Page 138 of A Dagger in the Ivy

Tears blur my vision as I look up at Mylo, who stands ready, his jaw set with determination. “We need to get him inside,” I say, my voice shaking but resolute.

Mylo nods, and I lead him through the gates, my uncle limp on our arms. Sir Holden hurries to help us, his face grim as he sees the extent of my uncle’s injuries. I hold on to my uncle’s hand, feeling the faint pulse of life that still clings to him, praying that it won’t slip away. But I have to let go of him when we climb the stairs, relying on Mylo and Sir Holden to carry him into the castle.

“There’s a room in the east wing,” Sir Holden says, indicating the direction with his chin.

I lead the way through the castle corridors, the flickering torchlight casting eerie shadows on the stone walls. My heart hammers in my chest, each beat a reminder of the urgency of the situation. The hallways seem endless, each turn a maze that threatens to swallow us whole. Mylo’s heavy footsteps echo behind me.

We reach an unused guest room, the door creaking as I push it open. The room is simple yet elegant, with a large canopy bed in the center, draped in rich, emerald-green fabric.

“Mylo, over here,” I direct, my voice tight with worry.

He lifts my uncle into his arms, strides over to the bed, and gently lays him down, his movements careful and precise. My uncle groans, his face contorted in pain as he settles onto the mattress.

I kneel beside the bed, my hands hovering over my uncle, unsure where to begin. The sight of his blood-stained clothes and the pained expression on his face fills me with a sense of helplessness.

I tear the shirt from his chest, my eyes scanning his skin. Whip marks, contusions, lacerations, burn marks… I hold back a sob as I look him over. He’s been fucking tortured.

“Sir Holden, can you fetch me a basin with clean water?”

“Right away, Your Highness.” Sir Holden runs off, leaving us in the room.

“What happened?” I ask Mylo. “Who did this to him?”

“It was the Shadow Tsar. He left him for dead at the border.” Mylo shakes his head. “The Hederan guards found him and alerted me.”

“Left him for dead? I don’t understand.”

My uncle groans, his eyes barely flitting open, searching for my face. He tries to speak, but I place a hand on his arm—the only part of him that’s not covered with blood.

“Save your strength,” I urge him. “I need to heal you first.”

Sir Holden returns with the basin and a cloth, handing them over before backing up to give us space. I want to rush to clean off the caked-on blood, but I need to control my movements. My uncle seems to be hanging on by the narrowest of margins, and I don’t want to cause any more injury or hurt.

My instinct is to begin as close to his heart as possible. Laying my hands on his chest, I close my eyes and call upon my healing powers. I wish, now more than ever, that my powers were fully manifested. Now, when I need it the most.

“Please, hang on, Uncle.” The healing energy pulses through my fingers into him, but I feel as if something is wrong. Like something is trying to block the magic, slow it down. My mind races with fear and confusion. I want to kill the fucking tsar. “Uncle Kormak, can you hear me?” I ask, my voice trembling. “Stay with me, please.”

Mylo stands by the door, his expression grim. “He’s strong, Celeste. He’ll pull through. He has to.”

I can’t help but think he’s saying it more to reassure himself than me.

I don’t give up. Though it drains me, I push on, letting the healing energy flow into him. I can scarcely breathe through any of it until I see the color of the bruises lighten a bit. The lacerations change from bright red to a pinkish hue.

I can feel myself growing weak, but I don’t want to stop mending him.

When my hands begin to numb and the room starts swimming, Ifeel a strong hand on my shoulder.

“Celeste, you need to stop.” Mylo looks down at me with concern etched on his face.

Reluctantly, I let go of my uncle, my shoulders sagging. I don’t feel as if it’s enough, but my resources are depleted.

“It’s a good start,” Mylo says, hunching over and studying my uncle’s wounds. “But you need your powers to recharge. Otherwise, you can’t help him at all.”

I nod in defeat, resting my hand on Mylo’s arm. His presence is a steady anchor in the storm of my emotions, but the uncertainty of the situation gnaws at my resolve.

I grasp my uncle’s hand, feeling the faint, erratic pulse beneath my fingers. “You’re going to be okay.”Please, gods, I pray it will be true.

The room feels colder, the walls closing in as I wait for my magic to work. I know it’s in him, the magic flowing through his body, and his magic should come back to full strength eventually, so he can heal himself. I can’t fathom the horrors the Shadow Tsar must have inflicted to weaken him so severely, stripping away even his own ability to heal.

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