Page 127 of The Forbidden Fae King

“No, no, no!” My heart squeezes painfully enough I think it might burst. I fall to the ground and cradle him in my lap.

The scream that leaves Klara is blood-curdling. She is immediatelyupon us, her hands shaking as she touches Drake’s face. “No! Gods, Drake, no!”

That shaft of light that was so solid and deadly a moment ago, completely disintegrates, and thick blood gurgles out of the wound. I rip away the fabric, to reveal flesh already turning black around the wound.

“Someone grab me the assassin’s pouch!” Klara screams over her shoulder. “Grab me the damned pouch!” Droplets of water fall on Drake’s face. Klara’s tears. I run my hands through my hair. I have never felt more useless.

Caitlin rushes over with the pouch clutched in her hand and Klara riffles through it immediately. The rest of my people encircle us in a protective ring, weapons at the ready and scanning the air for more attacks. I frantically look for Keira, but she is safe. Standing amongst my warriors without a scrap of blood on her.

“Does anyone see any more assassins?” I bark out.

The predawn seeps a silver glow across the sky and melts away the thick shadows.

“It is all clear,” Silvan says.

Drake moans, and it ends in a gurgled sound. I whip my head back down to him, head and shoulders still cradled in my hands. There is so much blood coating his clothes, and his usually bronze skin has become pale. Klara pulls items out of the pouch, cursing as she goes and tossing things over her shoulder.

“There has to be an antidote in here,” she mutters. “Surely they have one for themselves.”

I feel utterly helpless, watching his life drain away from him as the poison inhibits his ability to heal.

Klara pulls out a vial and tears the stopper from it with her teeth. She pours the liquid of pure darkness into that deep wound, and Drake instantly bucks. His back arches, chest rises from the ground and legs kicking as though they are trying to find purchase.

“Hold him still!” Klara yells and I press him down by the waist and good shoulder.

She uses up all of that antidote on the wound. The blackness of theflesh recedes, but doesn’t completely disappear. She then crudely stitches the wound back together, pulling a needle and thread from her own belongings.

We each hold our hands over Drake in turns, feeding our healing powers and raw magic into him until we have almost nothing left, but it is like tossing water down a drain. The poison in the wound burns it up.

It is Caitlin who forces us to stop, placing a hand on Klara’s shoulder. “There is no point burning through all your reserves now, when we still need to get him out of here.”

Keira brings us bandages and tightly binds the wound. Drake’s eyes are wide open, and he hisses through all of it, while I pour a concoction of alcohol spirits and a drug for the pain between his lips when he can take it.

The shakes in Klara’s hands steady as he becomes more alert. “The assassin’s antidote isn’t designed for fae outside of their order,” she says. “They ingest small amounts of their poisons every day to build their tolerance. This dose will only buy Drake time. We need to get him to the healing waters of the Living Lagoon.”

I nod, still on my knees, holding the man who saved my life.

Silvan and Hawthorne fashion a stretcher of wood from branches to carry him in. I rise to my feet and go straight to Keira, pulling her into a tight embrace and kissing the top of her head. Her frozen hands brush the back of my neck and her entire body shivers. She is in shock.

“Are you okay?” I murmur into her ear. “Were you hurt? Depleted?”

“I’m okay,” she says, but looks like a slight breeze could knock her over.

My entire being screams to make her feel safe again, but the dangers of this night aren’t over yet.

I whisper to her. “I promise I will make this up to you.” Keira nods, then pulls away.

“We need to keep moving,” I say to my people. “More assassins could arrive at any moment.” I glance up at the sky and hope towhichever gods are listening that the Assassins of Belladonna stay true to reputation and do not attack in the light of day.

I turn toward a leader among the Worshippers of Peace. “Can I request your protection to the God’s Gate?”

The woman nods. “All who pass through the Temple Sanctum will have their peace protected.” The others of his order murmur the exact same words, in many voices, male and female.

We jump at shadows, at any movement in the early morning, as we descend the many staircases and transverse platforms. There are few signs of life around us, except the odd scuttling of puka scaling the faces of buildings and the gurgling of streams ending in waterfalls. The sound of dozens of boots crashing upon wood and stone announces our position for blocks, but there is no helping it.

The God’s Gate stands at the base of the temple precinct, a huge yawning mouth of ribbed gold, with dainty gates adorned with swirling patterns. Beyond is the view of an open plane reaching from the foot of the city to the wilds of the forest. The plane holds the tombstones of the dead, and many portals that once connected to the realm of the gods and the humans.

Dozens of figures step out of the nearest temple, blocking our path to the gate. I almost unleash the might of my wrath upon them, until Cyprien’s grim form steps out in front of us. The black braids of his hair shimmer in the early morning sun, the golden beads within it flashing light.

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