‘It’s fleeing!’ Caz calls out. ‘They’re all fleeing.’
I believe her, but I don’t even look in the Myrkr’s direction as it wheels its horse around, its cloak fanning through the brittle air like wings as he retreats. Nor do I turn and watch as the Rottings melt back into the forest. Those who can walk, anyway.
Limbs remain writhing on the forest floor, several of which I trample over as I stumble my way to the fallen prince.
‘Kyor!’ I cry, dropping down next to him.
He’s on his knees, one hand braced against the ground, the other clamped uselessly to his shoulder. Stide used some strength, that’s for sure. The spear punched clean through him and blood pours from the wound that is marked by the black blood of the Rotting it pierced only moments before.
For a heartbeat, I can’t breathe. I can’t do anything but stare at him. Kyor. Injured. Of all the futures I wove in my head, all the possible outcomes for the two of us, both good and bad, this was one that never featured. A nightmare I never believed could happen.
Thankfully, just as panic threatens to seize me fully, my training, instinct, and terror snap me into motion.
‘Don’t move,’ I order, my voice sharp and commanding. ‘Do not touch a fucking thing.’
His jaw is clenched, face grey beneath the grime. ‘Wasn’t planning to,’ he manages, breath coming shallow and uneven. ‘It could be worse. It could have scratched me. I probably should thank you?’ he says, looking up at Stide with a smirk attempting to lilt his lips.
She is staring at him with abject horror. ‘I … I …’ The Sanning tries to reply but fails.
The fox’s cape has fallen askew, showing the green-black Rotting blood that covers her blonde hair. I’m sure I look the same, although right now my appearance is the least of my concerns. My eyes focus instead on the spear in her hand. The blade is red and black. Rotting blood and Kyor’s. Mixed together.
My hands are pressed to the wound, trying to stem the blood, but it’s coming from both sides.
‘Honestly, I think this is okay,’ Kyor repeats. ‘I mean, it could be worse.’
From the way Elska whines, I have no doubt of the pain he’s in, which is almost certainly what’s making him fucking delusional.
Rotting scratch or not, this is not good. This is verynotgood.
It’s best to keep him talking. ‘Infection is a real risk right now,’ I say, thinking aloud.
He nods calmly, as if he isn’t bleeding out before me. ‘You’re not wrong. If you see any green spidering out from the wound, then you’re going to have to kill me, Rose.’
‘You’re talking nonsense.’
With his uninjured hand, he reaches out and grips my arm hard enough that I struggle not to cry out. ‘If I start to go green, like them, you must promise me you won’t let me live. Promise me, Thorn.’
My mouth is dry, my voice constricted, but I manage to nod. ‘I will, but you’re going to be just fine.’ I try to smile. ‘I promise, you’re going to be fine.’
Caz, at least, knows I’m lying through my teeth. He won’t befine unless we get him to a proper healer. This is beyond my abilities, but I can dosomething.
Ripping fabric from my shirt, I pack the wound as best I can, ignoring the way he hisses with pain. I wish to the Gods that I had my mother’s skill at healing, atflow.
How I wish I could just knit his skin together the way she could, but if I have the magic for it, I haven’t learned it yet, and I can’t start with an injury like this.
The fabric I’ve used to pack the wound is already turning red as blood seeps through, and it’s speckled black from the Rotting’s blood, which makes my entire body churn with nausea. Nails and bites. That’s what he told us. Nails and bites were to be avoided. He didn’t say anything about blood. That’s got to be good, hasn’t it? Maybe blood is fine.
Etta, please.I can’t say my prayer aloud, as Kyor would hear and understand what it means, but I say it in my head over and over and over again.Please, Etta. Don’t let him die. He can’t die. Please don’t let him die.
She’s given me so much, but I’ll happily give it all back for Kyor’s survival.
‘Okay, I’m going to need you to get to your feet,’ I say.
‘Rose—’
‘Breathe,’ I snap. ‘Slow. With me.’
I breathe deeply, rhythmically.
