“Reeve,” she groaned.
An arm scooped behind her knees, and they Obscured. She’d barely felt the effects of transportation as Reeve stepped into a hall she’d only visited one time, when her body’s temperature rose dangerously high. The smell of the lavender waters hit her nose, and hope swelled. She’d be in them soon, and she could remove the dagger and sink into the soft healing waters.
Without warning, she twisted in Reeve’s arms and vomited. He continued towards the waters and called for one of the healers. He stepped them down into one of the pristine baths, carrying Maeve with him as the warm waters began to penetrate her armor, melting into her skin. He released her legs, letting them sink, and tapped the crystal jewel on her breastplate. Her armor vanished, and her clothes from earlier reappeared. The water clung to her skin now, but no relief came.
Reeve positioned himself behind her, holding her against his body with one hand as his other hand found her thigh, fingers wrapping around the hilt of the dagger.
“It hurts,” whimpered Maeve as her whole body shook.
“I know,” said Reeve, brushing his nose against her cheek. “I know, love.”
Her stomach rolled. She’d vomit again at any moment.
Hands she didn’t recognize, voices she didn’t recognize moved before her, rippling the water around her.
“Gods, girl,” said one. “You should be unconscious.”
“Pull it out, High Lord,” instructed another.
Reeve’s hand braced across her front, tightened, then he ripped the Dread Dagger from her body smoothly. The pale waters turned crimson at once. Reeve tossed the dagger out of the waters. Its contact with the tiles of the hall echoed like a song.
“You’re alright,” said Reeve. “Healer Quintern works quickly. Don’t you?”
Quintern looked up at her High Lord and nodded reverently.
Poison surged through her, sticky and heated but piercing like frozen needles. She groaned, wanting so badly to ask them all to please back away, that she felt like she’d vomit again at any moment.
Reeve’s free hand moved to her cheek, tucking cold and clumped hair away from her face. He kissed her neck tenderly as the healer’s hands moved over her thigh.
“The dagger,” began Quintern. “It’s laced with something.”
Hope faded from Maeve as she realized she’d been a fool to think these waters or these hands could heal her. How could she forget what was inscribed on the dagger?
Forever wounded.
“No, no, no,” managed Maeve.
“What?” said Reeve tensely. “What difference does that make?”
“It must heal naturally,” Quintern said quietly. “I can stitch it up, High Lord, and stop the bleeding. But I cannot heal this. That is pure and ancient Dread Magic. It bends the laws of all other Magic.”
Maeve let out a frustrated cry. Reeve gripped her tighter and nuzzled into her neck. She was drenched in sticky sweat, despite the moderate temperature of the ineffective waters and the remaining cold of her hair.
“Would you like to sleep, Maeve?”
She shook her head, terrified to fall into such darkness with such pain coursing through her, threatening death.
“Just through the night,” he murmured into her neck. “I won’t leave your side.”
Promise, she said.
I promise, love.
Okay, she pressed into his mind, and then it was lights out.
Chapter 44
Maeve was speaking, throwing out sentences before she even registered where she was or who she was addressing.
