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The king’s expression wavers. Is he taking Lord Thëalanin’s words seriously? I fight back a wave of panic as I glance between the two men. Falamar’s brown eyes are a storm of conflict, and yet he doesn’t find the words to contradict his lord’s insinuation.
At last, he speaks in the same archaic tongue. “His death would certainly put an end to our dilemma. Still, it would be unwise to risk the wrath of the Eternal by breaking our oath.”
I bow my head and grip Keliveth’s hand in mine, trying to hide the angry tears that threaten to spill over again. This is the man whom Keliveth called a friend, but all he can think of is whose disapproval he fears more.
Depths take Falamar. Depths take all of them. I give up and let the tears fall, even as my mind races to think of how to force the king’s hand.
Distantly, I hear Lord Thëalanin’s condescending voice again. “You said yourself he is nearly dead. You’re not responsible for his grievous injuries. Let him bleed out and place the blame on the cursed fish folk where it belongs.”
My head jerks up as the elf lord’s hand flashes toward Keliveth. He grabs hold of the feeble seaweed bandages and yanks at them hard.
Keliveth cries out as the bandages tear away. His eyes fly open for a second, wild with pain as fresh blood spurts from the wounds.
I leap into the table and crouch over him, shielding him from Lord Thëalanin. A snarl escapes that sends the whole group reeling back in shock. I press my hands to Keliveth’s side, trying to staunch the overwhelming flood of red.
“Isn’t there a shred of honor left among you?” I shout. “Your prophet is dying and you have to question whether to save him?”
The lords and ladies start to talk over me, but I keep speaking, focusing on Falamar. If he cares about his vows more than the life of his friend, then at least I know how to appeal to him. “King Falamar, I know of your oath to honor and protect the Dalzanas. Keliveth has done nothing but seek to follow the will of the One Who Is. If you let him die, do you really think you will not answer for his blood before the Eternal? You damn yourself!”
The room erupts into cries of outrage and demands that someone bind me and haul me out. I cling to Keliveth, feeling his heartbeat grow weaker. Bracing myself to fight if they try to tear me away from him.
Falamar hushes them with a flustered wave of his hand. “We’re wasting time in this debate. This woman has no right to lecture us about our own vows. Still, I think it unwise to break the oath, especially when we are on the eve of a battle that could determine all our fates. We need the favor of the One, and there are other ways to deal with an errant prophet besides letting him bleed out on my floor.”
The lords and ladies sink into quiet grumbling. I let out a breath of relief as Falamar pushes up the sleeves of his robes and walks over to Keliveth.
Falamar pries my shaking hands away from Keliveth’s side and shoos me away with an irritated flick of his wrist. I lower myself off the table and onto the floor, sinking onto my knees as the rest of the room dims in my awareness. Then I take Keliveth’s hand and grip it tightly, as if I can keep him from slipping into the nether.
Falamar’s brow creases in concentration. He strips away the last of Keliveth’s bandages and presses his palm against the torn flesh. Lines of blue light fan out around his hand and sink through Keliveth’s skin. They form into an intricate, circular symbol with interlocking swirls. Through a haze, I watch as the skin begins to knit together. A faint flicker of hope rises in my heart as the bleeding stops. Falamar calls for water and healing supplies. Someone brings it. Everyone else in the room fades from my awareness, lost to the tide of exhaustion and nervous adrenaline that wracks me all at once.
I’m not sure how much time passes before Falamar sets the last rune in place and stands, looking thoroughly disgruntled. Revulsion rises within me. Does Keliveth know how faithless his friend truly is?
Turning away from the king, I cup my hand against Keliveth’s pallid cheek, waiting for him to open his eyes. To be all right.
Long moments pass.
Nothing changes.
I look up at Falamar in a silent, pleading question.
“That is all I can do for him.” The king’s voice is heavy with weariness, and his shoulders sag. “He needs to rest. If he regains consciousness, it means he will probably live.”
If.
Numbly, I rise to my feet. “He cannot rest here.” My own voice seems to come from far away.
“Certainly not.” Falamar bends to lift Keliveth in his arms, and I let him. I don’t have the strength to carry him now. “I’ll take him to his chamber. As for you—”
“I stay with him.”
The king grimaces, then shrugs and turns toward the door. I follow him down the hallway on unsteady feet. He strides past bolted doors and flickering rune-lanterns until we reach a small chamber tucked in a corner of an adjacent wing of the fortress.
I draw a deep breath as we step inside. A simple room, but cozy and inviting. A tall wardrobe and a shelf filled with leather-bound books stand on one side of the chamber, and a narrow bed piled with patched and faded blankets fills the opposite side. Potted plants and drying herbs hang from the wall in the places where most elven lords would display their prized weapons. A small window above the bed shows only a sliver of the night sky, but tiny rune-lanterns shine from the ceiling in constellation patterns, creating a larger picture of the starscape. The room is a glimpse into Keliveth’s soul, and the sight of it sends a sharp pang through me.
He’s nothing like these other elven nobles. They don’t deserve him.
Falamar lowers Keliveth onto the bed and steps back, wiping his hands on his robes. “Even if he wakes, it will take time for the magic to mend wounds that deep. I will return at dawn to make sure the runes are still doing their work. Until then, all you can do is wait.”
I nod in answer. Falamar turns and strides from the room, shutting the door behind him. I hear the lock scrape from the outside. The sound is one final blow to my respect for the king.
