Page 54 of A Kingdom of Destruction

“We need to get you to a healer, but you won’t make it there if we try to move you,” she told him, breathing through her nose in an attempt to get herself under control.

Think.

If she tried to get him up herself, his guts would more than likely drop right out from him.

The slice had gutted the male and went from hip bone to hip bone. Whoever he’d come up against during his spying had left him in a position where he shouldn’t have even been able to make it back to the palace. Unless someone had brought him this far and then dumped him, left him to die in agony.

It took her less than a heartbeat to realize his fae healing should have been knitting the skin back together.

So what stopped it?

She felt his eyes on her and met them.

“What happened to you?” she asked in an undertone. “Why aren’t you healing?”

He stared at her, panting, swallowing like it would somehow get the words out. Only a whimper sounded.

If she didn’t act, then he was going to die right in front of her. So young, Aven mused, moving his hands to his sides while she inspected the wound closer. Blood didn’t bother her. But somehow, the fae’s youth did. She saw it in his eyes. This was no fresh-faced ancient whose power kept him looking young.

He was inexperienced, probably thrown into a skirmish without anyone telling him what to expect. She saw nothing around the edge of the wound to indicate why it might not be healing. The skin there was clean and healthy, with no sign of rot or infection. She moved her inspection along his torso and his arms. Impatience had her growling and turning to hisface, pushing his hair aside. His gaze pleaded with her to do something. To try anything, to help him.

There.

On the side of his neck, a rune had been painted in his blood, dried to his skin. The rune was the opposite of one she’d used in the past, ones she’d had tattooed in multiple places on her to speed healing.

This one stalled the process.

The rune used was a nasty one most people would never use. No, only the most depraved and baseless among them would use the rune and only then in circumstances where they wanted the person to suffer. Interrogations and the like. She’d heard of it used on prisoners and learned of it in her books, but this was the first time Aven saw it on another living person.

And the damage it caused.

“I’m going to help you,” she breathed out as the fae male struggled to keep his eyes open. “I need you to stay very still.”

It wasn’t a matter of washing the rune off, either.

The rune’s power had to be counteracted with a certain herbal formula in addition to the water. Why had she left her wand back in her room? There was no time to get it now. She’d have to perform this on the fly without wasting time.

Aven scrambled back after patting his hand once in reassurance.

“Hold on,” she begged. “You have to hold on for just a little bit longer. Can you do that for me?”

She didn’t wait for his answer, but she felt his eyes on her back as she scrambled toward the herb garden. Somewhere in the distance, a clock sounded the hour, and she gripped the edges of her bloodied robe around her. Studying the ground for those now-familiar beds of growing things.

The sound of a bubbling bird fountain grew louder the closer she got to the steps, and she paused there, the familiar smell ofrosemary in the night air. Aven held her robe out like an apron pocket and plucked a sprig of rosemary, then two. She followed it with lavender and lemon balm, a few pieces of white clover, and finally wet it all down in the bird bath. Hopefully, it would be enough water for what she had to do.

She hurried back to where she’d left the fae and ignored her own weariness.

Everything inside of her urged her to hurry, and she nearly tripped in her zeal to get back to the young man. He hadn’t moved an inch from where she left him, and she had to double-check to make sure he still breathed. His chest rose and fell so softly she barely caught the movement.

Blood continued to leak from the slash across his gut. She stopped above him, her fingers trembling as she worked the herbs together with the other. She ground them together as best she could until the pieces were small enough to handle and then knelt at his side, rubbing the mixture against the rune.

His head flopped to the side, his eyes fluttering beneath his closed lids.

The stubborn lines of the magic refused to lift. She scrubbed harder, uncaring whether she rubbed him raw or not. His life was at stake. Her breath caught in her chest. If she could just get a little more water, if she somehow found a mortar and pestle and worked the herbs?—

No time for either of those things. She broke away from him only once to move back to the bird bath, this time cupping her hands in the clear water and bringing as much as she could back to him.

“Come on.” Aven sent up a silent prayer she hadn’t found him too late.

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