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“What if we just close the wound?”

“It might have ruptured something,” Inara mutters, still running through every solution in her mind. “Then he’ll bleed out on the inside.”

“What if I heal him?” I ask.

“You have never dealt with a wound like this,” Inara says, dropping her hands. “We still have to take the bullet out. The risk of infection is just too high.”

Inara glances my way, and I know what she sees. I have my father’s hands. With long nimble fingers.

The air is heavy with an unasked question. Each of Valdus’s labored breaths echoes through the silence, and I don’t need another second to mull over what I already know. “I’ll do anything for him.”

Inara nods. “Take a deep breath, and you can close your eyes. It might make it easier. You’re going to feel it anyway.”

I don’t want to close my eyes, but I do take a deep breath before plunging my fingers into the wound. Blood swooshes around my digits, and nausea slithers up my throat with its acid tendrils. I shorten my breaths, and dig deeper. Valdus doesn’t even move. The loss of blood pushing him toward oblivion.

I’m not good enough. The thought claws at my mind, bringing an unwelcome prickle to my eyes. I can’t do it.

My index finger brushes something hard and I have to swallow some bile before I speak. “I can feel it.”

“Just take it out. We’ll deal with whatever comes next.”

With a prayer to the Maker going through my mind and the bullet between my fingers, I pull on it. Valdus’s head rolls from side to side. A rumbling groan comes from deep inside his chest. When Valdus thrashes again, Numair isn’t fast enough to pull down on his shoulders, and Valdus doubles over himself. I stumble away as everyone struggles to pull him back down. I pin his arm, but the metal in his skin is so smooth, my bloodied hands just slide down. Valdus’s arm comes flying, pushing Lara away. She falls and hits her head on the table with a crash of tools around her. With another swing, his metal knuckles meet with my face. Pain shoots through my lip, my teeth, my face. Tears burst out of my eyes, mixing with blood as it rushes into my mouth and down my chin.

As Kyle, Damen, and Priya finally pin Valdus down, Numair helps Lara to her feet. Inara pulls my chin to look at my bleeding lip, but I brush her away. I pick up the gauze with the sharp smell of alcohol and press it to my mouth, but I don’t dare to heal it. I might need all the energy I can muster later. Cursing and stumbling, I step back to the table.

“Come on, King of Rebels. Play nice.”

I dig into the wound once more. The bullet is not as deep as the last time, but Valdus fights just the same. Sweat beads on my face, threatening to roll down into my eyes as I pull the bullet out a quarter of an inch at a time. With a clatter, I drop the metal shell on a tray and everyone sighs. One last groan comes out of Valdus’s throat before blood gushes over his abdomen.

“He’s losing too much blood,” Inara mutters, pressing one towel after another to his wound.

Bloodied rags pile at her feet. Valdus’s lips take on a blue hue. His skin an ashen gray. His fingers twitch, and then he stills.

“No,” I mutter, pushing Numair away and taking his place at the head of the table. “No, no, no,” I repeat, putting my fingers on Valdus’s temples. “You are not dying here today.”

“Neylan.” Inara’s voice echoes through my thoughts, but I close my eyes. “You haven’t done this before. You’ll hurt herself.”

“Shut up,” I shout.

The silence follows, and I’m grateful. It’s only then that I see what little life energy remains, and then it, too, trickles toward the darkness in his abdomen. I catch it before it can fade away and slip a few drops of my ethera into him. It lights his veins for a second, but the blackness devours it, eager for more.

I’m not good enough. I can’t do it.

I open my eyes about to tell them that they’re right. Numair is barely breathing, watching Inara stitch up the wound. It won’t help if I don’t heal Valdus and fast. Everyone knows it, but they still try.

Numair glances toward me with the slightest of nods. “You can do it,” he mouths.

I take a deep breath and close my eyes.

I was born for this.

I am a life binder.

And my King won’t be dying today.

I knit the energy into a string, latch it over another. One at a time. It takes a long time to spread the net over the tear, but I don’t stop until it becomes a clot of light. A trickle is all that’s left from the gushing wound, and I push harder, until even that disappears.

The prick of a thousand needles settles at my temples, and I open my eyes to a light searing bright. I lift my hand to shield my face when my knees buckle under me. Numair hauls me back upright. I reach toward Valdus, but Numair catches my bloodied hand. “You’ve given enough, don’t you think?”