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Then Taria topples toward the floor. Juron catches her before she can hit it and clutches her tightly, as if she will shatter into a thousand pieces if he lets her fall.
“Taria!” he exclaims, gently shaking her. But she says nothing, and her eyes stay shut. Her chest rises and falls in a steady motion. Even when Juron calls her name again, she remains deep in her slumber.
“She’ll be fine,” Caya says. “She just needs to rest. As do we all.”
Juron gives a slight nod, but the hesitance in his expression is clear. There’s something in the intensity of his gaze that makes me turn away. He stares down at the priestess as if she’s the most precious treasure in all of Imyria, and his dark eyes are filled with both worry and longing.
Juron lays Taria on the floor and drapes a blanket over her. Even when he steps away from her and sits on the steps leading to the throne, his gaze doesn’t leave her.
The Void Prince’s eyes are closed, though not as forcibly squeezed shut as they were from the intensity of Taria’s healing spell. He sits cross-legged, his back pressed against the pillar behind him, and the shadows swirl around him. It’s only then I remember he was injured from Mulgath’s attack. That he saved my life.
I’m about to get to my feet and head over to him when Caya speaks.
“She will need time to rest.” Caya’s gaze is on Taria as she speaks. “I doubt she will be well enough to travel again before the morning.”
“We should all rest anyway,” I whisper as to not wake Taria, though her sleep is likely too deep to hear my voice. “We’ll spent the night inside this fortress and leave at dawn.” While the dark walls are far from comforting, at least they’ll keep the frigid winds off our backs.
Caya dips her head in agreement. “As you say.”
“Though we seem to have vanquished all the undead here,” I continue, “we don’t know what other monstrosities reside in these woods. I’ll take first watch—”
Natharius’s eyes flicker open. “I’ll take it.”
I frown, surprised the Void Prince would make such a generous offer. Caya seems equally taken aback.
“You mortals require more rest than I do to recover,” he says. “In case you’ve forgotten, I am the most powerful demon of the Abyss, second only to the Void King himself.”
“But you’re injured,” I protest. At least, I think he’s still wounded. Since Mulgath’s attack struck his back, I can’t see how his injury is faring. Has it already mended?
“I am fine.”
I haul myself onto my feet and start over to him. “Let me see.”
“Let you see what?”
“Your injury.”
“I have no injury.”
I stop in front of Natharius and stare down at him. “You were wounded by Mulgath’s attack. I saw it with my own eyes.”
Natharius only snorts. “You must have imagined it.”
“Stand up.”
He raises a brow. “Is that an order?”
“It is, yes.”
He draws out a sigh but has no choice to stand up. Though he has returned to his elven form, he towers over me.
“Now turn around.”
Natharius does, though only slightly. Yet it’s enough for me to see the wound carved into his shoulder. His blood is black and smeared across his pale skin like ink. It hasn’t stained his tunic, however, seeing how the cloth was dark. Shadows swirl from the open wound. I can’t tell whether that’s Natharius’s own magic trying to heal him, or whether it’s the remnants of the spell which struck him.
“Have you finished staring?” Natharius drawls. “Or can I turn back around?”
“You . . . you can turn around.” My voice is barely a whisper, yet Natharius hears me. He turns and glares at me.
