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Sickness claws at me.

I didn’t shield her. If my ward had covered her, she would not be dying at this moment.

Instead, I lost myself to my memories. To my power. And those few moments of inattention were enough.

Fox approaches the clearing, Madinia’s mare trailing him. We tied them loosely enough that they could easily escape if necessary. Instead, they came here.

As gently as I can, I sweep Madinia into my arms.

“Don’t.” The word is a guttural moan, a plea I never could have imagined her making.

“I’m getting you to help.”

“Too… late.”

Fox kneels, allowing me to mount with Madinia still held carefully in my arms. When he rises to his feet, she lets out a whimper.

“It’s not too late. This is why the baby seer told us to bring the horses. Rest, beautiful woman. I’m going to find a healer.”

She’s not listening. No, she has already lost consciousness, her face shockingly white, her body far too fragile in my arms.

Madinia

Pain.

I thought I knew what it was. What it meant.

I had no idea.

Agony blazes through my body, sharp and hot. It spreads outward from my chest, each of my shallow breaths an unspeakable torment.

Calysian’s eyes are more gold than black. They’re wild as they meet mine, his expression terrible. “You’re awake. Good. Stay that way.”

His arms are wrapped tightly around me, protecting me from the natural jostling from his horse. One of his hands is pressed against my lung, next to the arrow. An effort to slow the bleeding. But I know my chances of survival with a punctured lung in the middle of a swamp.

And they’re not high.

I cannot believe Kyldare was the one to kill me.

That thought allows me to stay conscious for several minutes, the rage sharpening my mind.

But my head begins to swim, and when I cough, black dots dance across my vision. I know what that wet cough means.

Blood.

Calysian’s eyes meet mine once more, and they’re suddenly black. Cold. He looks inhuman, the way he did in those moments after he took his grimoire.

I tense, suddenly certain he’s about to dump me off his horse so he can turn his attention to the other two grimoires.

Instead, he lowers his head. “I have not given you permission to die.”

The words are saturated with his usual arrogance, but I can hear a strange underlying thread of something within them. Something that sounds almost like…fear.

I cough, more blood spilling from my lips.

Can’t…breathe.

Unconsciousness is a relief. Distantly, I hear Calysian’s curse, but I welcome the incoming numbness with everything in me.