Page 155 of The Shadow Fae Rhapsody
He spits out a tooth and straightens to sit up. “Your injuries look worse than mine. I don’t have any healing technique to help you.”
“That’s all right.” I breathe against the pain rippling my ribs.
I flick a look at the red-haired dwarf before me. He is dressed plainly in a brown tabard, covered with a vest and a copper-colored cloak instead of an armor. This dwarf may not be a warrior, but if he is to survive, he will need a weapon to get out of this chaos.
“You should take this.” I offer him the white dagger in my possession. It’s only right I return to him a relic of his people.
The dwarf backs several steps. He gazes at the weapon with horror in his eyes. “How did you have this in your possession?”
“You don’t have to worry. I purified it earlier,” I quickly reply before he becomes more afraid.
“You did what…?” he asks. The shock in his voice mirrors the one playing on his face.
A handful of seconds passes. The male slowly creeps towards the dagger, studying the blade with gleaming eyes.
“It is a curse that took our sorcerers two hundred years to ferment in the dark mountains of Huruk.” He turns to me, looking at me up and down. “And you said you cleansed it…?”
I merely nod.
His lips part with awe and astonishment. “We presented the daggers to trick the whore queen who took our mountain. Too bad Rhianelle and her family died before she can succumb to our trap.”
The dwarf doesn’t seem to know that he is talking about my mother. He studies me for a long moment. “So, there is still someone pure-hearted among the elves.”
It’s not so much about being pure,I almost tell the dwarf. I just accepted myself for—
A sharp pain spears through my chest.
It rakes over my back down to my spine like the talons of some dark beast. The dwarf pats my back as the agonizing sensation moves through me. Concern touches his expression. “I saw some of your healers helping my people at the west tower. I’ll go get them. Wait here.”
I grab his vest, shaking my head desperately. “Don’t do that, please. I need to see him.”
He throws a curious look at me. I rally every last bit of energy I have left to stand.
Useless legs, move forward please,I beg.
“Where are you going, child?” the dwarf presses, chasing after me.
“I must find him,” I mutter with shaky breaths. My knees suddenly buckle from the exhaustion.
Oh no. No. No.
Tears prickle my eyes but I hold them as best as I can. “He needs to know I didn’t mean to hurt him.”
The sadness settles and thickens in my chest. Svenn’s my mate and I stabbed him in the heart.
Yes, he’s my mate.
The reminder overshadows my pain and I make another attempt to rise.
A gentle sigh leaves the dwarf. He looks at me with compassion and sympathy. “This person of yours, where can we find him?”
My person.
I force myself to breathe. The small act feels like an enormous effort.
“I don’t know. He’s probably with the other prisoners of war.” My voice is ripped raw from the sorrow in my chest.
“The holding cell, perhaps?” he asks, wiping dried blood over his forehead. “I happen to know where that is. Come with me.”
