Page 123 of A Bargain with the Fae King

A mumbled groan cracks from Riven’s lips.

Alive! Still alive.I nearly scream in relief.

“Lia.” Ambrose has that look like he’s called my name several times. He waves me over. “Sit here, next to him. Hold his hand.”

“I—”

“Your presence helps, and he needs everything right now.” He looks at me sharply. “You want him to live, don’t you?”

How could he even think… But after the events of earlier today, I suppose the question makes sense. I kneel by the side of the bed, afraid any movement will cause more pain, and take one bloody hand in both of my own.

The smallest twitch of recognition greets my fingers.

“Please don’t die,” I whisper as tears drip down my cheeks.

In the moment I learned of his deception, a part of me wished him dead. I wanted him to suffer for his actions. But now, seeing him lying in pain, an arrow through his chest, one he’d taken for his own sins but also for me, death and suffering are far from my list of desires.

A large man I’ve never seen, with darkly tanned skin and a fall of midnight hair, rushes into the room. He wears robes of dark green with a sash of white and gold around his waist. The material of his robes doesn’t have time to still before he leans over the bed and lays his hands upon Riven.

The air around us grows thick and heavy at the outpouring of strong magic.

“This poison…” the man’s deep voice rumbles across me.

“The arrow was the same style as the one that killed Argus. Has the same feel to it too.”

The healer’s face draws tight. “He didn’t have time to avoid it?”

“He should have, but he took the shot instead.”

My chin quivers. He’d taken the arrow for May, for me, even though he could have dodged it.

“The poison took Argus in moments,” Ambrose adds and glances away, his eyes downcast. Then his attention snaps back to the healer. “Can you save him?”

“We will try. Before Argus, I hadn’t seen poison like this since the war, and even then, it was rare.”

We? Just then, three more fae ran burst into the room, two women and a man, dressed similarly to the master healer. One carries a large basket that clinks with supplies. A lump of cloth sticks out one side.

“We need to get this arrow out,” the master healer calls to the new arrivals.

They position themselves about the bed, one crawling atop it with two wicked-looking knives.

I slide my hands from Riven’s and make to rise, but a deep voice stops me in my tracks.

“Lia, you stay.” The master healer knows my name, though I don’t know his. An all-too-common occurrence.

My hands close around Riven’s again, across the strong, calloused flesh still covered in grime.

I jump as someone touches my shoulder. I twist to find Sylvie at my side.

“I’ll watch your sister,” she says. And then she’s gone, disappearing through the curtain of vine before I can formulate a response.

“I’ll help you hold him,” Ambrose offers, clearly reluctant to leave Riven.

In moments, they’ve cut away his armor and shirt, leaving bloody flesh exposed around the arrow. An apprentice takes the remnants, playing assistant as they hand her ruined sections of clothing and then the knives they’d wielded.

Motion at the doorway catches my attention as Karin hustles into the room with water and more linens. Her feet still on the stonework at the sight of Riven on the bed, but one deep breath has her moving again. An apprentice dips cloth in water before hastily cleaning the wound.

I expect the fae to use medical supplies to remove the arrow. Scalpels, clamps, an IV, but they have none of that. These fae don’t even bother to lay cloth across the bed, which already bears new blood stains.

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