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The demon knelt by Sirus, and Niah peeled away the blood-soaked blanket so that he could inspect the wound. He tore back the remnants of Sirus’s sweater, revealing the giant, raw gash of flesh and muscle and so much blood. Levian whispered something under her breath, and Barith swore again. Gwen turned away, unable to stomach it when the dark creature dipped one long black claw into Sirus’s raw, exposed flesh and lifted it to his tongue.
“To the bed,” he ordered, his voice dark and unsettling. “Now.”
Gwen moved aside as Barith, Niah, and the creature grabbed Sirus up, slid off his swords, and carried him to the bed.
Sirus’s eyes fluttered open, but his pupils were rolled back.
“What is it?” Niah asked.
“A Dökk blade dipped in some kind of poison,” the demon replied.
Everyone fell oddly still and looked down at Sirus at once. No one moved to help him, to touch him. Blood dripped down the edges of his mouth as the muscles in his neck strained when he arched in delirious pain.
“W-what does that mean?” Gwen stammered, desperate for someone to explain.
Levian came to Sirus’s side and, without saying a thing, rolled up the sleeve of her dress. She shoved her fingers into the wound. Sirus lurched off the bed, a gasped breath of raw agony escaping him as he pushed his head back into the mattress.
Gwen shrieked. Barith grabbed her up when she tried to move toward them. “Let her work,” he muttered, holding her close.
The mage started to mumble a spell under her breath, her eyes and hands glowing a very faint violet. For several long seconds, she chanted over and over. Eventually, she let out a harsh breath and pulled her bloodied hand away. “The magick here is too dampened,” she told them with frustration. “And even then, the poison is well-rooted.”
“Is there an antidote?” Barith asked.
Levian shook her head, her demeanor oddly stoic. “Not one I could brew in time.”
“What can be done?” the dragon asked, his own voice desperate and harsh.
The mage’s face went slack as she looked up to the demonic creature across from her. “Nothing.”
Gwen felt like the ground had opened beneath her. “No,” she breathed with what little breath she had. Not after all that. She couldn’t comprehend where they were or how they were all here, but she did know that they had to be able to do something. “You can’t just let him die!” She’d promised.
Barith’s giant arms tightened around Gwen as she struggled to wriggle free of his hold, not painfully but so as to console her. She rasped a sob and fell limp.
“There is something,” Niah declared, stepping forward. “Blood.”
“No,” the demon creature growled.
Niah’s face twisted. “He will die, Rath,” she spat, her pale, blood-soaked hands waving toward Sirus.
“Then he will die,” Rath replied without a sliver of emotion.
“He needs blood,” Niah pushed, her anger rising. “It’s been too long. He must feed. If it doesn’t work, he’ll know no different. If it does?—”
“I’ll do it,” Barith offered without hesitation.
“No,” Levian cut in, looking anxiously down at Sirus. “Even if Barith or I were to give him our blood, it would do nothing. Not against this poison. Not now.”
Niah heaved in several heavy breaths, her hands braced on the side of the bed. “What about Gwen?”
The mage went still. Her eyes darted to meet Gwen’s.
“No,” Rath said again. The chill in his voice was so much like Sirus’s, it made her shudder.
“Could it work?” Niah asked Levian, ignoring his refusal.
The mage looked back down to Sirus. “Possibly,” she whispered, sounding torn, “but I cannot know for sure.”
Niah turned to Gwen, her eyes determined. “Would you be willing?”
