Page 110 of Reign

Without hesitation, he tossed the head toward the sea and began striding toward the wizard.

“Bash!” I cried. He didn’t hear me—his focus was honed entirely on the incantation.

Acting on impulse, I dashed toward Red, desperate to stop him before he reached Bash. The sand kicked up under my feet as I ran faster than ever, determined to prevent Red from playing a god.

Red broke into a sprint, clutching his sword in both hands, the blood-stained blade gleaming over his shoulder.

“Stop!” I screamed, throwing myself between them.

Red veered to the side, ducking around me to charge at Bash.

“Smith, no!” Bash yelled from over my shoulder.

I gasped as something ice-cold struck me. Sucking in a sharp breath, I choked—as I coughed, blood spluttered from my mouth. That’s when I noticed the fletching protruding from my torso.

I looked up, first seeing Red’s horror-stricken face, then catching sight of Fletcher behind him, bow in hand.

The arrow meant for Red had struck me instead.

The realization crashed over me like a tidal wave. My legs buckled, and I collapsed onto the sand, writhing in excruciating pain. My trembling hands grappled at the arrow shaft, desperately trying to pull it free.

“Wesan gan.” Be gone, Bash yelled, unleashing a spell toward Red. The magic sent him hurtling through the air, crashing hard onto his back a short distance away.

“Finn!” a voice cried out—distant and muffled.

“Smith!” Bash gasped as he hoisted my torso, cradling my head on his thighs. His voice cracked with desperation as he called for help. While he cried out, I felt too weak to resist sleep, and darkness quickly claimed me.

I awoke lightheaded and feverish, my vision blurred and my ears ringing. A sharp, stabbing sensation radiated from my torso, and the familiar scent of welded iron and coal told me I was in the smithy—lying on my bedstead.

“I’m so sorry,” croaked a familiar voice.

I blinked until the fuzzy shapes sharpened into Fletcher’s face, looming over me.

“That arrow wasn’t for you,” he mumbled from beneath the peak of his cap.

Clearly, the hypnosis had lifted from him, though I couldn’t appreciate Bash’s successful spell amid the crippling pain.

“Keep Smith’s eyes open,” Bash demanded from somewhere nearby.

Fletcher leaned in and gently slapped my cheeks. “Stay awake.”

Weakly, I reached out. “Bash,” I called, struggling to see through my fading vision.

Bash’s fingers entwined with mine as he moved nearer, his face edging into view. “I’ll be right back. I need to find Fitzroy,” he said softly.

“No,” I choked out, panic surging as I sensed death encroaching. “Don’t go. I’m scared.”

I erupted into a fit of wet, hacking coughs as blood spattered from my mouth, freckling Bash’s face in crimson spots.

“I’ll find Fitzroy,” Fletcher assured us, his voice muffled by the heavy thump of my own heartbeat.

Bash pressed a tender kiss to my forehead, his fingertips stroking my cheek. “Don’t fear,” he whispered. “I won’t leave your side. Now, close your eyes.”

I obeyed, sealing them shut. “Hold on.” His voice floated somewhere above me. “After the war, I’m going to take you to the Headlands. I’ll introduce you to my brothers and sisters, and we’ll feast on lamprey—buckets and buckets of the slippery things. I’ll take you out on one of my father’s boats to watch the sun set over the sea.”

Tears streamed down my cheeks as I believed, with heartbreaking certainty, I’d never get to live those moments.

“Niamh!” a distant voice wailed.