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“How do we heal it?” I ask.
“I’m not sure,” Kendall says.
Tori doesn’t offer anything else. The mate bond is full of her pain—driving me mad with helplessness.
In the silence, a bleakness settles inside me that I can’t allow.
“Gods, I was so scared that bear was immune,” Kendall says to no one in particular.
“Not immune,” Tori says, too pale between the darkened veins now creeping up her face. “His size and insulation slowed the poison.”
Kendall doesn’t answer. Her concern for her sister is evident as she gently cleans the bloodied wound.
“I’m going to get the witch,” I say roughly.
“She’s not here?” Kendall asks.
“She insisted on transporting herself.” I frown, thinking of how Tori’s scent had hit me the moment I landed earlier. How her trail led me straight down the back stairs and out of the safety of the Keep. I leash my temper and say, “I’ll be right back.”
“I’ll start patching this up,” Kendall says, pulling up a chair.
I slip out, wondering if the witch will be enough to help or if I should go for a healer instead. That will take time, but I don’t know what else to do. Every step I take away from her increases my worry, but I shove it aside. She’ll be fine. She has to be.
Stopping off at my room, I trade the robe for fresh clothes. My boots take long enough to lace that I spew curses until I’m finished. But I needn’t have bothered with shoes, apparently.
A figure is already waiting in the foyer downstairs when I arrive. Half-woman, half-goat, the glaistig stands with hunched shoulders, leaning heavily on her wooden walking stick. From beneath thick, silver hair, she peers at me with bright green eyes as I approach.
“Broca,” I greet. “You made it.”
“I told you I would transport myself,” she says in a gnarled voice.
“Yes, I didn’t think…” I have no idea how she got through the locked gate much less the front doors, but I stopped questioning the creature and her methods years ago. The image of her as an old crone is one of several I’ve seen her take—none of which, I suspect, are her true form.
“Well, are you going to stand around all night or take me to the girl?”
“There was an incident on the road earlier that left her injured. She needs a healer.”
She perks up at my words, her eyes alight with morbid curiosity and no trace of true concern. “What kind of incident?”
“A bear attack on the road.”
She puts up a gnarled hand. “I’m not a healer, dragon.”
“I know what you are,” I say, all too familiar with Broca’s cryptic prophecies. She talks in riddles, but she’s not been wrong—or at least, not that anyone can decipher. And she’s older than Tartarus itself. I need her kind of knowledge.
“She has another ailment that I’d like you to examine. Something with dark magic. Something I’ve never seen before.”
“If magic has tainted her, a healer will be useless anyway. Your payment has been received. Take me to her.”
I hesitate, considering the wisdom of this. But Broca is right. If magic has done this, only magic can undo it. And I won’t risk Tori’s life to protect my secret. “This way.”
Broca is silent as I lead her through the house and into Tori’s bedroom. She doesn’t comment on the fact that this is her first invitation to my home or remind me that few of Tartarus’ royal inner circle have ever been invited to the Keep, including her. Knowing Broca, I’m sure every creature this side of the portal will hear about her visit here soon enough. We both know the general of Caius’ army, the dragon of death, allowing visitors in his home will be the gossip of the century. And Broca’s not the most discreet.
I can only hope she doesn’t sense that I’ve severed the blood vow to Caius. That’s one piece of gossip I can’t allow to get out.
At Tori’s bedroom door, Broca stops and takes in the sisters, the younger one perched in her chair worriedly chewing her nails and the older one looking far too small and helpless in the large bed. The dark veins have spread to her face now, their spiderweb lines a tangled map beneath her skin.
At the sight of us, Tori sits up, eyeing the glaistig warily. “Who are you?”
