Page 235 of The Edge of Darkness

“And his armies . . .” Folquin paused for a breath, managing to lift his head and look Niall in the eye. “He has hundreds of thousands, Niall.”

The words were a sobering strike in the gut. So much so, that none of us responded.

“There’s more,” he continued, his voice now as rough as gravel. “Lyceius made . . . a blood oath . . . to Skadi.”

Aremis looked between Folquin and Niall, genuinely confused. “Why would he do that?”

Folquin sucked in another sharp breath as he tried to turn and face us. “Don’t know . . . But Skadi—fuck—” He squeezed his eyes shut as Niall helped him to sit upright against the door. “She’s using it . . . to fuel her power.”

As he caught his breath, Maeson pushed forward, bunching her dress up to crouch before him.

“Where are you hurt?” she asked, hands already roaming—seeking out his injuries.

He lifted his hand from where he was clutching his side, revealing a gaping hole just beneath his ribs. There was not as much blood as there should have been, which had me immediately concerned.

“Good gods, what happened?” Maeson exclaimed.

“The shadows . . . they’re brutal . . . They can harm you . . . but when you try to fight back . . . they have no form.”

She pulled his shirt back to see the extent of the marred flesh. “You’re no longer bleeding. That’s not a good sign.”

“No . . . It’s my magic . . . I shifted . . . just as I took the hit . . . The change of my form . . . stopped the . . . bleeding . . . But it didn’t stop the damage.”

I took a closer look.

His bottom ribs were completely exposed. And . . . was that his lung?

I had seen plenty of wounds before—severed heads, slit throats, punctures through chests and abdomens and about every other body part there is. When it was a stranger, or an enemy, it was not as bothersome—it meant next to nothing. But it was different when it was someone I knew or cared for. It made everything feel more vulnerable. A stark reminder that death is always just a heartbeat away, lingering for its pre-destined moment to arrive.

Maeson went to work digging through the satchel she’d magically summoned.

Folquin looked up, wincing. “I’m sorry, Niall . . . I never meant for this to happen⁠—”

“Don’t,” Niall cut him off. “You don’t owe anyone an apology. You risked your life—you damn near lost it.” He stared at Folquin’s wound. “I am forever grateful for what you’ve done for us.”

Folquin nodded, though he still hung his head as if he was disappointed in himself.

“Here, drink this,” Maeson instructed. She placed a small, slender bottle in his hand. “It will stop the pain. Your ribs are cracked. The flesh needs to be cleaned and sutured immediately. Since you shifted, I don’t think your current body knows it was injured. It’s no longer bleeding, but it’s not healing on its own, either.”

“Like hell it doesn’t know . . . I feel every damn bit of it!” He uncorked the bottle and tipped the contents down his throat.

“I can heal you here, or inside⁠—”

“Here.” He closed his eyes and sagged against the door as the tonic took its effect.

Maeson glanced up. “We’re going to be here awhile.”

“Take your time,” Niall said. He turned to the Trium. “Council meeting. Now.”

Aremis nodded and vanished. Roirdan did the same.

Remic stared down at Folquin. “He may have escaped, but now they know that we know. They will be desperate to stay one step ahead. We need to move quickly.”

Niall turned to me, a grim tilt to his lips. “I’m sorry to have to cut your wonderful dinner short.”

“Dinner is the least of my worries. Will he be all right?”

“Yes. You know Maeson, she can practically bring the dead back to life.”