The Source (Creasan #1)
Chapter 16

It was chaotic as they rushed to find safety in the maze of the forest. Fendrel was leaning almost all his weight on Thea, and sweat dripped down her face as she struggled to hold him up.

“We need to stop,” she insisted, breathing heavily.

“It isn’t safe out here,” Carac warned. “I can still hear footsteps. Neither the wolves nor the Guards are very far.”

Thea stopped walking and looked around. Fendrel’s head lolled toward her and then away as she turned back. She surveyed the area around them, but it was just more of the same blasted forest. Trees and trees spreading for miles around them. No sign of civilization. Nothing at all to indicate where they were. She couldn’t even see The Forbidden Mountain anymore.

Suddenly Carac started walking again, a purpose in his steps.

The group followed in confusion, Brom beginning to huff loudly under Merek’s weight. Isolde’s hand clutched Peronell’s shoulder as she asked Carac, “Where are you going?”

“Trust me.”

And they did. They limped and tripped after him. Eventually, he dodged a tree and stood in front of a dark tunnel burrowed into the ground. It was large enough for even the alpha to fit, but they all hesitated at its entrance.

“We don’t know what made that, mate,” Merek said. “Or if it’s still in there.”

“Izzy is losing blood fast,” Carac said. “And the prince is already unconscious. We don’t have another option.”

“He’s right,” Thea said. “Everyone inside.”

Favian had been kept in his bedroom for so long he’d begun to lose track of time. The days blended together, and his only visitors were Destrian and Ana. Althalos had been barred from entering his chamber entirely and it made his blood boil. He needed to know what his son had found. Needed to know if he was right.

He paced the floor so much that he’d begun to wear a rut into it. As long as he stayed on that path—the one he’d walked day after day—he’d be fine. The voice couldn’t reach him there. The pain in his head was bearable. All was well, as long as he kept to the path.

A knock sounded at the door, interrupting his pacing. It was a mocking noise. Whether or not Favian wanted it, the intruder would be entering his room. He’d given up calling greetings or rejections a while ago.

Destrian stepped in and Favian rolled his eyes so hard that his entire body turned around. Of course it was the old man. Favian had never felt anything but warmth and respect for Destrian, but now his very face repulsed the king.

“What is it?” Favian snapped.

“Your Majesty,” he greeted. So proper, one might forget he was holding the king hostage. “There has been word sent from just outside Hyt. The prince,” he said, “has been spotted.”

Favian’s foot froze in mid-air. He balanced on his other, not falling off his path but not continuing either. “By Hyt?” Incredulity coated his words.

“Yes, sire. And…he isn’t alone.”

“Well, that much is obvious. He took that Guard fellow with him—“

“He’s with her, Your Majesty. With The Source.”

Favian slowly lowered his foot and stared, unblinking, at Destrian. “He’s with her.”

Destrian nodded.

Your crown taken by your own brother.

Favian growled as he spun on his heel and paced back along his path. “I should’ve known he would betray me. The moment he didn’t return, I should’ve known. Trying to take my crown. Mine!” He shook his head and he paced back. “Him sitting on my throne. Ruling my kingdom. Aestus gave it to me! Not him! No, no, no, no, this will not do.” He stopped again and faced Destrian. “Put out a kill order. I want him brought back to me with his head on a stake.”

Peronell and Brom laid Isolde and Merek down against the moist walls of the tunnel. It was nearly black inside, the only light streaming in from the entrance. It was colder in there than it had been outside, but Thea pushed thoughts of temperature out of her mind as she took inventory of her injured friends.

“Izzy,” she said, “you’re going to have to walk us through this.”

Isolde’s eyes rolled around in her head and it was clear she was barely hanging on.

Thea lightly tapped her cheek. “Izzy! We need you.”

“Okay,” she slurred, shaking her head to try and clear the cobwebs. “In my pack. Gauze.”

“On it,” Peronell said, turning to her pack and rummaging around. He pulled out the white cloth triumphantly.

“We’ve got it,” Thea said.

“Prince…first.” Isolde lazily turned her head to look at the passed out royal.

The blade still protruded from the right side of his chest and his breaths were stuttering out.

“Your dagger,” she breathed. “Heat it.”

“Heat it?” Thea repeated. “With what?”

“Fire.”

Carac was up. “I’ll handle it.” He rushed to find firewood.

“Listen…carefully.” Isolde struggled to sit up. “There’s going to be a…lot of blood when…dagger comes out. Close…wound quickly.”

“Close the wound. Easy,” Thea said, though it was clearly anything but.

Carac blocked the sunlight streaming in as he got to work building a fire. Within a few seconds, the fire was large enough to send heat waves into the tunnel. “Hand me your dagger,” he said.

She did. He shoved the blade into the fire. He didn’t let up until the metal was the same color as the flames.

“Quickly,” Isolde reminded.

“Okay.” Thea had never done anything like this before. Scratches and broken bones, sure. But stabbings that actually needed healing? That had been Isolde’s division. She was well out of her depth.

It also didn’t help that she kept thinking that blade had been meant for her.

She took the dagger from Carac and braced herself above Fendrel, thanking Aestus he was asleep and wouldn’t feel this. She unbuttoned his shirt quickly. Skin bared and injury visible, she wrapped her fingers around the hilt in his chest and prepared to yank.

“Slow,” Isolde burst, and then cringed in pain.

“Right.” She relaxed her shoulders and very delicately drew the blade out of his chest.

He didn’t even flinch.

When it was out, blood began to flow profusely.

Thea blew out a shaky breath and whispered, “Sorry, Highness.” Then she pressed the blazing dagger to his flesh.

It made a terrible sizzling noise, and Fendrel came to with a horrifying scream of pain. He lurched into a sitting position, moving so much that Thea was beginning to struggle. She called, “Peronell…”

“Yeah.” He pressed against the prince’s shoulders, forcing him to lie back down.

“There, done!” Thea exclaimed, lifting the searing dagger away. The bleeding had stopped, but the wound was terrible and bubbling. “Now what?”

There was no answer, and Thea’s eyes snapped to Isolde. Her head drooped and her body had gone slack. Thea shook her. “Izzy?” No response. She shook her harder. “Izzy!”

Her lids fluttered. “Wha…”

“Izzy, please—“

“Disinfect.” Then she was out again.

Thea’s heart dropped. “No, Izzy—“

“She’ll be fine,” Merek assured, scooting closer to Isolde. “I’ve got her. Perry, pass me some of that gauze.” As soon as it was in his hand, he started working on Isolde’s wounds.

Frustrated tears were about two seconds away from welling in Thea’s eyes. “But I don’t know how to—“

“My pack,” he answered.

Peronell and Thea shared a confused look before Peronell plunged his hand in Merek’s bag. He drew out a large, corked battle of ale. Peronell asked, “Did you steal the ogres’ alc—“

“You’re welcome! Now, get to it,” Merek shouted.

Peronell handed the bottle to Thea who quickly poured the alcohol over the burn wound.

Fendrel’s neck muscles bulged and another scream tore out of him.

“Sorry, sorry!” Thea said. She turned to Peronell. “Is that it?”

But Merek answered, “Just cover it.”

Thea’s hands moved quickly, pressing the gauze she’d grabbed in place on his chest and wrapping it secure. Fendrel’s eyes shut in exhaustion and he collapsed back against the ground.

Silence rang out among them except for their rapid, panicked breathing. Thea stared down at the man beneath her. Just before he’d dove in front of her, just before he nearly died in her place, they’d been arguing. Why would he bother to sacrifice so much, endure so much, for someone as cold and cruel as Thea had been? She simply couldn’t wrap her head around it.

“All right,” Merek said into the quiet. He gestured to Isolde. “Her turn.”

I don’t trust your father.

Althalos frowned up at Sybbyl, straining his eyes to see hers in the moonlit night. “Why not?”

He seems…mean. Too mean. And scary.

“He is a little,” Althalos admitted. “But he doesn’t mean to be. Mother says that it’s part of being a king. Stress or power…something like that.”

Still. He frightens me. And I think he frightens your mama.

“My mama?” The little boy shook his head in bewilderment. “But why would Mother be frightened? She loves him.”

No. I think he hurts her.

“But I—“

I’ve seen big purple splotches on her skin. Sometimes there’s blood. And sometimes, when she thinks no one is looking, she cries here. She’s always…shaking and praying to Aestus.

“But…” Althalos was at a loss. “Sir Ulric says only our enemies hurt us. My father is not an enemy. He is a king.”

Sybbyl didn’t say anything for a few minutes. When she did, her voice was much softer. I am just telling you what I have seen.

“Well, you must’ve seen wrong.”

Perhaps. But she didn’t seem even the tiniest bit convinced.

Althalos got to his feet and glared at Sybbyl. He had never felt protective over anything before. Perhaps his toys, but that wasn’t protectiveness so much as it was possessiveness. Yet if there was a chance his mother was in trouble, he had to save her. He didn’t know what that drive was, but he didn’t really care. He’d make sure his mama was alright and then Sybbyl would see just how wrong she was. He told her, “I’ll prove it to you.”

He ran off, toward the palace, in search of the evidence he sought.

All was quiet in the garden’s clearing. Sybbyl’s statue stood as it always had, chilly wind and fluttering snow ignored. From around the corner a shadow moved, and Ulric emerged from around a large hedge. His eyes held a worried expression.

Thea had insisted on keeping first watch that night. Brom had argued with her, but when he could see she wouldn’t budge, he allowed her to stay up. Though she was willing to bet he wasn’t really asleep on the other side of the tunnel.

Carac had helped build up a fire—a smaller one—inside. Even without furs, it felt cozy and warm. Thea hunkered down and trained her eyes on the opening. Not a single harm would come to any of them that night, Thea vowed. She would die before she let her friends be hurt anymore than they already had been.

She couldn’t believe how terribly everything was turning out. She almost wished they could return home and forget the entire mission. It was a long shot anyway, everyone knew that. The chances of success were so low that Thea felt a deep hopelessness enveloping her.

But they couldn’t turn back now. Then their wounds and scars would be for naught. And she thought that might be worse that anything else.

A wheeze sounded softly behind her. “Thank you.”

Thea turned and met the blue eyes of the prince. Sweat beaded his face and his eyes were watery. A fever, Thea realized. She reached for her pack, for the water, and wet a cloth. She draped it across his forehead.

His eyes drifted shut as he savored the cool. “Thea Wyvern,” he mumbled to himself. “Politician. Warrior. Healer. Is there anything you can’t do?”

She laughed softly and gazed away from him. “There’s a lot I can’t do.”

“Ah, yes,” he said. “Be nice.”

She turned to him again, taking in his closed eyes and softly smiling face.

A beautiful face.

She’d always known that. All the royals were pleasing to the eye. But this was the first time she’d ever actually noticed it.

“Why did you do that?” she asked.

“Do what?”

“Jump in front of me.”

“Because I do know how to be nice.” He chuckled to himself.

He was mad with fever, she realized. It made him seem more…accessible. Odds were he wouldn’t even remember their conversation in the morning. Her shoulders lowered as she relaxed. She glanced up at the night sky just barely visible through the entrance of the tunnel. “Lief knew how to be nice,” she whispered.

A memory of his smiling face among his mass of followers surfaced and she felt her own lips turn up at the image.

“He knew how to do it all. Even the random bits. Sing. Cook. Play an instrument. He could do it all. He was the best leader there ever was.”

“He sounds wonderful.”

Thea glanced at Fendrel in surprise. He was staring back at her easily. No judgement. No probing gaze. Just watching her. Waiting.

“He was,” she said. “I can never…People looked at me and expected me to be just like him. But I’m not. I try to be,” she promised. “But it’s just so…hard. I don’t know how he was able to do it. All the smiling and the giving and the sacrifice and the training and the loss. It was his idea to infiltrate the palace. Did you know that? It was his plan to sneak into the lion’s den.” She shook her head when she felt tears welling up. Thea Wyvern does not cry. She let out a deep breath, laughing. “I don’t know why I’m telling you. You’re not even lucid right now.”

Fendrel didn’t say anything for a moment, his eyes having drifted shut again. Thea thought he fell asleep. But then he said, “My mother started having children when she was eighteen. Favian was her first, but she had so many more. Each one of them died before they were five.”

Thea’s brows rose. She hadn’t known the queen’d had more than two children.

“I was the last one. She was just about to turn forty-three. Favian said it was about five minutes after my first cry that she took her last breath.” His throat moved as he swallowed. His brows furrowed as a memory played behind his lids. “The only thing that was ever expected of me was death. I wasn’t meant to live longer than the rest of my siblings. Yet I had. And my father didn’t know what to do with me. The child that was never meant to be. So he paid me no mind. Eventually, I’d die like the rest. He sent me to battle without even a moment’s worth of sword training. Because what was the point? I was just going to die.”

Thea felt her lips part in astonishment. “Your father tried to kill you?”

“Not consciously,” he told her. “But yes. In a way. So I started training. Started learning. I wouldn’t be the runt they wanted. Wouldn’t be the ghost they already saw me as. Favian was my closest friend—my only friend really—until Father died.”

“Then it changed?”

“Well, then he was king.” Fendrel smirked in amusement and declared, “Favian Lance, King of Creasan. Handpicked by Aestus. Paranoid prick.”

Thea frowned. “I thought—“

“I have tried to help rule this country my entire life, Thea,” he insisted, his eyes suddenly wide and pleading. “I knew more about law, more about foreign affairs, more about everything than Favian. I knew I could be an asset, that I could help, but he just pushed me away.” He gestured lazily with his hand, a drunken shove into the air. “And I let him. Because he was my brother. Because he was king. Because I had faith.” He shook his head in disgust at himself. His voice was getting weaker and he settled down some as he said, “I failed you, Thea. I failed Isolde and Merek and Brom and Carac and Peronell. I failed Lief. I failed Ana and Althalos. I failed us all. I’m sor…” His voice trailed off and his chin rested against his chest. His breaths took up that rhythmic pattern of sleep.

Thea stared, utterly stunned. So much she’d just uncovered, so much she’d just learned about the man she liked to think she knew a great deal about.

She’d vowed to despise the entire royal family who had allowed Lief to suffer so terribly. But gazing down at the sleeping prince, she found it was becoming very difficult.

Favian crawled across the floor, sticking to that path as always, but no longer able to stand. His feet pulsed painfully. They’d needed a rest.

“Sire?” Destrian said nervously. “Did you hear what I said?”

The king glanced over his shoulder at Destrian, surprised to find him there. “You’re still here? I thought you left after the last—“

“I did, Your Majesty.” Impatience was beginning to bleed into his tone. “But then I returned because I had more news. Did you not hear me?”

“Obviously not, old man.” Favian swiveled on his knees, coming back toward Destrian.

“You won’t be free.”

“I will repeat myself, then,” Destrian said. “Earlier this week, it was confirmed that—“

“Shut up!”

Destrian jerked in surprise.

Favian held up his hand with a manic laugh. “Not you. Please continue.”

He licked his lips and clasped his hands behind his back. “Right, I suppose I’ll jump right to it. Your wife was seen in a compromising position with one of the Guards.”

Favian stared. “Compromising how?”

“Inappropriate, Your Majesty. In the garden.”

The king blinked, uncomprehending.

“I wonder how long it shall be before you realize just how much I have taken.”

He suddenly understood. “My trust. That’s what he has.”

“Sire, I don’t—“

“I am sure it was nothing. The bitch is always swearing her faithfulness to me.”

Destrian’s brows furrowed. “But, Your Majesty, she was seen—“

“I won’t let him have it, Destrian!” the king burst. “He wants me to doubt her, but I will not. He will not take it away.” But he spun back around, his mind working furiously. “Unless that’s what he wants me to think. He wants me to trust her when he knows I shouldn’t. I’d look a fool! When we’re trying for another prince again too—“ Favian drew to a stop as something clicked in his mind. Fury and rage unlike any he’d ever known flooded his system, making his hands tremble on the wooden floor.

“I wonder how long it shall be before you realize just how much I have taken.”

“I’ve got it now,” he growled. He turned back to Destrian. “Bring Ana here. Now.”

Ana pulled her robe tighter around her body as another knock sounded on her door. She drew the door open just the slightest, peeking her head around to see Ulric standing there.

“I saw Althalos,” he said.

Her eyes widened and her heart immediately picked up speed. She grabbed his hand and yanked him inside the room. She peered out once more to make sure no one had seen, then shut it quickly.

Ana whirled on Ulric. “Well? What did you find?”

“This Sybbyl girl.” He sat on the edge of Ana’s bed. “She’s a statue.”

“What, like she wouldn’t budge when you questioned her?”

“No. I mean an actual statue.” Ulric looked up with those concerned eyes at Ana. “Your son has been speaking to a statue.”

Ana’s mouth moved but she wasn’t entirely certain what to say. “Is that…” She shook her head and tried again. “That’s not…That’s okay, isn’t it? I mean, a statue won’t harm him.”

“No, it won’t…” Ulric allowed. “But it is odd.”

“Althalos has always been a bit eccentric. And without any other children his age—“

“I think he ought to see a professional.”

Ana stared. “A professional what, Ulric?”

He looked just as much at a loss as Ana. “I don’t know, some sort of professional. Surely there must be someone who knows how to deal with this.”

“Deal with what? He’s just using his imagination—“

“He’s talking to himself, Ana. And not just cute, childish stories. He was talking about you and the king.”

Ana closed her eyes and braced herself. She should’ve known that seeing his father in this state would terrify the poor boy. “What did he say about Favian?”

“I could only make out his part of the conversation, obviously. But from what I can tell, he knows the king has hurt you. And that you’re frightened of him.”

Ana silently cursed. She had tried so hard to keep him from knowing how horrible Favian was. She had tried to preserve that innocence. But she had failed. “I must speak with him,” she said. “Before he tries to say anything to Favian.” She turned for the door.

“Hey, wait.” Ulric grabbed hold of her hand and drew her to him. “I know this has worried you. It’s worried me, too. But don’t you think bursting into his room in the middle of the night will only serve to frighten him more?”

“Well, I…”

“Whatever this is, he thinks that statue is his friend. If we want to reach him, we’re going to have to think like him.”

“We?”

Ulric smiled gently at her. “You don’t have to handle this alone. If you want me there, I will gladly be right by your side.”

Ana felt a weight she hadn’t realized she’d been holding seep out of her. She’d felt alone for so long, handling Favian’s moods and Althalos’ future without anyone to confide in. If she could have just a moment to relax, just one, she thought she’d be able to keep on going.

She rested her forehead agains his and let out a deep breath. He wrapped his arms around her waist and guided her to stand between his legs. Enveloping her in his cocoon. “This doesn’t mean we’re—“

“That’s alright,” he whispered.

Ana matched his soft tone. “It just means I need some help.”

“You’re entitled to that.” His reddish-brown eyes glittered up at her in the candlelight.

Her gaze fell to his lips and she shook her head. “This is a bad idea.”

“It’s not.” She could feel the beating of his heart through his chest.

“It is.” But at that moment, she couldn’t find the willpower to care.

She pressed a small kiss to his lips. Just a peck really. A brush of her mouth on his. Then she did it again, letting her lips linger there. Ulric tilted his chin up, and Ana drank him in. She hooked her arms around his neck and leaned into him.

He was solid and strong, an unmoving mass beneath her. She craved his sturdiness, his kindness, his gentleness. She craved him. Though she would never admit that to him; to do so would put him in danger.

Ana put her knee on the mattress beside his hip and leaned in harder, crushing their lips together. He allowed her to push him back, his hands fisting in the material of her robe as he settled on his back.

She traced the angles of his face as he held her, the stubble there scratching her fingers pleasantly. A shiver worked through her and she pressed her body impossibly closer to Ulric’s.

A low groan rumbled through his chest, sending a thrill through Ana, and he rolled over. He touched his lips to her cheek, her jaw, her neck, her shoulder, pushing her robe aside. And she let him, shrugging out of the meaningless cloth so quickly and viciously she thought she heard a tear.

She could fix that tomorrow. Everything would be fixed tomorrow. But tonight…

Ana laid beneath him in her meager white nightgown, feeling utterly naked. No one had ever seen her like this aside from—

She shook her head and pulled Ulric’s mouth back to hers. She wouldn’t ruin this moment for herself with those kind of thoughts. Ulric’s strong hand settled beside her head while his other one gripped her hip. “Ana,” he breathed between kisses, “I love you.”

She pulled back at that, looking deeply into his red-brown eyes. Her heart swelled near to bursting. Those were the eyes that had seen her at her lowest points. Those were the eyes that hadn’t judged her for them. Those were the eyes that shone with a gentleness Ana had hardly ever known. Those were the eyes that watched her with such deep adoration that she felt goose pimples break out across her skin. She’d only ever loved one man in her life, but gazing up at Ulric, with those open, honest, gentle, earnest eyes, she wondered how anyone could feel anything but love for him.

A smile broke across her face, stretching her pleasantly throbbing lips. She wrapped the locks of his hair around her fingers, digging her nails in as she pulled him closer, wrapping her legs around his hips. “I lo—“

Suddenly, the door was thrown open, crashing against the wall as loud as a canon, and Guards flooded the room.

Ana cried out in surprise and Ulric fell off of her. “What are you doing in here?” she demanded, but her heart had already sank far below her feet. “These are my private—“

They grabbed hold of her and jerked her to her feet.

“Hey!” Ulric shouted, moving to follow her. “What do you think you’re doing?”

She struggled against their grip on her biceps but it was impossible to shake them off. “Unhand me this instant!”

The Guards stepped between Ulric and Ana, blocking Ulric from making contact.

Ana struggled against the Guard, searching for Ulric’s eyes amongst the sudden chaos. Panic had filled her, setting her adrenaline skyrocketing. “Ulric?!”

Her panic only heightened when she saw that same terror in his eyes. But his voice sounded sure when he promised, “It’s all right, Ana.” He tried to push against the wall of Guards to get to her but there were too many of them. “It’s going to be all right!”

Isolde awoke blearily. Her eyelashes were stuck together and she had to blink several times to force them apart. A warm glow painted the walls of the tunnel and she turned her head to see the fire Thea had made.

Thea sat directly inside the entrance to the tunnel with her knees up to her chest and her forehead resting against them, asleep—though it looked like a fitful one. She must’ve just barely snuck in a moment’s rest and Isolde felt guilty. This was her job. She should be the one tending to the clearly fevered Fendrel. An intense exhaustion had taken over Isolde’s body but she thought she could still crawl to the other side of the tunnel and tend to him.

Before she even moved, a voice beside her said, “Don’t even think about it.”

She turned her head to see Merek gazing back at her.

“I might hardly be able to move,” he said, “but I will physically restrain you if necessary.”

She choked out a laugh and settled back into place. “That’s something I’d like to see you try.”

He grinned and turned, grimacing slightly.

Isolde immediately fell into healer mode. “How do you feel? Are you in a lot of pain? Where does it hurt?”

“I’m fine, Izzy,” he assured, though his face was pinched.

Her eyes took inventory of him anyway. It looked like Thea had done a decent job of patching him up. Everywhere there’d been scratches and bleeding was now covered with white cloth, but Merek clutched his stomach, at a wound Isolde couldn’t see.

Merek took hold of her chin and drew her eyes back up to his face. “I’m fine,” he stressed.

“You’re lying.” She nodded to his stomach. “Let me see.”

“You don’t need—“

“Merek.”

His shoulders slumped and he gave a deep sigh. Very slowly, he did as she said and lifted his shirt for her to see.

Though there wasn’t very much light, there was enough for Isolde to see the enormous purple splotch that covered his entire midsection, from belly button to sternum. Isolde just barely stopped herself from gasping. “That doesn’t look fine,” she said. “It could be internal bleeding.”
 “It’s not.” He moved to drop his shirt back into place.

Isolde reached her hand out, pressing it against his stomach before he could hide it again.

Merek froze.

She applied a bit of pressure. “Does that hurt?”

He locked his eyes with hers, and the glimmering look in them was so intense that Isolde felt her cheeks warm. But she didn’t glance away. “A bit.”

“Scale from one to ten.”

He shrugged. “Five.”

“You’re lying again.”

Merek rested his hand over hers, trapping her against the warmth of his skin. “I’m going to be all right,” he told her. “It’s just a bruise.”

“It could be—“

“It isn’t,” he repeated. “And in any case, I got the bastard responsible.” He turned his eyes to the dead alpha lying at his feet, smiling victoriously.

“Yeah, you got him all right.”

“Thank Aestus they weren’t bats.”

A laugh burst out of her, sending a wave of pain through her. She immediately groaned. “Don’t make me laugh!”

Merek’s smile fell instantly. “I reckon you’re in more pain than me. They did their best, but none of them are healers. Although Brom comes pretty close. All the wars the king sent him on came in handy in the battle-wound department.”

Isolde now took inventory of her own wounds. The gouges in her shoulders had been stitched up expertly, though they throbbed with pain. But that was to be expected.

Her leg was the worst part of it. It was wrapped up, but red had seeped through, bringing the original color of the gauze into question. Her nose felt plugged up, like she had a cold and it pulsed with each beat of her heart. She could feel the dried blood that had gushed out of it and she wondered how she must look at that moment.

Isolde said, “I’m okay.”

Merek grinned. “We’re both lying then?”

Her lips turned up at the corner. After a beat, her smile faded and she drew her hand away from him. “They’re going to have to go on without us.”

“They won’t,” he responded with total certainty.

“They’ll have to. All three of us can barely walk. You saw how quickly Thea was willing to leave Carac behind. Why wouldn’t she—“

“Because I’m the best fighter she’s got and you’re her healer,” he said. “We’re indispensable.”

“That’s not true. Brom is a trained Guard who knows how to patch people up. She doesn’t need us.”

Merek hesitated at that. “Well, we’re her friends. She doesn’t trust the prince or his lackey.”

Isolde turned back to where Thea held vigil over Fendrel. “He took a dagger in the chest for her.”

“But she hates the royals—“

“Think about your relationship with her,” Isolde interrupted, gazing at Merek hard. “When did you feel as if you had broken through to her? When did you feel like you had her trust?”

Merek didn’t answer immediately, but Isolde knew precisely when.

She said, “Do you remember when she’d been arrested in Vuttera? The Guard had accused her of treason and was about to execute her right there in the middle of the village. And I jumped on top of him, prepared to go to death in her place.” Isolde gazed ahead, lost in the memory. “When she saw that, Thea didn’t leave me. She helped me fight him off and we both got away.”

Merek nodded slowly. “She was caught trying to smuggle food to a family. I had taken a blade to the gut to protect her.”

“Unflinching, all-encompassing loyalty. That’s what it takes to earn her trust. And what would you say the prince has done?”

Merek looked past Isolde to gaze at Thea and Fendrel, knowing she was right. But even so, he tried, “But we’re her friends.”

She looked at him sadly. “We both know that’s not enough.”

Sᴇarch the FindNovel.net website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.