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“Open this. Now!” the queen barked to her train of soldiers.
The guard who fingered the keys hesitantly replied, “But, My Queen, she is the enemy.”
Edel simply glared at the offending officer and he quickly acquiesced, fumbling to shove the key into the lock. Once the door was open, Edel reached in and clasped her hand firmly around Jessie’s wrist and then dragged her out of the cell and down the corridor at an alarming pace. “Come with me.”
Jessie stumbled in her attempt to keep up. “What’s going on? Where are you taking me?”
Huffing as though completely out of breath, Edel didn’t answer. Not until Jessie yanked her arm free, demanding, “What is happening? I have a right to know where you’re taking me.”
“Orik is dying!” Edel yelled, her voice breaking, and Jessie registered the sheer panic in the older woman’s features. She was terrified, on the verge of breaking down. Because her son was dying!
Orik! That strong, stubborn Goliath…dying? How? Why? What could have happened in the few hours between his cosigning her to prison and now?
There was no time to ask. When Edel reclaimed Jessie’s wrist once more, she didn’t resist, racing down the hall after the Queen Mother. Behind her ribs, her heart thundered with a terror that matched Edel’s expression. She might be furious with Orik, but she didn’t want him dead. There was still so much she needed to yell at him about. Would she ever get the chance? Would she ever see that roguish smile again? Hell, she’d settle for a scowl if it meant he’d be okay.
Racing up several staircases and through endless halls, they seemed to run for hours. In reality, it might have been scant minutes, but with the sludge of adrenaline flowing in her veins and the soldiers’ pounding footfalls at her back, time seemed to stretch on endlessly.
Finally, they entered a throne room that could have doubled as the set forThe Red Wedding.Blood splattered the floors, the walls, and across paintings. Bodies were strewn everywhere, twisted and mangled in gruesome poses. Jessie let out a cry and retched.
Edel gave her no time to acclimated, hauling her through the carnage and up the dais to where June, Tristan, and others leaned over—
“Orik!” Breaking free from Edel’s grasp, Jessie lunged forward. The crowd parted to let her through, and she knelt by his lifeless body, her hands frantically searching his torso, his shoulders, his head. She found no wounds. “What happened?” she cried.
“A spell hit him,” Tristan replied, his voice hoarse with otherwise concealed emotion. “When the witches attacked. He took the shot that was meant for me.”
Of course he did. Tears blurred her vision. Furiously, she blinked them away. She checked his pulse. It was there, but faint…and growing fainter. Panic turned to hysteria. Magic did this, not weapons. There was no wound to tend, no bone to mend. No doctors would come barreling in to rush him to an ER. “What do we do? What do we do? We have to help him!”
“Heal him,” Edel demanded in a whip-like tone. “He said you’ve done it before. Do it now.” Her expression was fierce, ruthless, like a Viking shieldmaiden fresh from war. That look said many things: how much she loved Orik. How destroyed she’d be if he didn’t survive. But mostly, how the end of Jessie’s existence would be fraught with unimaginable pain if she didn’t comply.
“I’ve only done it the one time. And it was only a small creature that I healed. I didn’t really know what I was doing.”
“Try.”
She nodded. “Okay.” How different could this be from healing Phoenix? Orik was just a bit bigger. Okay, a lot bigger. And a thousand times more stubborn.
She placed her hands on his massive chest, just above his limping heart, and closed her eyes, trying to remember what she’d done before. With Phoenix cooling in her grip, she’d pictured her wounds healing, calling on her precarious magic to knit her back together, but Orik had no wounds that she could see. She didn’t know what to mentally visualize. What part of his body needed healing? She felt like a child parked at a piano and asked to play Mozart. Still, she withdrew into her mind and tried to picture him healing, his breaths becoming stronger, his eyes opening.
She peeked down at him. Nothing was happening.
No. Somethingwashappening. Dread churned in her gut. His pulse was slowing…slowing…. He let out a final wheezing breath.
“No! No! No! Orik! Don’t you dare leave me. I’m not done arguing with you, you big shithead!” She straddled his waist and flattened her palms on his chest.Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.
What had that witch told her? Magic lay deep within. She had to grip it, wrangle it, and force it to do her bidding.
She mentally turned inward, diving deep into the pool of her mind, searching…searching…
A warm spark infiltrated her thoughts, a kindling of power arising, bright and wispy and delicate. She made a grab for it, but to her dismay it fizzled out.
No! Come on, Jessie. You can do this.
Gritting her teeth, she called for that power once more. After a moment, the spark reignited, the flame so small and fragile, but brimming with a well of power underneath, as though from her very soul. It beckoned her, lulling her closer. But when she reached for it again, once more it extinguished.
Goddammit!
She inhaled deeply and let it out slowly, steeling her nerves. The worst thing she could do now was panic. Stay calm. Analyze the situation.Wrangling her power wasn’t working. It seemed to be responding negatively to her mood. She sensed that she needed to switch tactics.
With exaggerated breaths, she settled her mind, breathing in, breathing out, settling her anxiety. This time, instead of reaching for the magic, she gently coaxed it closer. Almost instantly she felt a shift. The spark turned brighter, brighter, and more brilliant still, illuminating the full spectrum of her mental vision. She opened herself to it, surrendered to it, and willed it to fill her up.
