Page 100 of Jailer to the Death God
“It won’t be much, my lord. I told you my magic is weak.”
“Do your best.”
I want to speak to Arawn, to tell him all the things… everything… But I can only take one more breath. And one more.
My head is lifted, cradled against something firm and fabric-covered.
“Little Queen.” The death god’s voice is deep and rich. Velvet darkness soothing me into my eternal rest. Warm fingers stroke my hair back from my forehead. “Stay with me.”
A flicker of warmth begins in my chest, and a golden glow shimmers through my eyelids.
Arawn bends nearer, murmuring words to me as the soft buzz of healing magic passes through the muscle of my damaged heart. “I am myself, and you are yourself,” he says softly. “Yet I will weave my life with yours, and the two of us shall be stronger, until the day betrayal or death may divide us. What is woven shall not be cut, and what is entangled shall not be severed. Yours infinitely, yours devotedly. Yours in passion and pain, in beauty and blood, in age and agony. By myself I swear it, and by my power I bind it.”
I can breathe more easily now. I’m breathing, and my heart is beating more strongly. The leaking of my life has halted.
There’s a faint gasp, and a rolling thump.
My eyelids blink open, heavy and thick.
Tilda lies on the knotted ground beside me, unconscious.
“Oh gods,” I rasp. “Is she—Arawn, tell me she didn’t die to save me. I couldn’t bear it.”
“No, love. Look.”
He points to her forehead. On her brown skin is a faint mark, identical to the one Arawn placed on the forehead of the boy healer at the riverside inn. “The moment you killed Macha, my powers returned. I was running through the city at the time, but your guards had caught up with me on horseback—they had Tilda with them. I seized her, and we took to the skies, to follow you with all possible speed. While we were flying I set this mark, so she could use her full power on you without risking her own life. She will need to rest and regenerate, but she will live.”
“She’s a healer,” I murmur. “I never knew.”
“Her magic is small and weak,” Arawn replies. “She has repaired your heart and your lung, I think, but your flesh is still broken, and you’ve lost much blood. I’ll take you to the palace to rest, and then I will send for that boy healer. He is far more powerful than Tilda, and he can mend your wound completely.”
“What about Tilda? We can’t leave her unconscious in the forest.”
“Your guards are riding after us. I told them where I was headed. They will be here soon, and they can retrieve her.”
Arawn lifts me carefully, spreading his wings again. There’s a lurch when we take off, and I grimace, but the pain is bearable.
“You’re always having to fly me around when I’m wounded,” I mutter, leaning my head against Arawn’s shoulder. “It makes me feel weak.”
“You just killed a goddess. You are anything but weak.” His voice is tight with emotion. “We are still contracted, you and I, but I no longer have to fear for my life, or for the fate of my realm. I am grateful to you, little Queen.”
My chest still burns with pain, but I manage to reach up and touch his cheek. “How do you feel? Are you less incarnate now that Macha’s spell is broken?”
“I could be if I wanted to change forms, I suppose. But I rather like this body.”
“Oh, good.” I nestle against him. “I rather like it too.”
40
While Vale lies in bed, resting, I cancel the midday celebration (to the great chagrin of the Chief Manager) and meet with the three nobles she previously left in charge when she and I were traveling.
First, the three nobles and I deal with the wild speculation running rampant throughout the city. Many people witnessed the assassination attempt, and some managed to identify Lord Venniroth’s body, despite his aged appearance. They saw me kill him, listened to the conversation between me and Macha, and watched me pursue Vale and Macha in my winged form. Word of who I am is already spreading. There is nothing for it but to admit the truth.
So I tell the three nobles everything. Lord Redglaive, who is clever with words, writes a letter, which is copied by scribes and sent out via the official palace messengers and the Reckless Riders. In it we provide the people of Cerato with a shortened form of the truth, softened in places at the suggestion of Lady Elanann. Master Coors meets with the guards of the royal city and advises them on how best to manage the questions and concerns of volatile citizens without heightening panic.
As I speak with the trio of nobles and note how their different strengths complement each other, an idea begins to form in my mind. It is too new to speak of it to Vale, but worth contemplating as I consider our options for the future.
The boy healer arrives late the next day to finish mending Vale’s wound. She speaks to him and his parents afterward, offering a fine residence here in the palace and the best of education for the boy if they will stay and let him become a royal healer.
