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Iseris still lay on the ground, quiet, still. He bent quickly to check her breathing. “Iseris—Iseris?—”
She wouldn’t respond. But her eyes were open. Unblinking.
“Oh, gods.” Oh, Nefrana’s holy light. Was she dead?
He pressed an ear to her chest. It rose, gently and evenly, as he did so, her breath filling her lungs. Her heartbeat thrummed against his ear, and he smiled just a little. Ah, that was good to hear. A sound he’d never thought he’d know.
So she was alive—just exhausted? Or was there something else at play.
Sky’s flank. His ribs. Her feet?
He crawled to her feet and gingerly removed a bloody slipper. He caught his breath. Her wounds—they were entirely healed. All of them.
What bizarre magic was this? This was corruption and death? By Nefrana, quite the opposite.
Just then, the wind whipped the waves of grass in a new direction, a few blades striking him in the cheek as he tried to dodge. Then he froze, staring at them.
The heat. The sweat. The red grasses. What had she called it?
The Fevered Wood?
There was something going on here—magical or corrupt or both. He didn’t understand it, but it seemed to have traded Iseris’s consciousness for the healing of their wounds.
Permanently? Would she ever recover?
Whatever it was doing to them—perhaps he had better not wait around to find out. He surged to his feet with a burst of energy. They needed to get moving.
A crack of twigs made him freeze, mid-motion. In his confusion, he’d barely been paying attention to his surroundings. Had they caught up with them?
Straightening slowly, he turned toward the sound.
A cloaked, hooded figure stood hunched in the center of the deer path that cut between the grasses, a walking stick in one gnarled hand. He squinted, suddenly unable to see very far. So strange; his vision was quite good, and he could usually see great distances. Was the cloak red, or brown, or was it just the waving grass making it look that way?
Just as quickly as the energy had come, it left him. In fact, every limb felt heavy. Sleep tugged at his eyelids. He blinked, once, long and slow. Sky and Pearl wandered back closer, seeming curious about the newcomer.
The figure was closer now. Clearer. An old woman.
She lowered her hood, her blue eyes twinkling. Curls of silver hair shone in the dawn light, tinted pink by gentle sunlight bouncing off the red grass. Only then did he realize the sun was beginning to rise.
“You need help,” the woman said calmly.
Drained as he felt, he nodded once. There was no denying it.
She strode closer, approaching Sky. The horse tensed at her approach, then eased. She ran a hand down his neck. Pearl came alongside Sky and locked eyes with the woman for a moment, then nuzzled her neck.
The old woman now stood between him and where Iseris lay, he realized. If she tried to attack her, he’d be too far away.
The woman looked over her shoulder and caught his eye, almost as if she’d sensed his spike of worry. “I won’t harm you. Of course, that’s what someone who wanted to harm you might say. But if you’d like to take your chances, get your friend and come. I know somewhere safe.”
His brow furrowed. How did he know if they could trust her? Of course… they couldn’t know that. But they didn’t have many other options at this point.
“We’re being chased,” he said instead. “By Prince Alekur and his men.” Maybe that’d scare away any simple thief or charlatan.
She raised an eyebrow.
“We haven’t done anything wrong,” he added hastily. Although, was that true? She was a mage, and he’d maimed a prince. Possibly killed him. And fought with some guards. And maybe stolen a horse, although the messenger had handed her over himself. Technically Sky belonged to the temple… “Well, not much wrong, anyway.”
The old woman smiled.
