Page 51 of A Liar's Twisted Tongue

I don’t have time to watch. Azaire is languishing, and I must get him out.

I take control of his body, one muscle at a time, until I can feel his tired and nimble limbs. It takes a little longer for me to access his heightened agility, but once I do I know I’ll be able to get him out, regardless of Azaire’s lack of fighting skills. The dagger is gone though, meaning I must take the path of least resistance.

I walk Azaire to the front of the facility.

“Do you smell that?” one of the men guarding the front says. He holds the dagger Azaire dropped.

“Flesh?” the other says.

“Yeah.”

Azaire’s flesh. The adrenaline has kept him from noticing.

Both men are in front of the steel door, one sniffing the air like a corenth.

“Zaire,” I call to him. “How are you doing?”

“I’m holding on.”

“I’m getting you out.”

I throw a punch at the man’s hand that holds the dagger, using Azaire’s body. The dagger falls to the floor and I pick it up. It doesn’t camouflage the way Azaire’s body is. The man races right for Azaire. Too much of a giveaway.

I duck Azaire’s body and send the dagger into the man’s shoulder, getting rid of it.

Azaire is fading. He’s going to lose consciousness, and I’m not sure I can still use his body if he does. I can see his hands when I pull one of the Fire Folk’s legs and send him to the ground. Not good. The other grips Azaire’s wrist, then his shoulder, and Azaire’s fading body shudders with pain.

Managing to elbow the man in the face many times over, I’ve finally gotten him to let go. I kick the man approaching, then do so again when he’s down. The second there’s a chance, I run for the door.

I make Azaire’s body run to hide as I use my own to run to him. Then I catch him when I release my grip on his subconscious, and he falls. The shoulder of his shirt has burned off, leaving behind blistered, pink skin. Same with his hand and wrist. Blood covers his elbow, though it’s not his own.

He’s in my arms when he says, “Take me to Wendy.”

* * *

“Stay with me, Zaire,” I mutter, out of breath as I run through the halls with Azaire’s limp body in my arms. I determine which is Wendy’s room through the process of elimination, then I’m knocking hard, because lives depend on it.

“Wendy?” I shout. “Are you in there?”

The door opens, and I stagger in.

“Oh my gods,” she whispers, falling against her dresser.

“Can you heal him?” Her training is far from finished. But I know why he asked me to take her here. Certified healers have restraints on how far they can go to heal a Nepenthe.

Wendy is looking at Azaire with a trembling bottom lip and wide, glassy eyes. She shakes her head like she’s afraid of him. “Why can’t I feel him?”

Because I overrode his faculties and pushed him well past burnout.

“Please,” it comes out as a cry.

If I hadn’t told him to get out when I had the vision, would the fight have even broken out? Is this my fault in more ways than one?

After multiple, shaking breaths, Wendy says, “Put him on the bed.” She walks to her closet, pulling out a wooden tray full of glass jars. She flicks through them and hands me one with a fine, purple powder inside. “Put this in his nose and mouth.”

I do.

Wendy rips her leather gloves from her hands and holds them over Azaire’s torso. Vibrant green energy flows out of her and into him. I sit in a chair in the corner while she puts her glove back on and rubs something into the burns on his shoulder, hand, and wrist. Then she starts again with the green magic.

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