier this time. “Where?—”
“Three beds down,” Myrin said.
He was here. In this room.
“Don’t even think about it,” Myrin snapped, reading my face.
Dain’s hand pressed firmly on my shoulder. “You’re not moving yet.”
“I need to see him?—”
“No,” Myrin said. Flat. Final. “You need rest. Food. And then sleep.”
“I’m fine?—”
“You’re barely conscious,” she snapped. “Your body purged abyssal rot. You’re dehydrated, weak, and running on fumes. If you try to stand right now, you’ll collapse before you make it two steps.”
I glared at her. She didn’t blink.
“Eat something,” she said, gesturing to the tray on the side table—bread, broth, and water. “Then I’m putting you under again. Sleep will speed your recovery.”
“I don’t need?—”
“I don’t care what you think you need, Captain.” Her voice was steel. “You’ll do as I say, or I’ll have Dain hold you down while I force a sleeping draught down your throat. Your choice.”
Dain’s hand tightened on my shoulder. “She means it.”
I looked between them: Myrin’s unyielding glare, Dain’s steady, apologetic expression.
Shit.
“Fine,” I muttered, reaching for the bread. I tore off a piece and forced it into my mouth. I chewed and swallowed. It tasted like ash, but I kept eating. Took a sip of water. Another bite. Myrin watched, satisfied.
“Good. Finish that. Then sleep.” She turned to leave, then paused at the door, glancing back.
“You slipped through the wards,” she said quietly.
“Walked past barriers that should have stopped you cold. The hounds recognized you. Targeted you specifically. And you smelled corruption no one else could sense.” Her eyes narrowed slightly.
“I don’t know what that means yet. But it’s not normal, Azaria.
Whatever happened out there—it wasn’t the hounds. ”
She didn’t wait for a response. Myrin turned and walked out, the door clicking shut behind her.
Silence.
I stared at the ceiling, heart pounding. Dain’s hand stayed on my arm, warm and anchoring.
“She’s right,” he said quietly. “You need rest.”
I didn’t answer. Because Myrin was right about something else too.
Whatever happened out there?—
It wasn’t the hounds. And deep down, I knew exactly what it was.
The binding was breaking. My light magic was waking up.
And I had no idea what that meant.