Page 23 of The Last Heir of Elsewhere

In all the months I’d known Prince Scion, I had hardly seen him without his raven companion, except during our stay in Inbetwixt when he was trying to blend in and go unnoticed. Other than that, Quill was always by his side, yet I saw no prince. Was I seeing things? Had the blood-loss affected my mind to the point of hallucination? Furthermore, did I want to see Scion?

I’d asked him to come with us and he’d rejected me, making it perfectly clear that whatever I’d thought was between us was in my mind alone. In fact, for all I knew, he’d decided to go back to being my enemy, and Quill’s presence here was an omen rather than a sign of rescue.

If I’d had the energy I would have laughed as I put out a tentative hand. “What are you doing here?”

Quill replied with an agitated caw.Looking for you, fool.

“I doubt that. Your master abandoned us.” I mumbled, struggling to keep the bird in sight. “You tell him that I said he can go fuck himself.”

My vision blurred and darkness crept in at the edges. Were those to be my last words then? A curse spoken to a bird.

I opened my mouth, thinking I should perhaps say something else. Something more meaningful, when I felt strong arms encircle me, drawing me in close, and a voice I recognized all too well whispered in my ear. “Fuck you too, Rebel.”

10

LONNIE

THE WAYWOODS

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“Saving your life, apparently,” Prince Scion said darkly, as if the very idea angered him.

Without waiting for my reply, Prince Scion bit down on his wrist with the same intensity I had seen Bael do many times before. He held the bleeding wound to my mouth.

A mix of emotions flooded through me - a sense of relief mingled with disgust. Still, I didn’t resist as the taste of blood, salty and metallic, filled my mouth. Perhaps I should have.

One of the things that Bael had mentioned, though never satisfactorily explained to me, was that by sharing blood he had tied me to him. In essence, he had made me more likely to think of him, to want him. If I was honest with myself, everything Bael had described about the connection—the changing feelings, the obsessive thoughts, the wanting to be close...I already felt that way about Prince Scion, but what if this made it worse?

I pushed the worries away as I swallowed, gulping down the life-saving liquid. Scion made a strangled sound in the back of his throat, somewhere between a groan and a sigh, and within seconds, I started to feel the effects of the blood take hold. The pain in my chest ebb slightly, and my eyes flew wide—suddenly alert—but that was where the healing stopped. The wound in my chest spasmed, and I glanced down and was almost startled to see the arrow still protruding from my chest.

I pulled my mouth back, blood coating my lips. “How did you find me?”

Prince Scion grimaced. He was wearing his full obsidian armor, and his black hair was windswept off his face, like perhaps he’d sprinted all the way here. “That’s not important right now. How the fuck did this happen? Who did this to you?”

“That’s not important, either. Why isn’t it healing?”

Scion shook his head. “I won’t know until you show me. We need to get you somewhere where I can take a look at that wound.”

Somewhat reluctantly, I dropped his wrist, and wiped at my mouth with the back of my hand. “Fine.”

I pushed to my feet—or, at least, tried to. I staggered, and Scion threw out both arms to catch me, before lifting my entire body into the air. Carrying me as if my weight made no difference to him, he strode toward the same house in the distance I’d been trying to reach earlier.

With every step, the house grew clearer. Finally, I beheld not a house, but a dilapidated old barn, that I was sure had not been used in longer than I’d been alive. Disappointment surged. We likely would not find any village here, but I supposed, at least I was no longer alone.

“We need to go to a healer,” I said stiffly.

“No healer will be able to fix this.”

Dread washed over me, because I knew he was right. Even now, I was starting to feel light headed again. “If even your blood did not heal me, and I cannot see a healer…I’ll die.”

“No you won’t,” he growled, shouldering open the rotting barn door and stepping inside. “I won’t allow it.”

Strangely, a shred of hope rose in my chest. “If I were to trust anyone to make demands of death itself, it would be you, my lord.”

“Not demands, rebel,” he said thickly. “Prayers.”

The barn turnedout to be hardly better than the forest in terms of shelter. It was large, and mostly empty, with rough and rotting beams, and cobwebs hanging from every corner and rafter. Some rusted tools, a few empty stalls, and piles of filthy hay made up the entirety of the interior, and although I could not see outside from any angle, the sound of the rushing wind made me glad it was not raining, as I doubted the roof would have held up.

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