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I soothed him with a quiet hum, his sightless eyes closing, and his breathing evened. Once I was sure he was calm I opened my void, laying my palms out before me inches above his chest.
I allowed my void to stretch, the tendrils enfolding Acton much the way a lover would cradle another in the darkest depths of a winter night. I allowed my soul to move, my consciousness melding with the essences surrounding me until I could find the rivulets of power within him. In a move akin to diving deep into the darkest of ocean waters I plunged, entangling myself with his own body until I could feel everything he did. The difference between me and a normal healer was that a normal healer could rebuild tissue connections, but that could only go so far. I on the other hand was able to identify every single element of the injury and expel it, but only because my psyche would take on the injury itself so I could feel every asset that needed repairing.
The slash in his chest burned with the tang of acid, the putrid feel of bile coating my throat as it seeped into my stomach. I gasped and stiffened my body against the need to wretch, the agony sweeping through even my very bones until every nerve ending was constantly discharged in an endless rhythm of dauntless pain. I fought through it, pressing my essences into the chest wound first, pulling his energy with my own until they manifested a physical connection for the good flesh and the bad combined, pressing out the venom as they went.
It was painstaking and methodical, and at moments I felt I would splinter apart, my mind consumed by the unimaginable torment I was putting my psyche through. But eventually I felt a great relief from the burn, the acid flushing out of my chest in a great woosh akin to a tidal surge at the crest of a storm.
In a gasp I withdrew, pulling my psyche from his body in a rush that left me entirely breathless and wavering on my feet. I swayed, my body languidly moving back and forth as I stumbled, falling into a stool beside him.
It took a few minutes for me to regain my strength enough to look up at Acton, his face calm in the restful repose of dreamless sleep. His face had regained much of its golden luster, and while I wasn’t fool enough to believe I had healed all of his wounds, I had managed to remove the majority of the venom rotting at his flesh and pulled the worst of the tares back together so that they could continue their healing. The gangrene-like shadows of his skin were gone, replaced with angry red marks and mottled bruising, his chest wound having burst open when the venom that cauterized the flesh was removed. But I was pleased with his condition, knowing I had done enough for him to live. Reaching forward to touch the back of my hand against his clammy forehead to check for signs of fever, I knew that at least something good would come out of today.
I’m going to die.
Where are the movie reels of my life - my memories flashing before my eyes with every single Gods damned strike? This won’t hold for long.
I’m going to die.
One more hit. I’ve made it one more hit. I don’t know if I want the bastard to do it quickly - swipe off my head with one of those blades, or stab me with that poison that has Ryan wallowing into a pile of his own putrefying entrails. Maybe if he does it that way one of the healers can get to me in time.
Flares of fading gold and fetid green clash off the last of my shield, but all I hear is Ryan’s fragmented sobs.
I’m going to die. Just like Ryan is now.
Hawthorne is groaning now too, unable to get that spike to move. But as much pain as she’s in, her power over the beast is holding, and it focuses entirely on me.
She’s going to kill me to save him. Bitch.
I dodge, raising my sword to deflect a swooping strike that makes an audible whoosh through the air. The impact against my blade shatters through my shoulder, reverberating through every nook and cranny of my body. I can’t take many more of these myself.
I’m going to die.
I bend and move, side stepping a lunge with one arm while ducking beneath another. I feel weighed down now, as if my leathers are rusted chains of old mail. The skin across the back of my neck sizzles and pops as tiny droplets of venom splash across me like the tiny droplets of dew off leaves during my early morning runs. My shield has failed there, and even in my hazy state I know there’s no way he doesn’t realize it.
I look up to meet the great chartreuse eyes of the monstrosity before me, his blade raised and poised to strike down on my neck. I’m frozen, my body paralyzed and unable to take another step, as if I’ve finally accepted the words that keep repeating over and over in my mind.
But as I drop my eyes, awaiting the flash of memories that never come, I see Hawthorne’s bright auburn tresses bent over the spike and suddenly I know what to do. Using the very last of my power, I threw my shield forward, striking her in the back with a concussive wave of force that sent her toppling forward, her scream piercing the vacuum of sound like a sweet reprieve from death’s icy talons.
I’m going to live.
Chapter Sixteen - Death Comes to Dinner
Aeryn
Dinner that night had been anything but easy to prepare for. It was striking how something so simple as laying out a dress and applying a coat of makeup could rip into my tattered soul. The silence of my room had been deafening, Ness’ side of the room a husk of what it had been.
It was such a strange feeling - her side of the room still neatly displaying her various pilfered trinkets in a simple bronze bowl on her nightstand. The room still carried the feeling of her, as if every object was waiting on its master’s return. A return that would probably never happen.
I had run my hands over her bed so many times that afternoon that I had engrained in my memory the pattern of the stitching in the lavender quilt by memory. I’d knelt beside it, holding back the tears I knew would have soaked through the fabric. I’d even fallen into a fitful sleep with my face pressed to her scent and fingers entwined in the sheets. I had dreamt of Acton, and of Ness’ fall but this time the vivid feel of the spike drove into me - small shards flaking to dig further into the chest cavity as it moved. I screamed, lamenting every baleful moment of torment that she had so obviously succumbed to.
When I awoke the tears had fallen. She was my only true connection to another human being - the only one who understood me. The only one who knew my secrets. She was a caster of greed, and despite everything she could have gained from selling me out she didn’t. Her heart contained the only true goodness I had ever been able to rely on.
In our youth, we had a mentor. Sister Brie, who had been the first to identify my unique gifts. She had taken both Ness and me in, coached us, and even encouraged our relationship with the shifters. She had kept my secrets and had been the one who first came up with the idea of me posing as a caster of generosity and loyalty lines. She had been the one other true connection I had within the caster world, but right before my twelfth birthday, she succumbed to a cancer that had poisoned the blood in her veins and spread to her brain. No matter how powerful they were, no healer could fix a natural ailment like a tumor.
So, for the past twelve years, it had only been Ness and I against a world that would see me as a freak. To be suddenly devoid of the only one of my kind who would ever truly understand me again left a hollowness that even the greatest of essences could not fill.
Nevertheless, I had somehow managed to prepare myself for dinner, dawning the makeup Ness would have insisted I wear like a shield. Inside I may be screaming but on the outside, I would shine. Just as she would have wanted.
There had been no charming ambassador or glowing copper aura to greet me when I sat for dinner. Every guild representative of consequence was missing - only a few random scouts took up positions at the sweeping banquet tables. While normally these events would be a rowdy celebration for the trial winner with many offers for backdoor deals to secure their loyalty, the event was somber, not a single trial combatant to be seen. Even Acton, the sole winner of the event, was absent despite all my efforts to heal him.
