Page 8 of The Prince's Mage

The cloak.

She looked up to see Gavril leaning his weight against the table as he rested his hands on her shoulders while she knelt on the table. He whispered, “There, warm. Almost done. Just lie back down.”

Not when he was going to collapse any second if he used so much as another speck of vitae. She wasn’t in danger of dying any more, but if he kept going he would be.

She kept pushing herself toward the edge of the table, right toward him. He couldn’t stop her. She swung her legs off the edge and tried to slide off, but the second any weight hit her legs, they buckled. Gavril immediately wrapped his arms around her to catch her, but his legs buckled as well, sending them both to the floor.

Once they’d landed, he pushed himself back, leaning against the wall, and pulled his arms back like her skin would burn him.

That would not do.

With her weak arms, she grabbed his left hand and pulled it up to her throat and let out another pathetic whine. His eyes widened and he quickly lifted his other hand and then the runes were gone and she could speak. He tried to pull his hands back again, braced for whatever venom he clearly expected to fly from her mouth.

Instead she pulled his hands toward her as she crawled forward. She took his left hand and slid it beneath the cloak to press against the top of her chest, over her heart, so he could feel the strong, solid beat. She wrapped the other around her and curled into his chest, settling herself so he could hold her and feel her heartbeat. She whispered, “Vivet.I live. I am safe.”

He slowly pulled her in tighter, moving the hand over her heart. He curled one arm around her waist and the other around her shoulders, his left hand finding her neck, resting against her pulse. She felt his breath catch as she rested her head on his heart and slid her arms around his waist, holding onto him.

She rasped, “You are here. I am safe. Rest. I live. I will live. You may continue when you are strong again. The pain is not so bad, not when I can hear your heartbeat.”

His heart stuttered at her voice, and he curled around her, pulling her even more tightly against him, but gentle enough not to aggravate any of her lingering aches. He buried his head into her hair, and her curls dampened where his eyes were squeezed tightly shut against her. He ran the fingers of the hand that wasn’t measuring her pulse up and down her arm. The way they moved, though, didn’t seem to be random.

It was almost like he was writing a rune across her skin. But whatever it was, Marcella didn’t know.

But she didn’t mind it. It was nice.

After days of blades and burns and before that bruises and scrapes, to be so gently handled and softly touched did more to soothe her agony than any of his healing runes did.

Chapter3

GAVRIL

Gavril was ripped out of his soft dozing by the sound of Aimilia’s voice. At some point he’d stopped tracing the rune for ‘safe’ against her skin and had given in to his own exhaustion.

“—ril! Are you alright? Is the Sordes alive?”

Right. Gavril really didn’t have the time to sit there with Marcella in his arms until he had enough strength to finish healing her. At least, Aimilia couldn’t hold off the other Runai for as long as he would need. And now that he was certain he had the strength to stand and carry Marcella, he would not let her spend another second in this room of horrors.

She was alive. Barely. He’d barely gotten there in time and realized her lifeless body wasn’t actually lifeless after all.

It was a miracle—he was certain—she’d made that noise, and it had pulled him out of his red haze so he could save her.

“Yes! Marcella is alive! I’m coming. I just overdid it,” Gavril called out as he opened his eyes. The only light in the room came from the hallway where Aimilia had cast runes. That was fine by him. She must have chased off the healer for him that had told him his wife was dead. Or she’d run off when he’d started destroying the room. If he could see the full scope of what he’d destroyed—of what the healer had done to Marcella—he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from bringing the whole palace down around them.

At the sound of his voice, Marcella shifted in his arms, her head shifting up from his heart and into the crook of his neck. Her heart was still beating as strongly as could be expected where he had his fingers against her pulse. His heart swelled and his throat tightened, but he focused on getting to his feet with her in his arms. Her eyes fluttered as he did so, her face twisting, and the tiniest pained whimper out of her throat had him shifting his grip gently, pulling her in and murmuring softly in her tongue, “I have you. I will keep healing soon.”

She didn’t seem to wake, just settled into his arms as he got his legs beneath him. She sank her fingers into his cloak, wrapped around her. He paused for a moment, watching the fabric rustle and feeling her breath against his skin, assuring himself this was real. He wasn’t too late. He’d made it in time. Time enough at least to save her from the agonizing, slow death she’d been left to endure.

If he and Aimilia had been a mere hour later… If they’d been stopped at all when they’d returned to the castle…

Marcella shouldn’t be alive at all. The heretic said she’d been on the table for seven days. The longest a Sordes had ever lasted was five.

This was a miracle. It could be nothing but. Somehow, barely, just barely, it seemed maybe her goddess had granted her a miracle. Or maybe Asentai had granted it to him. Because if she’d truly been dead—

She wasn’t. So there was no point throwing himself off that cliff. His wife was alive.

Although what kind of state she was going to be in when she woke up, he had no idea. All he seemed to be able to do was keep her alive against her will. He couldn’t keep her safe.

“You might want to move faster, Gavril!”

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