Page 67 of Brutal Fae King
My vision is fading away at the corners.
“O-one… year…?”
“All of my most magical magic comes at a price,” she says. “And the most valuable price that everyone can pay is with time.”
Vicmar gives a deep, retching cough under me.
“He doesn’t have much time,” she says cooly. “If you want to be taken to the safety of the castle, you will transfer one year of your life to me. If you want him to be healed, we can renegotiate.”
My sight is fading.
“T-take us to the castle!” I beg. “Please!”
The witch nods her head slowly.
“It’s a deal.”
She reaches toward me, and my vision blacks out.
***
I swig huge mouthfuls of red potion. I can feel it giving me my strength back, but I think that the panic pounding through my veins is doing more to keep me awake.
“Well?!”I demand.
Bruamin pulls the gauze taut around Vicmar’s wounded stomach, but it’s not a few seconds before scarlet soaks the bandages. The elderly lord-in-waiting leans back from Vicmar and gives a worried sigh.
“It… doesn’t look good,” he says. “But the strike has missed a number of major organs.”
I look over at some of the people watching. The king’s room is filled with guards and other staff, watching worriedly. Among them is the witch, who stands with a cool, knowing smile on her face. After all, if there is no other choice, there is… her.
I turn my gaze back to Vicmar in his bed. He looks… so pale and weak, his brow coated in a light sheen of sweat, his chest raising and lowering too fast, his shallow breaths wheezing weakly from his agape mouth.
“What can we do?” I ask desperately. “Surely there has to be something we can do?” I hold out my red potion. “What about the healing potion? Would that do something?”
Bruamin has a grin expression.
“It would do something, but I doubt it would do enough.”
I lean down over Vicmar. His beautiful face is creased in pain. I can only imagine the agony he must be in. That is when I stand up and turn to the witch.
“Witch?”
She steps forward through the crowd and bows her head. It’s only now I realize that it’s a false humility.
“I have to ask you a question,” I say, “about the bond between him and I.”
Her eyebrows gave a little dart up toward her hair, and then she grins.
“Yes?”
“We are bonded. Apparently, there are conditions where if either he or I break them, we would both die, right?” I ask.
“That is correct,” she murmurs.
“Is there any way we could take advantage of the bond which we have?” I ask. “Can I take some of the injury from him?”
There’s a murmuring throughout the crowd. They look back and forth between themselves. The witch smiles at me.
