Page 69 of Forged in Flame and Shadow

“Are you ready?” Leon asks.

As I’ll ever be, I think to myself.

“Yes. Let’s go,” I say. There’s no use worrying him. Either this will work or it won’t, and right now I’m not going to think beyond my task.

Fairon is lying in the same chamber as before, his ragged breathing punctuating the hush of the darkened room. Leon and I position ourselves on either side of him as Yanda and her fellowhealer stand by the door. Dots pads in after them and settles down on his haunches by my feet.

“Did you tell them what we’re trying to do?” I murmur to Leon, glancing toward the dryads.

“Yes,” he says.

“And?” I can’t help but wonder what they think about all this.

“They don’t know if it will work, but they have no objections. They know he’s running out of time.”

“Okay,” I exhale, reaching my hand out to gently rest it on top of Fairon’s bony fingers. He shifts a little but doesn’t open his eyes.

I close my own eyes and reach inside myself, searching out my celestial magic. Fairon’s body calls to it, quickly establishing the connection, and I let my power flow toward the dim light of his celestial flame. My magic rushes eagerly into him, and this time I don’t try to pull back, letting his body absorb what it needs.

But the darkness that surrounds Fairon’s inner flame is thick. As my magic tries to reach the celestial spark, the black substance rears up like a provoked animal. Some of my power gets through, and Fairon’s flame flares, but the blackness blocks the rest. It expands, its toxic presence trying to smother Fairon’s brightness completely.

There’s something oddly familiar about the darkness—something about its energy, hungry and boundless, that I recognize. But I can’t worry about what that is now. Channeling my magic is taking every bit of my concentration. I’m pouring huge amounts into Fairon, but it’s barely making a difference.

I need help.

My free hand drops to my side, and as I’d hoped, I feel Dots’s warm fur under my fingers. He showed me the way once; I just need him to point me in the right direction again. I’m getting more and more tired as my power continues to drain into Fairon only to be drowned out by the darkness.

Show me, please.

Clarity pierces my mind, followed by the mental image of Dots staring at me from within his cage in the barracks. We formed a connection like that, looking at each other, right before I healed him. Instinctively, I know that made things easier, allowing the korigos to workwithme as I revived it.

I open my eyes, squeezing Fairon’s hand tight.

“Fairon,” I say. “Fairon wake up, look at me.”

The skeletal man lying in front of me moves a little but doesn’t open his eyes. Leon hears the urgency in my voice and leans over his brother, gently shaking his shoulder.

“Fairon, you have to wake up. Come on,” he says. His voice is strained, but there’s still a tenderness to it. “You have to do whatIsay for a change.”

The crown prince’s eyes drift open and he groans.

“That’s good,” I jump in. “Now look into my eyes, Fairon. I can’t do this without you.”

His light gray eyes land on me, and I hold his gaze, willing him to hear me. “Fight with me, Fairon,” I say, putting as much force as I can into the words. “I know you can do it.”

The eyes slowly blink, and I pray I’m not imagining the flicker of understanding in them. I turn my attention back to his innerflame and the flow of my magic toward it. Hope surges inside me as the flame flares brighter than before, the light starting to eclipse the darkness. The black presence continues to press against it, but the flame is strong enough to fight back, and as I watch, it begins to burn the sickness away.

“That’s it,” I say, encouragingly, squeezing Fairon’s hand tighter.

With my celestial light blasting the darkness from one side and Fairon’s flame burning brighter on the other, the black substance lurking within him dwindles. Even if I couldn’t sense the change, the evidence that we’re turning the tide is right in front of me.

The transformation isn’t as complete as the Miravow’s creatures. The korigos and aisthekis looked almost as good as new by the time I was done with them. But although Fairon’s cheeks are still hollow and his skin pale, the rasping of his breath fades, replaced by clear, strong inhalations. The scent of death that filled the chamber fades, and for the first time in this room I can smell the burning bowls of herbs outside.

At the same time, I can feel my magic waning. I don’t have much left to give. With one, final push, I pour the last of it into him and watch as his inner flame blazes like the sun, burning up the final dregs of the darkness.

Fairon gasps and sits up abruptly, his eyes alive and alert in his thin face.

“Leonidas,” he says, his voice solid and clear.

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