Page 195 of Wolf Caged
“Neve.” It was all my sister needed to say. “She had a vision. She saw Saphira wounded. Saw your return. Kael, she… she left her home to warn us.”
Dread pooled in my stomach, weighing down my insides as I strode towards the dais and gently laid Saphira down before my throne.
Her blood glistened on the leather of my armour as torchlight flickered over us, the warmth of it struggling to improve the pallid colour of her skin.
I stroked fingers through her tangle of silver hair. Fight. Be strong.
The three males dressed in black robes moved as one towards her and I paid them no heed as they made me stand and move back from her, as one checked me over while the other two tended to her. My gaze remained rooted on her, the whole of my focus narrowed to her as I willed her to be strong. Survive.
A growl pealed from my lips when they stripped her blouse from her, in danger of exposing her, and my sister hurried forwards, swatting them away until she had taken one of the cloths they had brought with them to soak up the blood and had laid it over her chest.
I stared at the wound on her right shoulder, at the reddened skin that was already healing, the wound closed but still tender looking.
And told myself she would live.
But had the wound been only inches to the left, she would have died.
Because of me.
The physicians took their leave, bowing their heads to me as they departed, and I continued to gaze down at the little wolfas she breathed slowly, easily, as if she merely slumbered rather than had succumbed to exhaustion during one of the teleports.
I grew increasingly aware that it was not only Jenavyr with me now.
Malachi loomed like a shadow close to one of the ornate pillars. Riordan casually leaned against the one opposite him. And Neve hovered, her amber eyes as bright as fire as she checked Saphira over and whispered apologies to her in the dragon tongue.
I was the one who should be apologising to Saphira. I was the reason she was injured. Not Neve. It had been my decision to take Saphira with me, a rash and reckless one born of jealousy and a dark need to keep her away from Morden.
I had endangered her, and I had endangered Neve too.
Her amber gaze was grave as she looked at me and muttered, “Do not give me that look. I saw her injured. What else was I to do? I wanted everyone to be ready for your return.”
She had been worried about Saphira—her friend—and had done what she could to save her.
She had left her home, had stepped beyond the protective wards for the first time in decades, and had risked her own life by doing so.
But whatever happened as a consequence of her actions, I would keep her safe. I silently vowed that as she checked on Saphira, humming softly to her. I would keep them both safe.
Jenavyr neatly piled the pieces of my chest armour near her and then looked at me, her brows furrowing. “You will be well, brother?”
I looked down at the bandages that crossed my chest and wrapped around my hands, and nodded. “I am healing and they gave me a draught to help. The bandages are wholly unnecessary.”
And I would remove them once I was alone, would bathe to rid myself of the dirt and blood.
Saphira’s blood.
“What happened?” Malachi positively growled those words. “I knew you should have taken me with you. A little wolf?—”
“Saphira served me well,” I growled, cutting him off, unwilling to have him belittle her strength. He did not know her. He did not know how strong and brave she was, or how she had thrown herself into battle despite her fears. “We secured An’sidwain.”
I nodded towards the pack next to Saphira.
Neve scurried to it and ripped it open, scattering the contents across the flagstones, and her eyes lit up as she found what she was looking for. She cooed at the ruby crystal as she gathered it carefully into her hands and brought it to her chest, as if it was a baby. As she held it, it seemed to grow, the sides expanding outwards a little. I shook my head, sure it was fatigue making me see that, and turned to my sister.
She was already in her armour, the black metal plates covering her from her shoulders to the pointed tips of her boots. I had failed to notice that until now. Vyr had come dressed for war. She knew something more than Saphira’s injuries had had me hurtling from the Wastes, expending far too much magic.
“Seelie cross the Wastes.” I sank onto my throne, gaze on Saphira, monitoring her as she twitched and her face crumpled for a moment before relaxing again. She would wake soon.
“Summer Court?” Riordan pushed away from the pillar, no longer so casual.
