Page 61 of You're Not My King!

“What’s happening?” I asked, voice cracking.

Zae’l didn’t linger. He acknowledged me with a bow, the gesture somehow promising the world, before leaving again—Nie’tr following close behind. Fiona drifted back to my side, resting a heavy hand on my shoulder. “I’ve done what I can for now,” she said, which I’d already known. “But Zae’l is returning to find the arrow that pierced him—the big fool apparently ripped it out of himself like a hero and dropped it somewhere in the glade before falling unconscious.”

I scoffed lightly. “Sounds like Vo’ak.”

She hummed in exasperated agreement before carrying on. “With a sample of the poison, I’ll be able to create a proper antidote. We just have to keep an eye out and hope he doesn’t develop a fever.”

No pressure. “Do you know who did it?”

She shook her head, but there was an edge to her tone. “They were not Ly’zrd. From Zae’l’s description, they sound similar to the rat species from Slah-yer, but we can only guess where they came from, and who sent them. It was an ambush: three against eighteen. Our boys managed to cut down a few, but the rest fled when Vo’ak fell. It seems he was their only target.”

“Cowards.”

“I’m sorry, love.” She hung her head. “I wish I could do more.”

“You did what you could,” I assured her, even if I couldn’t muster up the enthusiasm to say more. I peeled my fingers from Vo’ak’s tail, just enough to peek under the gauze. The stump had stopped bleeding, already scabbing over, and it only dawned on me then that the salve I’d used was pointless.

Ly’zrd attributes were advanced in healing, his tail would grow back, which I should have known, should have realized when Fiona had done nothing about it. But at that moment, logical thought wouldn’t compute. I’d needed to feel useful, to feel like I could actually help him. I couldn’t begin to imagine the pain he must have felt, not for the attack alone, but for losing a part of himself, and I’d wanted to alleviate my own guilt.

I cleared my throat. “I’ll clean him up, and dress him with fresh bandages…”

It’s the least I can do.

“Do you need help?”

I shook my head. “No, but should I cover his chest or leave it exposed?”

She glanced down at the wound, mulling it over. “Clean the blood around it, but leave it open for now. Once the ointment absorbs, we’ll clean the wound properly and apply some more. Rinse, repeat.”

“Okay.” I stood, rubbing at the back of my neck, not caring whether I smeared the skin with blood. It oddly felt like a comfort. “Can you… Can I be alone with him?”

She smiled in understanding, the action not quite reaching her eyes, and gave my arm one last consoling squeeze. “Of course, lovey. Just shout if you need anything.”

I nodded once, and she left, her soft footfalls fading away as I soaked a cloth in the hot water before wringing out the excess. I cleaned Vo’ak meticulously, carefully wiping off every speck of blood and dirt that I could reach without disturbing him. Once his tail was rewrapped with fresh bandages—just for show, really—I dragged my stool closer, sitting there and clutching his unresponsive hand in mine. Tears welled in my eyes again, but I managed to hold them back, smothering the sob that fought to escape against my palm as I held it there until they dried up.

There was no point crying. It wouldn’t save him.

“Come on, you big lump,” I whispered, voice thick with desperation and despair. “Come back to me.”

Zae’l hadn’t returned by nightfall, and despite our best efforts, the worst had happened.

Vo’ak had a fever, one unlike anything I’d ever seen, and nothing was offering him relief.

On Earth, something so common would have been remedied and monitored with little stress, but here, where there was no modern medicine or fancy machines, it was a death sentence, signed and sealed by the Grim Reaper himself. Poisoned and feverish, a combination that was even less desirable than a curse. Fiona was distraught, I could tell by the way her fingers twitched, and her complexion had paled.

There was no more we could do.

“He’s not going to make it, is he?”

Fiona made an agonized noise in her throat, and that was enough of an answer for me. “I… I don’t know, love. I’ve given him everything I have, stabilized the poison as much as I can, but with it still in his system, he won’t have much strength to fight the fever. All we can do is hope that it breaks, but without the right antidote, the odds are against him.”

I sniffed.

“He’s stubborn,” she tacked on, clutching at straws as if it made any difference. “We need to have faith.”

“If we had the antidote, you’d be singing a different tune, right?” There was an edge to my tone that I hated. It wasn’t her fault. It was no one’s fault except the bastards who’d done it, but a coldness had washed over me, a survival instinct, a last-ditch effort to protect myself. I couldn’t control it.

I needed it.

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