Page 33 of Bloom
“Aleric,” Jaime repeated with a real note of fear in his voice. “Hang on. He’ll get the spear out.”
“G-Gautier did it,” Aleric managed to say.
Chapter Eight
Jaime had seen a man fall off of his horse after drinking too much. He’d lived with a broken arm.
He’d never seen a horse throw its rider while panicking. Worse, Aleric had an arrow and a spear sticking out of him. Someone had attacked him, and he almost expected men to burst from the woods behind him to finish him off as panic made him jump down from his horse and race toward Aleric. A man shouted to grab Mighty who was covered in froth. Her eyes rolled in terror as she bolted and fortunately didn’t trample Aleric. She raced for a trio of women who scattered on their mounts.
Jaime crouched by Aleric who wasn’t moving. What if he’d snapped his neck? Death couldn’t be reversed by any healing magic. Who attacked him? His eyes scanned the treeline, but he saw nothing.
Lord Monet moved faster than Jaime thought possible since he had trouble with his knees. Jaime was familiar with the fear a Father feels when his son is in mortal danger. He’d seen it before, and Lord Monet made a choked noise. Jaime took Aleric’s arm.
“Aleric!”
“Sit him up,” snapped a man, and Aleric's leg jerked, showing he was still alive and his neck hadn’t snapped.
Whatever happened before, they had to focus on keeping Aleric alive at the moment. He wouldn’t live for much longer if Olivier didn’t heal him. Jaime already had a hold of Aleric’s arm, so he pulled him up into a sitting position while trying to be gentle. Aleric’s head rolled back as blood trickled from thecorner of his mouth, and his half-closed eyes stared through Jaime. The coppery scent of blood was thick.
“Aleric. Hang on. He’ll get the spear out.” The tip sticking out his front threatened to bring back memories Jaime didn’t want to remember. He glanced at the woods again, almost expecting to see something.
“G-Gautier did it,” Aleric suddenly mumbled, and his voice was so low, Jaime wasn’t even sure if he’d properly heard him.
“Huh?”
What the fuck? Alexandre, or Lord Gautier as Jaime kept thinking of him, was only a couple of feet away and handing the physician his dagger. There was no way he could have attacked anyone and come around to the main group.
The physician knelt, and his hands were surprisingly steady as he cut open the back of Aleric’s vest and shirt. “Keep him still. I doubt he truly knows what’s going on anymore, and if he tries to move, hold him tight. If he feels the pulling…”
“All right.” Jaime cupped the back of Aleric’s head and tried to keep still despite the awkward positioning.
He couldn’t stop the slight tremble in his limbs, and he wasn’t even sure when it had started. Aleric’s vest and shirt were soaked in blood and beyond repair. If he’d already lost too much, he could die anyway because the body and heart would struggle. He didn’t seem to be conscious anymore and was completely limp as Jaime shifted his positioning so the spear wouldn't poke him.
“Hold him still,” the physician commanded again.
Jaime tried with an arm around Aleric’s lower back. If he let go, he was sure the future lord would tip over since he wasn’t moving or speaking. Lord Monet stood to plant his hands on his son’s shoulders to keep him down.
“Son, hang on. Please. I can’t lose you too.”
Olivier pulled out the arrow and immediately stuck his glowing finger into the wound to seal it. That was one wounddealt with. One more, and Aleric would survive. He was a dick, but he didn't deserve whatever had happened. Outlaws most likely. They wouldn’t dare approach such a large group, and Aleric must have gone off by himself, thinking the area was safe.
Olivier shifted himself to the side, gripped one end of the spear, took a deep breath, and warned them again to hold him still.
The barbed tip of the spear exiting surely tore more flesh, and the coppery scent increased. Aleric twitched with his head limp against Jaime’s shoulder. He jerked almost like he wanted to get up before suddenly letting out a scream of absolute agony.
Jaime grabbed the back of his head to keep him down and tightened his other arm. The sound clawed at his chest. He’d heard similar screams once. Lord Monet squeezed and pushed down on his shoulders as more blood trickled from the back part of the wound, and a man swore from somewhere behind them. The physician dropped the spear, and his hand glowed before he thrust his fingers into the other side to heal it from both ends.
Aleric went limp again and didn’t move anymore. The next few seconds felt like an eternity as Jaime’s heart pounded, and he regretted being a prick to him.
Olivier’s fingers were bloody once he was done. “That’s done. Lay him down.” Olivier’s face might as well have been carved from stone. Despite his healing ability, he had to be worried.
After all, who’d expected this? Aleric was ashen when they laid him down. Sweat and blood made parts of his ruined shirt stick to him.
“Will he be all right?” Lord Monet demanded in a tight voice.
Olivier touched his neck, presumably checking his pulse. “His pulse isn’t good, but he should-”
“You better make sure he lives.”
