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“Arthur did this?” I had come to stand beside the young man. The blood-soaked bandages I now saw covered almost all of his chest.
I reached a hand out and gently touched Christen’s arm.
“Sound is the last sense to go,” Merlin said softly. “If you have anything you wish to say, Galahad, Kasie. Now is the time.”
I looked between the three of them, suddenly wondering how long they had been working together. How many spies had Kasie treated in this room? How often had Galahad accompanied Christen or others on their missions, sneaking into the castle or other places to eavesdrop or steal materials and bring them back unnoticed?
Kasie gave a lurching sob and stumbled forward. “Oh, Christen, I’m so sorry. So very sorry.”
She turned away, covering her face with her hands, and moved back to her worktable.
Galahad rose to his feet so swiftly, his chair toppled over behind him. His hands were tight fists as he strode over to the table. Had he always been so much taller than me? Larger? Or had I forgotten?
Gentle Galahad. Like a brother to me. Now he looked down at the young man on the table, his face grim.
“Christen...” I watched him close his eyes, then shake his head. “No, I can’t. He... knows. He knows what I would wish to say. Christen...”
Leaning forward, he touched one of his hands to the young man’s briefly.
Then, “Stay with him, Merlin,” he begged.
I pushed the door gently closed once he had left the room, then came back to my place by the dying man’s side and reached a hand out again indecisively.
“He’ll linger a few more moments,” Merlin said quietly, as if to reassure me it wouldn’t be long. “Thank you. For staying with us, Morgan.”
“I’ve done nothing,” I whispered.
She didn’t seem to hear me. “I’ll pray now. Christen would like that.”
Could anything be done?
Her voice rose, sweet and resonant as she chanted a liturgy I had heard many times before. Each word was a lifeline to a realm beyond. There was solace and there was hope in the words. I said a silent prayer of my own, to no goddess in particular, simply hoping that Christen could hear her.
Then I reached forward, feeling as if with tendrils of delicate thread, searching for something I had felt only once before.
In the chamber, time stood still. The world outside the room faded into oblivion.
Merlin continued her chant. Her heartfelt prayer was an offering to the Three that I could not match. An act of devotion in the face of the sanctity of life and the inevitability of death.
But I refused to accept the inevitable.
Beads of sweat formed on my brow as I tried to force the magic from me. I wiped at my forehead, hoping Merlin wouldn't notice. She was focused on Christen, her eyes on him.
It was a desperate effort to save one life. A life my brother had shattered. It made no difference if he had dealt the killing blow himself or if the one they called Fenyx had delivered it. He had done this, one way or another.
My fingers trembled. I could sense it now. There was magic in the room. Could Merlin feel it?
My mind's eye cast out tendril after tendril, seeking to connect with Christen's essence as I had so easily done with Draven's back in the inn that fateful night in Grimvale. The night I had made another desperate effort to save one life.
But as I pushed myself into the plane of the ethereal, a cold, disheartening truth settled over me.
There was no connection. No answer to my call. Only silence.
Christen's chest still rose and fell very weakly.
Frustration and helplessness washed over me. I tried again and again, but the result was the same. I was becoming exhausted. But nothing would flow out from me and into Christen. No power, no healing, no life.
The weight of my inadequacy threatened to crush me. The room seemed to close in around me.
