The female glances down at Rooke with a small cringe as she shakes her head. “Not that I know of. Nothing that I've learned in my time in the goblin lands, and the healing arts there are far more advanced than most. For any other ailment there are certainly options but witcheswane was aptly named; any of witch blood are utterly defenseless against it.”
She hesitates again before glancing to the pile of Rooke’s robes in the corner of the room, then she nods her head at it.“I know you’re still cleaning, but that’s too close for the poison while she’s in this state. I would also open all the windows and clear it from the air—anything you can do to rid her of its residue as quickly as possible.”
She hesitates again before leaning down, pressing a gentle and careful hand against the edges of the burns on Rooke’s face where the skin is angry but not blistered. Rooke shifts in her sleep, her brows pinching together, and Whynn carefully shifts her hand away.
“Witches don't heal as fast as the high fae do. The blisters will linger for three or four days before they finally dissipate.”
Airlie grimaces and nods her head. “Should we be trying to wake her to eat? High fae need sleep to heal, but are witches different? Fates curse this wretched poison! I should’ve asked Rooke more about how many differences there are between witches and high fae while I had the chance.”
I let my own agreement with her statement simmer in my mind rather than saying it out loud, uninterested in my cousin's scathing reply at such an admission.
Whynn simply shakes her head. “You’re the same in that regard, though there’s a healing brew that can be prepared that works for all fae folk, regardless of their bloodlines. It could aid her when she does wake, if only to regain her strength.”
She glances in Firna’s direction, where the Keeper stands guard in the corner now, having handed off Rooke’s robes to one of the waiting maids and scrubbed her hands clean once more.
“If I might make a suggestion,” Whynn says, and when Airlie nods eagerly, she continues, “If you began preparing the brew now, you could distribute it to the villagers and those who've taken refuge at Yregar. That way, the remedy will be fresh no matter when Rooke wakes, and the villagers could perhaps regain some of their condition after such a trying time.”
The rations have been so low for so long that the fae folk of Yregar are in a haggard condition. Even I’ve lost weight during the past few months of restricting my own portions and handing off even the small amount I’ve been giving myself to Airlie at every chance, first for her pregnancy, and now for the wellbeing of her small son.
I nod my head at Firna. “See to it, and see to the villagers—be sure that all available aid is given. I want a full report. The wagons from the Western Fyres should be arriving within the next few weeks, and the supplies on it are vital to Yregar’s survival in the coming winter.”
There are only two more deliveries due before the winter solstice and the Goblin King's arrival at Yregar. Though repairing the alliances our bloodlines once held has always been a priority for me, I never had any hopes of success until Rooke’s intervention.
Firna bows deeply to me, and then Whynn follows her out. Reed hesitates for a moment before Roan commands him to stay put and face me for his treasonous act.
Disapproval is etched into Roan's face, but it’s not directed at me, only at the events that led us all here. Reed bows his head, standing sure and ready for whatever consequences he faces. Even his own death.
The only person looking as though they might fight me for his life is Airlie, though she keeps her mouth pressed firmly closed for now. A wise decision.
I finally turn away from Rooke to face the Outland soldier, and he bows deeply to me in complete submission.
“You live and breathe at my mercy. You’ve been given such grace because of your loyalty to Yregar and to Rooke when my own blood-lust obscured my good reason. This is the one and only pardon you'll ever receive, the only one I'll ever give out, but know that any further infractions will mean your life. Now goand see to the cleanup efforts with the rest of the soldiers before I change my mind.”
Reed bows again and strides out of the room without so much as a glance in Airlie's direction. Roan’s face doesn’t change as he watches him go, his gaze lifting to meet mine before he nods sharply at me in acceptance of what he sees there.
Silence follows in the Outland soldier’s wake, Rooke’s heartbeat the only sound, steady in my ear, and then Airlie murmurs meekly, “Thank you, cousin. I am in your debt.”
My own words back to her are scathing, frustration at myself but also at her for forcing me into this position. “I didn't do it for you, and I meant every word, Airlie. If you ever do something like that again, you’ll suffer the same fate, bloodlines be damned.”
CHAPTER TWO
Rooke
I wake to the ghost of hands firm against my chest, pressing me back into the pallet beneath me, except the bedding is too soft, and it consumes me. My skin is stretched tight over my bones, aches blooming within them until they balance on the very edge of shattering. My eyelids are so heavy I don’t have the strength to open them, my throat is so dry that every breath burns the raw flesh there, and my stomach burns with bile at the complete deficiency that comes with such catastrophic use of magic.
No witch was made to wield magic like that. I know this better than most, and yet the Fates continue to demand it of me.
With every breath I become more aware of myself, the throbbing nature of the pain that rolls over me with every beat of my heart until I’m sure I must be bleeding out. Every inch of my body feels exposed, raw, and my heart thumps violently in my chest as I desperately try to figure out what injuries I've woken with.
A lancing? That’s the most common wound during the fall of cities, with glass and fragments from the building rainingdown on the streets. No, my throat is clear of blood, and my limbs are clean. My mind is addled but functioning; it can’t be anenduring, the wound of the Fates when soldiers come before the Ureen and fall into the madness that eventually claims their lives. There’s no way that I could still feel like myself if that's the injury I bear.
Another wave of pain washes over me, cleansing me of rationale once more, and the chaos takes over until my mind is a panicked stream of consciousness. I’m completely senseless, nothing but my most base form.
Where am I? What camp am I in? Where is my brother? Where are my family, my friends, the people who have loved me and cared for me for all these many decades, where are they while I’m trapped in such pain?
The Ureen have decimated the Sol Army so many times that resources are always finite. I've never woken up on a pallet by myself after a battle; there’s always somebody else lying here with me, and even if I’m the only one who’s sustained injuries, my brother is always with me… or Stone. Hanede, Qhin, Cerson…someoneshould be here with me.
Why am I alone?
