Page 74 of The Shadowbound King

“But…” I swallowed, my throat bobbing against the collar. “I’m a prisoner here.”

“Not to me.”

My heart flipped over. I stepped forward and pulled him into a hug. “Thank you,” I whispered in his ear.

He squeezed me back. “Just promise you won’t stab me.”

Laughing, I released him. “I won’t. Not even if you forget to bring me food.”

“It wasonetime!” He took my arm and pulled me up the path. As we made our way from the King’s Grove, he glanced at the knife and spoke under his breath. “Better put that thing away. Also, I’d really love it if you refrained from stabbing other people, too. The king would probably figure out I let you keep the knife, and he’d?—”

“Turn you into a throw rug?” I asked, slipping the knife in my pocket.

Ginhad grunted, moving us along more quickly as we neared the courtyard. “I was thinking more like using my entrails to make a necklace. But, sure, we can stick with throw rug.”

Chapter

Eighteen

RANE

Andrin clenched his jaw as Othor probed the bloody furrows below his ribs.

I leaned against a post at the foot of the bed with my arms folded over my chest and anger simmering in my gut. The scent of blood was thick in the air.

“Fuck!” Andrin growled, the muscles in his bare chest bunching. He sucked in a breath as Othor pinched the edges of the wound together. Red splotches stained the sheet under him. Bloodstained towels and rolls of bleached white linen littered the bedside table. Nerissa stood just behind Othor, a bowl of pinkish water in her hands.

Or maybe she was Elodie.

Othor straightened. For once, his perfect composure appeared in danger of unraveling. Sweat darkened his hairline, and his skin was tinged with gray. “This isn’t healing like it should.”

“Try again,” I said. A wave of helplessness crashed over me. I could take Andrin’s shadows. But I was useless when it came to flesh and blood.

Othor’s lips thinned as he swung his head toward me. “Have you been sleeping while I worked? I’ve tried a dozen times already.”

I pushed away from the bedpost. “Yourkingis injured. You’re a healer. So heal him.”

Othor narrowed his eyes. “My energy isn’t infinite. Magic is a give and take?—”

“Spare me the magic lesson,” I snapped. “If I have to hear even a moment of philosophy, I’ll vomit.”

“As if you’d recognize it. You’ve never visited the castle library in your life.”

“Right, because you’re usually in it.”

“Both of you shut up,” Andrin said. He glared at me as he adjusted the loose sheet that covered his nudity. “If Othor overexerts himself, he won’t be able to help me or anyone else for days.” Andrin looked at Othor. “Just wrap the wound. It’ll close on its own by morning.”

Othor hesitated. Then he placed his palms on Andrin’s ribs. “Let me try one more time.” He closed his eyes. Light glowed under his hands. Suddenly, he slumped forward.

Andrin shot off the pillows, catching Othor before he could faceplant on the bed. Nerissa yelped, nearly dropping the bowl as I rounded the bed and grabbed Othor by the shoulders. He moaned softly, his eyelids fluttering as I supported his weight.

Nerissa shoved the bowl onto the bedside table, then pressed her fingertips to Othor’s neck. “His pulse is steady. I think he just fainted.”

“He’s drained,” Andrin said. “He needs rest.”

“We should take him to his chamber,” Nerissa said. She looked at me. “Can you carry him by yourself, my lord, or should I summon one of the knights? We could also put him on one of the couches in the main chamber.”

“I can manage alone.” The knights were probably drunk. And I’d carry Othor to the fucking Covenant before I let him sleep in my room.

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