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Denve is still holding me, and I never want him to let me go, and I also really, really want to cry.
But I cannot do that. Not in front of Denve. Not in front of Ocuri’s brother – who is still alive. Not in front of Ocuri’s brother, who has caused me so much pain.
I cannot cry in front of Denve because that is a part of myself I am not giving away.
And I have already lost too much to the Thuvrol family.
I have lost too much.
Instead of crying, I push Denve off me. “Are you insane?” I ask him sharply.
His face changes, and I see a flash of disappointment before his face becomes neutral. His arms fall away from my body, and I feel a sudden rush of pain at the nothingness of him letting me go.
And that is when I see it. The damage I have done. The gasp that escapes me is sharp, and it is one of horror.
Denve seems to feel it then, and he stumbles away from me as strips of rotten flesh curl off his arms like peeling wallpaper.
He screams then, and bile rises in my throat at the smell of rotten flesh though I really should be used to it by now.
Tears are pouring down Denve’s face as he screams and screams.
I drag and grab at the residual energy left by my magic and use it to find the healing salve and bring it to me, while I help Denve onto his back.
“Oh, Gods,” I murmur the words. I don’t consider the Thirteen to be my Gods, but I need to pray to something right now. “Denve. Look at me. Calm down. Calm down. I’m so, so sorry. Please. Look at me. Focus on me. Focus on my voice.”
He stops screaming. He looks at me, and groans with pain, and tears are still pouring from his face.
I rip his shirt off as the healing slave floats through the air towards me.
I grab it as quickly as I can and scoop out entire handfuls of it and apply it to his skin.
The healing salve is pungent, and it covers up the smell of the rotten flesh. I made it myself, using rirzed flowers, fylvek grass, and meqixste, and it is imbued with my magic.
I only hope that it works.
Denve is still crying but softly, and he stares at the ceiling as I apply the cream to every part of his body that came in contact with the rot magic.
I am more horrified than ever as I stare at his rotten body. I am so horrified that I want to cry.
Now is not the time,I tell myself sternly.But what have I done? What in the name of Protheka have I done?
Have I killed him?
The fact that Denve might die is terrifying to me. And the fact that I came to Vhoig to kill him is not lost on me.
But even if I had gone through with my plans to kill Denve, I would not have done this.
No one deserves to die like this.
No one except Ocuri.
I banish the thought of Ocuri from my mind and focus on Denve.
“I am so sorry,” I murmur. He still stares at the ceiling, and I wonder how much he can hear.
Can he even hear me? Can he still see? How close to death is he?
His pupils are dilated, his eyes fixed, and all I can do is continue rubbing the salve into his skin.
