Page 88 of Soul of Fire

This is better, Kindra declared, her voice wavering as she strained to push her magic into Arne.Just us and our mate.

Not yet.He likely wouldn’t be for some time. The Rifting had just passed. It would be another decade before the next one, and who was I to ask this man to give up his jarldom and life for the vague promise of…of what? Me?

You are mine. And you are a prize.

I’m not worth a jarldom.

Kindra made a sound of disagreement, but didn’t push as she focused her magic on Arne.

His brow furrowed again in pain, and I had the strange urge to smooth it out with the pad of my thumb.

I hadn’t even wanted a mate this morning. Still wasn’t sure I did. But something in me couldn’t let him die if there was a chance that Kindra was right.

Was this how Arik had felt when he’d met Eisa?

Save him,I begged the Hearthmother over and over as Kindra and I sat vigil through the night.

Aknockonthedoor woke me from my half-doze. I had fallen asleep with my head on my arm, my hand still over Arne’s heart. The golden glow was gone, and I quickly wiped the drool from my face as I reached out to Kindra.

All is well. He will live. I shall sleep now.

I gave her a mental scratch.You did well.

I know.

Vain beast.

The knock sounded again, and Branka poked her head into the door. “Revna? The healer’s here.”

I looked out the window to see the night was still thick. It was likely several hours before dawn. At least I’d only dozed off for an hour or two.

“Yes, come in.”

A nervous, middle-aged man entered the room, his eyes darting to my pointed ears before settling on his patient.

Arne had not stirred, but his fever seemed to have broken, and he slept peacefully.

“He was poisoned with mistletoe about three days ago,” Jorgen said, casting a wary look at me as he approached.

The healer jumped, as if surprised by Jorgen’s presence, and fumbled with his medicine bag.

“And the dose?” His voice was reedy, pitched high in fright as he fumbled through his supplies. Finally, he donned a ridiculous-looking pair of spectacles that I seriously doubted did anything useful.

“We’re not sure.” Branka said, coming to my side and lifting my hand from Arne’s chest. “It was mixed with wine.”

“Hmm.” The healer produced a horn from his bag that was cut open at one end. He held the wide end to Arne’s chest, exactly over the place Kindra had pumped her magic into him. The healer moved the horn once to the right side of his chest. Then the left. Arne stirred slightly, but still didn’t wake.

“His heart sounds normal.” The healer put the horn away and removed the glasses, wiping them clean with his tunic. He spoke rapidly, his eyes continually darting to the door. “He must have vomited up the poison during the gastrointestinal phase of the illness. Or he had a relatively small dose.”

“Or a dragon healed him.” I scowled at the healer, who swallowed.

“Yes, of course, that’s a possibility. I don’t know much about drage physiology. Is healing a talent granted to you by the dragons?”

“Only healing our mates,” Jorgen said, giving me a meaningful look.

The room was silent for a beat, and the healer laughed nervously. “Yes, well. Fascinating. Now, if there’s nothing else–”

“That’s it?” Branka asked, voicing the thought as it crossed my mind. “You aren’t going to give him anything?”