Page 107 of Heart of the Summer Queen

As I reach him I crash to my knees, heedless of pain. My hands grip his shoulders, vision blurring.

Isidore’s spear has left a horrifying wound in his chest. Crimson stains his tunic.

“Elaric!” A ragged sob chokes from my throat. I want to shake him conscious but fear I’ll cause further injury.

To my relief, he stirs with a mumble. “Adara...?”

“I’m here,” I breathe, tremors shuddering through my body as I cradle his head in my lap. “I’m here.”

I trace the blood trailing from his temple, reassuring myself that at least for now, he remains with me.

“I’ve got you,” I vow.

His hand finds mine, grip feeble. “Adara . . . ”

My name on his lips sounds terribly faint. I tell myself it’s my pounding pulse which distorts his voice. He sounds weaker only in my imagination, not reality.

I weave my fingers through his hair, clinging desperately to him. “You’re going to be all right.”

“Of course...” he wheezes. Yet then he chokes, blood bubbling on his lips.

My futile hope dies at the sight.

When he continues, his voice echoes as if from the bottom of a deep well. “How could I not... when with you?”

Pain crashes into me, blinding in its intensity. I want to deny it, but the truth is unavoidable: the fatal gash in his chest, the growing limpness of his hand in mine.

I clutch him tighter, irrationally trying to tether him here through my will alone. But with each faltering breath, he slips further away.

I vaguely register the stirring kingdom around me, the people fleeing or gazing around in confusion as they stir from their three-hundred-year sleep.

“Please!” I cry out to the scattering crowd.

But no one stops to listen, and I can’t bear to release Elaric to catch their attention.

“Healer!” I gasp. “He needs a healer!”

This time, my pleas are met with a response.

Behind me, a hoarse voice calls out, “No healer can save him now, my dear.”

thirty-nine

I glance up to see Belinda emerging from the tree on the square’s perimeter. Emerald magic envelops the thawed trunk behind her. In the chaotic square, no one else notices her arrival.

“Please,” I beg, not caring how pathetic I sound. I’ll do anything to save Elaric. No price is too steep. “You must have a potion or spell. Anything!”

Agony tears through me as Belinda shakes her head. “It is too late.”

“It’s not!” I press my fingers to Elaric’s neck, seeking a pulse. It flutters under my touch. “He lives! You can save him. I’ll give you anything—name your price!”

Belinda paces to Isidore’s corpse, eyeing the golden sword protruding from her back. “You have nothing left to offer, girl. And no potion can save one so close to death.” With a nauseating squelch, she withdraws the blood-slicked blade.

“Why?” I grip Elaric’s hand. “The curse is lifting. Why isn’t he freed?”

Dread constricts around my heart. Is it because her blow struck first?

With a cackle, Belinda raises the sword. Indigo drops splatter across the ground, the jeweled hilt blazing.

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