Page 49 of The Shadowbound King

Andrin shivered, the muscles under his coat rippling. With a deep groan, he dissolved into shadow. The thick cloud swirled around Othor, and then Andrin reformed on two legs. Immediately, he collapsed into the high priest’s arms. Othor grunted, staggering under Andrin’s weight.

A soft cry broke from me as I lurched toward them, only to stop when I caught sight of the Edelfen. It was a black, twisted mass once more, the trees barren and cold. Ominous shadows hovered between the trees. A pair of glowing eyes appeared for a moment before winking out of sight.

“I’m fine,” Andrin gasped, drawing my attention back to him. He pushed free from Othor’s grip, then waved off Othor’s attempt to help him again. Pale and sweating, Andrin swiped at his forehead. “I’m well. I simply waited too long.” He started toward the courtyard, got two steps, and stumbled.

Othor grabbed him again, then shot me an impatient look. “Help me.”

I sprang forward. “What should I do?”

“Get on his other side. Help me hold him up.” Together, Othor and I draped one of Andrin’s arms around each of our shoulders. Andrin’s fingers brushed mine, and I yelped as magic snapped against my skin.

Othor gave me a sharp look as he adjusted his grip on Andrin’s arm.

“Upstairs,” Andrin rasped. With a determined expression, he shuffled forward.

“Shouldn’t we call the knights?” I asked, grunting under his weight.

“No,” Andrin said. “No knights. Just…get me…upstairs.” He rallied a bit, growing steadier on his feet. But it was still slow going as Othor and I helped him under the arch and across the empty courtyard. When we entered the castle, music and sounds of revelry echoed off the stone.

Andrin leaned more heavily on my shoulder as we made our way up staircases and down corridors flickering with candlelight. The sounds of the feast faded, and moonlight slanted across the passageways in thick, silver shafts. Sweat dampened my hairline. The scent of woodsmoke and spruce swirled from Andrin and into my lungs. His arm was a warm, solid weight around my shoulders and nape. My side brushed his, and my skirts swished around his legs.

Finally, the doors to Andrin’s chamber swung open, and Othor and I helped him shamble inside.

“Get him to the bed,” Othor panted. Slowly, we crossed the main room and entered Andrin’s bedchamber. A single lamp burned low on a table beside the bed. Someone—Ginhad, probably—had turned down the bedding, and Othor and I helped Andrin collapse on his back.

“Fuck,” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. Moonlight from two wide balcony doors streamed across the thick carpet and over the bed, highlighting the lines of strain on Andrin’s face.

“You know better than this,” Othor said, rolling up his sleeves. His demeanor was brisk as sat on the edge of Andrin’s bed and unbuttoned Andrin’s jacket.

I hovered behind Othor, uncertainty rooting me to the floor.

“You were reckless,” Othor continued, his fingers flying down the buttons. “Careless.”

“Anything else?” Andrin murmured with his eyes still closed.

Othor spread Andrin’s jacket open and then started on Andrin’s shirt. “I sit on your council. It’s my job to tell you when you’re stupid.”

Andrin’s teeth flashed white as he gave a crack of hoarse laughter. Then his smile fled, and he groaned. “Hurry, please.”

Othor pulled the halves of Andrin’s shirt wide. He hesitated, turning his head and meeting my gaze. “Go in the other room.”

“No,” Andrin said. When I looked at him, his eyes were still shut, his fingers still tight on his nose. But authority radiated from him, and his voice was steadier as he added, “She stays.”

Othor’s lips thinned, but he faced Andrin and rested his palms on Andrin’s bare chest. Bending his head, Othor closed his eyes.

My heart sped up. I stared, my gaze riveted to Othor’s hands. Light flashed under his palms. Andrin jolted, and his color flowed back like someone turning on a spigot. His chest expanded as he drew a deep breath. After a second, he lowered his hand and opened his eyes.

Othor sat back, a soft groan slipping from him as he pulled his hands away.

Sitting up, Andrin reached for him. “I’m sorry?—”

“It’s nothing,” Othor said, rising in one smooth movement. His jaw was tight as he straightened his robes.

Andrin frowned, then swung his legs off the bed. “It was a lot.”

“Nothing I can’t handle.” Othor’s sigils gleamed black against his pale skin as he looked from Andrin to me. His gaze moved over my hair, and his jaw tightened further.

Abruptly, I realized I still wore Valina’s flower crown. Self-consciousness flooded me, but I kept my chin high as I pulled the flowers from my head.

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