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CHAPTER 25
When I opened them, the scene below had changed once more. Like the rise and fall of a curtain over the stage during a play, the room with the mirror was gone.
A new space was illuminated.
Gone were the stony caves.
We looked down onto another world.
A grove of trees stood on the edge of a cliff. A frayed and weathered wooden bridge hung over the side of the cliff, spanning a deep rocky chasm. Below the bridge, a torrent of rushing water roared, threatening to swallow anything that fell into its depths.
At the foot of the bridge, at the border of the grove, Draven sat crouched on the ground.
His skin was a sickly shade of gray. A sheen of sweat covered his body. The leather jerkin he had been wearing lay abandoned on the ground nearby. Dried blood coated his face in a death mask.
The stumps of his once-beautiful horns were jagged and rough. Blood still trickled down his forehead. I could hardly look at them.
And his chest... A mortal would have fallen long ago. I had no idea how he was still breathing. What sort of a creature, mortal or fae, could rip out part of their heart as he had done and still be alive?
I knew he had healing powers. But I also knew they had not been sufficient in the past when it came to the bloodwraith.
Selwyn was kneeling beside him, trying to staunch the gaping hole in Draven's chest with what looked like a mixture of mud and moss. I had heard of hunters using such makeshift poultices in times of extremity before. I wondered if there was a chance in hell it could work.
Beside me, Odessa drew in a sharp hissing breath.
“What?” I demanded.
“Something's wrong.” Javer’s voice was surprisingly gentle.
“Besides the hole in his heart, you mean?”
The mage nodded. “Something else.”
“Poison,” Odessa said briefly.
“Avriel touched him on the shoulder. He touched Draven’s bare skin.” I looked at her in horror. “You think...”
“I think he's a conniving bastard and that was the way he got past the mirror.” Javer sounded almost admiring.
My hand flew to my mouth in shock. “He offered it to Draven.”
I looked down at where Draven sat. The man who had offered the mirror a piece of his own heart rather than do what despicable Erion had done and offer it me instead.
