Page 42 of The Dark Elf's Found Family
Unless...
I saw it at the festival. I saw there was some, and I took my eyes off the girls I should have been protecting. Rhea doesn't have magic. She's not a full-blooded dark elf. She wouldn't be able to withstand what that powder does at all, worse than what Nya went through. What if I'm about to lose this little girl who's carved herself a place in my heart, and there's nothing I can do to stop it?
"Get her on her side," I say sharply, my voice cutting through Brynn's panicked sobs. Training kicks in—all those nights spent caring for Nya, all the techniques I learned to keep her breathing when her lungs seized up. "We need to keep her airway clear."
I force myself to shove aside every memory, every flash of Syrelle's lifeless body, every night I've spent terrified that Nya might stop breathing. None of that matters now. What matters is the small girl lying motionless on Eda's couch, her lips the color of winter sky, her chest barely rising with each shallow breath.
The panic clawing at my chest is exactly what I feel when Nya collapses. The same desperate terror, the same crushing weight of helplessness. Because she is mine now, isn't she? Somewhere along the way, this brilliant little girl carved herself a place in my heart so deep that losing her would shatter me completely.
I can't lose her. Won't lose her. Not when Nya has finally found the sister she's always needed, not when I've watched Rhea bloom under my teaching, not when the thought of her never again running up to me with ink-stained fingers and excited stories makes my vision blur with unshed tears.
"What happened?" Brynn's voice cracks with raw terror as she hovers over Rhea, her hands shaking so violently she can barely touch her daughter's face.
Eda wrings her apron in her weathered hands, tears streaming down her cheeks. "I don't know. One moment she was helping Nya frost the Ikuyenda cakes, laughing about something, and the next she just... collapsed. Started gasping for air and then went so still..."
My mind races through possibilities, each one more terrifying than the last. Rhea doesn't have Nya's condition. She shouldn't be susceptible to breathing episodes or magical backlash. She's half-human, healthy, strong despite her small frame.
"Did she eat anything unusual?" I ask sharply, my voice cutting through Brynn's quiet sobs. "Drink anything?"
Eda's face goes pale. "Oh gods. There were some partygoers earlier—young dark elves from one of the traveling merchant groups. They left their drinks on the counter while they bought bread for the road. Rhea was reaching for the frosting bowl right where they'd been standing..."
The blood in my veins turns to ice. Drinks laced with aviid. It has to be, even if I don't want to believe it. Just a few grains would be enough to send a half-human child into respiratory failure.
My hands move to the leather pouch at my belt before my conscious mind fully processes the decision. The powder I keep for Nya's episodes—a carefully balanced mixture of herbs and magical compounds that can counteract aviid poisoning and ease the strain on compromised lungs. I've never had to use it on anyone else, never had to modify the dosage for a child without magic in her veins.
But I have to try. I can't watch another person I love die from this cursed drug.
"Move back," I order, my voice brooking no argument as I kneel beside the couch. Brynn starts to protest, but something in my expression stops her. Nya presses close to my side, her small hand gripping my tunic as she watches with wide, terrified eyes.
I pour a measure of the fine blue powder into my palm, more than I would typically use for Nya but less than an adult dosage. Rhea's body is somewhere between the two—larger than my daughter's but without the magical tolerance that comes from exposure. I have to guess, and the margin for error makes my hands shake.
Closing my eyes, I reach for my magic. It responds immediately, flowing through me like warm honey, eager to help. I've done this countless times for Nya, but never with stakes this high, never with such uncertainty about the dosage or the patient's ability to process what I'm giving her.
The powder begins to glow with soft silver light as my magic infuses it, transforming the simple herbal mixture into something more potent, more precise. I can feel the individual compounds responding to my will, amplifying their healing properties, preparing them to fight whatever poison courses through Rhea's system.
But as I lean forward to administer the powder, something stops me cold.
Magic. Faint but unmistakable, flickering beneath Rhea's skin like candlelight struggling against wind. It shouldn't be there—she's never shown any signs of magical ability, never demonstrated even the smallest spark of power. Yet I can feel it now, weak and unfocused but definitely present, calling out to mine with a familiarity that makes my chest tight.
The sensation is exactly what I experience with Nya. That unique resonance between related magics, the way her power recognizes mine and reaches for it instinctively. But this feelingis deeper somehow, older, like an echo of something I've carried all my life.
I don't have time to analyze it. Rhea's breathing grows more shallow with each passing second, her lips turning a deeper shade of blue. Whatever this connection means, whatever this strange magic in her veins signifies, it doesn't matter if she dies before I can save her.
Gently, I part her lips and place the glowing powder on her tongue. It dissolves immediately, spreading through her system with magical efficiency. I keep my hands on her chest, channeling more power into the healing process, feeling for any sign of improvement.
For a terrifying moment, nothing happens. Rhea remains still as death, her breathing shallow and erratic. Brynn makes a broken sound beside me, and I feel Nya's grip on my tunic tighten.
Then her magic flares to life.
It happens so suddenly I nearly jerk my hands away in shock. One moment there's barely a whisper of power beneath her skin, and the next it's blazing like a signal fire, reaching for mine with desperate hunger. The connection slams into me with the force of recognition, so intense and familiar it steals my breath.
This isn't just the general resonance between magical beings. This is specific, personal, like touching a missing piece of myself I never knew was gone. Her magic doesn't just respond to mine—it complements it, harmonizes with it in a way that should be impossible for someone I've known for mere weeks.
But there's no time to process the implications. Rhea's magic is wild, untrained, and the sudden awakening is causing it to spiral out of control. I can feel it fighting against the healing compounds, not understanding that I'm trying to help. If I don't stabilize it quickly, the magical backlash could kill her faster than the poison.
I pour more power into the connection, not just healing her body but guiding her magic, showing it how to work with mine instead of against it. It's delicate work, like trying to calm a frightened animal, requiring every ounce of skill I've developed over years of managing Nya's volatile magical episodes.
Gradually, her power settles, falling into rhythm with mine. The healing compounds spread through her system more efficiently now, neutralizing the aviid and clearing the congestion from her lungs. I can feel her body responding, her heart rate stabilizing, her breathing deepening.
