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“Does he mean something to you?” he asked again.
Steig glanced at Frey, then back to the boy. “Yes. He is like a brother to me. A close friend.”
The warriors took a step back when the sea fae king slid from the low hanging branch. When he landed, he winced, and rubbed his left thigh. Silas took hold of my arm, but I wasn’t afraid. Not anymore.
“Do you feel it?” I whispered, patting Silas’s arm.
He hesitated, then nodded. “There is a tale here.” Silas glanced at the Ever King. “Weren’t you wounded?”
“Don’t know what you mean.” Erik didn’t look at Silas, he rested a hand on the hilt of his curved sword and kept his focus on Stieg. “I’m in your debt for saving me a time or two, so I’ll do it to repay you.”
Stieg arched a brow. “Do what?”
“What do you think?” Without another word Erik lifted a hand to his mouth and scraped the meat of his thumb across the sharp, slightly elongated point of his canine tooth until a trickle of blood coated his skin.
Stieg’s mouth parted. “Bleeding gods, you’d do this?”
“What are you talking about?” I snapped.
Steig took a step—a feckless step—toward the poisonous sea fae. “Erik can kill with his blood, but remember what I said, he heals too. You’d sing, boy?”
“If it squares us.”
“Why should I trust it when you fight with our enemies?”
“I made my reasons for being here clear,” said Erik. “If he is dying anyway, what does it matter?”
“Will you sing?” Stieg pressed sharply.
Erik’s scar through his lip went taut against his smirk. “Aye. I’ll sing. But it squares our debts.”
Like a hand struck my chest, I let out a gasp. My fingernails dug into Silas’s arm. “A song of blood. A song of blood, Silas.”
Silas narrowed his eyes at the fae boy. “Bloodsinger.”
The Ever King glared at us and took a step behind Stieg toward the clearing.
“A song of blood keeps life.” I couldn’t finish the thought, my words were too breathless, too damn hopeful.
Hand tangled with Silas’s, we followed close behind as Stieg led the sea fae toward Torsten.
Nearly there, Erik paused. His shoulders rose in sharp breaths. “I won’t do it near him.”
Erik pointed at Valen. The Night Folk king looked weary, lost, but he had enough thought to draw a blade and stand. By now, others had noticed an enemy had descended into our death camp. Not just anyone—the damn sea king.
“Stieg?” Kase said, a deep growl to his voice. “What is this?”
Stieg blew out a breath. “The Ever King has offered his healing blood to Torsten.”
“Lies.” Ari snapped. “There is no reason a minion of Davorin would do such a thing. Little bastard’s probably possessed by him right now.”
Erik narrowed his eyes but said nothing.
“He’s not.” Junius, haggard, sweaty, bloody, and locked in wretched despair at the sight of Tor, emerged from the trees. She stood beside Niklas, who still fought to mix his herbs, but didn’t look at the Ever King. “I wanted to see him . . . but . . . the boy king is not lying. He is here to heal.”
Ari’s face softened. He looked to Saga, almost hopeful.
“He has reason,” Stieg insisted. “Payment for protection I offered during the Eastern battles of the Black Palace.”
