Asterion surged forward with a roar, instinct overriding everything, but Brontaios and Hektor were already there, grabbing hold of him, forcing him back.
“Don’t,” Brontaios snapped. “You’ll make it worse!”
“She’s hurting—” Asterion’s voice broke, raw and unsteady in a way Maldenis hadn’t thought possible.
“I know,” Brontaios shot back. “So let them help her.”
Every sound, every breath, every flicker of pain carved deeper into Maldenis as he watched Liora lie there and there was nothing he could do. Nothing.
“Poisoned,” Hecate said.
The word dropped like a verdict.
Her gaze flicked briefly toward Maldenis.
It was only a second, but it felt like longer. Long enough for him to feel seen in a way he didn’t want to be. Like she could read everything written across his face, the fear he couldn’t hide, the helplessness clawing its way up his throat.
“Do what you can,” Hecate said.
The woman nodded without hesitation and summoned a small bundle that unfolded into a kit filled with vials, sachets, and neatly arranged instruments catching the light. Maldenis watched as she worked with practiced precision, pressing a vial to Liora’s lips, then to Korinnae’s, before placing her hands over their wounds.
“Don’t worry,” Hecate added. “Ariadne will be able to heal them.”
Maldenis barely heard the words. Or maybe he did, and just couldn’t bring himself to believe them. His gaze never left Liora: the rise and fall of her chest, the faint tension in her face, the way her hand lay too still against the stone.
He stayed there, rooted in place, as the magic pulsed around them and the world narrowed to the space between one breath and the next.
Waiting for her to take it.
Waiting for her to come back.
And unable to do anything but watch.
Chapter 14
Liora
When she opened her eyes, the first thing Liora saw was the chandelier hanging over her head, attached to the vaulted stone ceiling by a thick, shiny gold chain.
Then, she became aware of the large, warm hands wrapped around hers.
Maldenis was asleep in the chair beside the bed, his upper body slumped forward onto the mattress, her hand enclosed in both of his.
She squeezed his hand.
“Wha—” He bolted straight up, glancing around. His hair was a mess, and there were dark circles under his eyes. “Oh. You’re awake,” he breathed.
“Hi,” she rasped, her throat dry as a desert. “Do you have any?—”
He was already reaching for the glass of water on the bedside table. “Here,” he said, holding the straw to her lips. As she drank,she could feel his gaze sweeping over her, as if he were assessing every inch of her.
“Thank you,” she said as her lips released the straw. “Where are we?”
“Brontaios’s house. More like mansion, really. He insisted we come here.”
“We—” Her fingers gripped at the blankets. “The girl?—”
“Is fine.”
