Page 42 of Fae Tithe (The Cursed Courts #1)

E leanor had sprinted through the dim streets, arriving in time to see the King take his final gasping breath. The hooks in her chest and forehead immediately dissipated, the taut lines between them severed. She took her first free breath in weeks. The smoky air filled her lungs, making her cough.

Eleanor’s eyes widened as she charged over to Helena and Lance, terror blooming in her chest. Both were huddled a safe distance away from the writhing Wisp fire, and her mother was laying limp in the Merman’s arms.

She dropped to her knees in front of them. “Mum?” her voice caught in her throat.

The Merman’s hand was flush against her mother’s neck, a wavering glow shining there.

Eleanor’s stomach twisted at the sight of Lance’s failing magic. Their faces met. Fear was etched into the fine lines at the corners of his lips and eyes, tears threatening to fall at any moment.

“Mum?” she repeated again.

The Changeling clenched her fists in her lap as she ran her gaze over her mother’s wounds. Her arm shocked Eleanor the most, her stomach dropping at the sight. She had never seen or read about an injury like it.

Eleanor studied the wound. The Seelie King carries the magic of the Dragon Flame… it must be a wound from that. I know that Lance’s healing magic is usually powerful, but I’m not sure if it’s strong enough to fix this.

Lance withdrew his hand from Helena’s neck as she took a deep, laboured breath.

“El?” her mother rasped. She reached out her grey hand and squeezed Eleanor’s wrist. “I did it, El. You’re safe. He’s gone.” She coughed, her good eye glowing with satisfaction.

Eleanor’s wrist burnt and she hissed at the shock of pain. She snapped it back from her mother’s grasp and inspected it. A dark, ash-coloured mark had appeared where Helena had touched her. The Changeling’s gaze wrenched from her mother’s face and turned to Lance.

“I have to get your mother somewhere safe. Guards could be along any moment.” The words spilled from Lance’s lips. “Her wounds are… the worst I have ever seen. We should get her back to the inn.”

Eleanor nodded in agreement, squashing down the mounting panic in her chest. “Let’s go.”

The High Prince removed his hand from Helena’s throat, and she continued to breathe strenuously by herself.

He tucked his arm under the back of her knees.

He stood with Helena cradled in his arms, her head rolling against his chest. Together, the Changeling and the Merman began the trudge back to the inn.

Eleanor was just a step behind him when her sensitive ears twitched and she turned.

“I know you,” she whispered. Eleanor waved to the Seelie Stallion, who had been watching intently from a short distance.

Lance got a few steps ahead before he turned back to the Changeling, huffing loudly. “El!” he exclaimed. “There will be guards along any minute. We need to get moving, now!”

“Just wait!” Eleanor snapped back.

She approached the stallion with her palms up.

The horse puffed through his nostrils, his ears pricking up as the Changeling’s fingers brushed his muzzle.

She stood on her tiptoes as the stallion lowered his head.

She knuckled his silken forehead, and the horse exhaled through his nose contentedly.

Eleanor spread her fingers and pressed her palm onto the horse’s silky coat.

A soft viridian glow left the flat of her fingers and the stallion closed his eyes in bliss. “Can you… can you help us, please?” she whispered, an image of Bright Sun Inn flashing across her mind.

The Seelie Stallion’s quicksilver eyes snapped open, and he snorted.

Eleanor’s eyes widened in shock as the animal plodded his way over to Lance.

His massive hooves echoed on the cobblestones with each step.

The stallion bowed, one leg bent and the other stretched out, lowering the front of his body as close to the ground as possible.

The High Prince took a step backwards, clutching Helena closer to him.

Eleanor followed the horse. She patted his thick neck. “Good boy,” she cooed.

She turned to Lance. “Get on.”

“Alright…” Lance manoeuvred his body into a sitting position onto the stallion’s broad back, thighs gripping tightly to keep him in place.

He lifted Helena along with him, positioning her just in front of his body, her legs dangling loosely either side of the horse’s belly.

Lance wrapped one arm around her middle, securing Helena against his chest, the other hand twisting into the stallion’s mane.

“I can’t direct him like this, El…” He looked down from his mount.

“…and your mother will fall off if I let her go.”

“That’s okay,” Eleanor replied as she scratched the horse’s thick neck. “He knows where to go. I told him, somehow… I can’t explain it right now. Just hold on tight and squeeze with your knees to get him started.”

“I don’t like leaving you here,” Lance admitted, glancing between her mother and Eleanor.

“I’ll be right behind you,” she promised, putting on a false smile. Her heart was hammering in her chest at the thought of being left behind in a strange city, next to the dead King. She swallowed down her fear, and gave the stallion’s side a rough pat. “Get going!”

Eleanor was right, Lance admitted as the Seelie Stallion cantered smoothly back to the inn.

The ride back was short, thanks to the stallion, but he was acutely aware that Helena’s heart and lungs were struggling, despite the healing magic he had poured into her. Panic gripped his chest as Lance thought about how long it had been since he removed his hand.

Bright Sun Inn met his eyes. The Seelie Stallion slowed to a walk and stopped right in front of the entrance.

The animal smoothly lowered his forelegs by folding his knees to the ground.

Lance slipped off awkwardly, managing to get Helena back into the cradle of his arms. Her temple was pressed to his chest.

“Uh…” Lance watched as the big creature clambered back up to his front hooves. “…thank you?” the Merman said awkwardly.

Turning his back to the horse, he elbowed open the door of the inn and charged up the stairs, the drumming of blood in his ears matching his every creaking step. He burst into their rented bedroom, kicking the door closed behind him.

Lance gently lowered Helena on the thrown-back sheets on the straw-stuffed mattress. He pressed his hand to her chest. A wavering blue glow met her blistering skin. He tried to push it into her heart and lungs to nurture their natural rhythm.

There was no beat or bellows.

There was nothing for Lance to heal.

He crumpled over her, a shuddering sob escaping his lips and skittering over her cold skin.

Helena’s heart and lungs had stopped.

She was gone.