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He dismounts from his horse, and it’s then that I realize he’s bleeding, his forearm laid open in a long, deep gash.

“Ruskin,” I gasp. I’ve been too overwhelmed by my own pain to notice his, through the bond or otherwise.

“I’m fine,” he says, striding through the animals towards Lisinder, who still sits proudly atop his black stallion, watching his enemy retreat. Ruskin steps up to him, exchanging a few words, and Lisinder bows his head.

I can feel the curiosity spark in the Unseelie around me, watching them share looks as Ruskin moves across the plain, stopping fifty yards from us. I’m curious, even with the pain gripping me. He must be across the border now, in Seelie territory. My suspicions are confirmed when he draws his sword and plants it in the ground, closing his eyes.

He’s a striking sight—dressed in his black leathers and armor, Unseelie features out and blood splashed across his arm, standing alone on the Seelie plains.

There’s a rumbling sound, and even from where I am, I can feel the ground shake. A few of the Unseelie instinctively put their hands to their weapons as a mass of branches explodes from the ground where Ruskin’s sword touches the grass. It climbs outwards in a long line, spreading and thickening across the length of the border.

He’s building a barrier, I realize, a dense thicket that will make it harder for the Seelie to cross the border again. I hear the Unseelie murmur around me at the extent of Ruskin’s power, and even I’m impressed, despite knowing that he can properly draw on his High King magic while standing on Seelie ground. As the branches springing from the earth begin to slow, I look either way along the border and find I can’t see their end. The barricade must stretch for miles, and when it at last stops growing, Ruskin steps away, sealing up the gap behind him.

I want to feel relief, and pride and joy that we came through this, but all I can feel in that moment is pain. Suddenly, my injury is too much to ignore, and my brain feels soupy. I can’t quite hold my body up, aware that I’m starting to slip to one side on Parsley. He shifts and lows, feeling me lose my grip, but I can only meet Ruskin’s gaze as I fall. Then half a dozen Unseelie hands reach out and catch me.

Chapter 18

Istare up at the crags of the ceiling, counting the cracks and taking slow shallow breaths so as not to jostle the ten inches of crossbow bolt sticking out of me. The healers’ wing of the Unseelie Court is not exactly a calm, comfortable space right now, but I can’t blame them. All around me is the cacophony of post-battle medicine, with Unseelie running around, tossing bottles of tinctures and balms to each other, shouting instructions as the wounded groan around me.

The pain reached new levels as we traveled back through the water portal to the mountain, the squeeze and pull of the transportation spells agonizing now that I didn’t have anything to distract me from it. The heat of battle has well and truly worn off, and every inhale now is like dancing along the edge of a blade, the pain threatening to swallow me up into darkness. The only way I’m coping is by counting the cracks above me and focusing on the warm glow of my bond with Ruskin. It washes over me in gentle strokes, like waves lapping at the shore. He’s here with me, clutching my hand tight with his right hand even as his left bleeds a track of crimson down his forearm to his wrist.

“Ruskin,” I say, my voice sounding as craggy as the stony roof above me. “You should get that looked at.”

“I’m fine,” he says again bluntly, ignoring the pat pat pat of his blood hitting the floor in fat droplets.

“Fine like I’m fine?” I ask wryly. I realize that once again he’s the one sending the waves of warmth across the bond, trying to give me strength. Is his magic the only thing keeping me from screaming in agony right now? I can’t tell.

A male Unseelie in a dark gray uniform enters my sight line, leaning over me.

“I’m sorry we kept you waiting,” he murmurs, laying a hand across my forehead. “We had to see to some others first.”

I don’t need to be looking at Ruskin to feel him bristle beside me. He damn near bit someone’s head off when we first arrived and they’d told me to just lie down and wait. I squeeze his hand to calm him. Even he must realize the best thing now is to let the fae do his job, because he stays silent.

The healer repositions his hand, his brow knitting.

“Are you—” His eyes dart to Ruskin, widening. “My Lord, are you channeling magic to her at this moment?”

“You can feel that?” I rasp, surprised.

“Yes, and you need to stop,” the healer orders sharply.

“Over my dead body,” Ruskin says, his voice like thunder.

“Over both of yours, actually,” the healer says. “Your arm is bleeding so much right now because you’re actively draining your body’s strength into her. And I can’t work on healing her with your magic playing havoc with her vital signs. There’s too much interference.”

Ruskin makes a noise of frustration, lighting a little spark of fear in the healer’s eyes, but to his credit, the healer holds firm.

“I’m serious, my Lord.”

The beautiful glow of the bond fades a few notches, allowing a fresh spike of pain to dart through me. I bite my lip but stay silent, not wanting Ruskin to regret his decision. In fact, as much as I like having him by my side, I doubt either me or the healer will be able to focus with him there, bleeding onto the floor.

“Rus, go get your arm looked at,” I say, trying to put what little energy I have left into my voice. “Please, for me.”

He hesitates, but then strokes a thumb across my knuckles and stands. “For you, my love. But I will be just across the room.”

Now he’s standing I can see the intense stare Ruskin gives the healer as he goes, but the Unseelie is already busy looking me over, cutting away my riding leathers to look more closely at the wound. I stifle a cry, aware Ruskin’s still in earshot.

I see the healer’s eyes go wide again as he looks at the spot where the crossbow enters my body.