Page 110 of Fate of the Sun King

We both glance over to see Mael, and the sight makes my blood harden into blocks of ice.

“Tristan!” I’m up in an instant, running towards Mael, who’s carrying my unconscious brother in his arms. Tristan’s tunic and neck are covered in blood, his face darkened by soot.

“He won’t wake up,” Mael tells me as Nadir approaches from behind.

“Tris!” I sob.

“Come on,” Nadir says. “This place is going to be swarming with Atlas’s soldiers at any moment. Let’s get him back to the house. It’s not far.”

Mael is already moving, and I follow behind as we wind our way through the wreckage. People and bodies lie everywhere, some hurt and some only shocked, but so many are dead. Who did this?

I peer over my shoulder at the smoldering ruins, noticing a group of rebels have circled a destroyed building with Erevan, their leader, at the front, his fist raised to the sky, shouting words I can’t make out. Whatever he’s saying is rousing up the low fae, and I notice that whatever caused the blast very carefully avoided destroying The Umbra, forcing the worst of the damage into the adjacent Twelfth District.

It’s clear this was a message to Atlas. He can’t keep ignoring them much longer.

I share a look with Nadir before we all dash through the streets, finally arriving at the back gate of our safehouse.

“What happened?” Nerissa asks as we enter. As usual, she’s in her garden, her implements abandoned in the dirt. “I heard an explosion.”

Her eyes alight on Tristan’s prone form in Mael’s arms, and her pallor turns to ash.

“Get him inside. Now.”

We all enter the kitchen, where Mael gently deposits Tristan on the long table as Nerissa scurries about, gathering bandages and supplies.

“What’s wrong with him?” I ask as Mael rips open the front of Tristan’s tunic. There’s a gash across his chest that makes bile climb up my throat.

“Oh gods,” I whisper.

Nerissa returns with an armful of first aid supplies. “We need a healer. I can’t fix this.”

Tristan’s skin is pale and clammy. I pick up his wrist, feeling for a heartbeat. It pulses faintly, nothing more than a whisper.

“There isn’t time,” Mael says. “I’ve been on enough battlefields to know what a fatal wound looks like. Besides, they’re going to be busy with the injured in that blast.”

A choked sob escapes my mouth as I cling to Tristan’s cold, limp hand.

No. Not my brother. Not after everything we’ve been through. He can’t leave me.

A gentle hand cups the back of my neck, and I look up to find Nadir, his eyes focused on me.

“Lor,” he says softly. “You told me once that your magic allowed you the ability to heal people.”

Before the words are out of his mouth, I’m already shaking my head.

“I can’t,” I say. “It’s not…”

“You can,” he says. “You can do this. It’s there. It’s inside you. I need you to believe it. He’s going to die if you don’t help him.”

I stare at my brother. His black hair sticks to his forehead. The dark circles under his eyes contrast with the ashen sallowness of his skin. My handsome brother, who has lived through more than any young man should ever have to. One who was saddled with the care of his two little sisters and did everything in his power to protect them.

With my lips pressed together, I nod. If there’s anyone in the world I can do this for, it’s Tristan. I owe him everything, including my life. I would never have made it this far without him.

Approaching him, I lay my hands on his chest.

“What’s going on?” Nerissa asks, but Nadir shakes his head.

“Trust us. Trust Lor.”