Page 83 of King of Immortal Tithe (Darkmourn Universe 2)

A clap of thunder echoed beyond the balcony. Myrinn jumped, both of us turning towards the noise as patter of rain fell heavily outside.

“If you are right, then she will stop at nothing to make sure the Joining is not seen through,” I said finally, a shiver creeping up my arms and leaving them covered in goosebumps.

The feeling of dread had become a constant in my life. It twisted among my bones, squeezed through my veins and took root in my heart. This time it was not dread for me, but for the Queen herself, for what Faenir would do.

She deserved what was coming, but at what cost?

28

The storm broke above Haxton Manor, bathing the world beyond in darkness. The building trembled beneath the howling winds. A blanket of clouds coated the sky, split only with beams of jagged lightning; they overlapped one another, some coal grey and others midnight black, each as impenetrable as the next.

Throughout my stay in Faenir’s home, I had grown used to the windows always being open. No matter if it was day or night, Faenir had an unspoken lust for fresh air. It was a rarity for them to ever be closed. Now they had each been secured, locked as rain battered across the glass with demanding cracks. Scratching of rain and sleet warred against the glass windows. The noise was terrible.

This weather was far more than any storm I had encountered. This one had brewed for days, only seeming to grow more tempered with time; it crackled with magic. The air was thick and charged. I could not ignore the hairs on my arms as they stood on end. There was no keeping away the cold that had seeped into my marrow until my bones ached. I couldn’t discern if it was the weather that caused my discomfort or the growing sickness within me.

Warm hands brushed over my bare chest, drawing me out of my thoughts. I gasped, causing the healer to flick me an apologetic glance before continuing to study my skin, and more importantly, what lurked beneath.

“Is there anything that can be done to help?” Myrinn asked, hardly removing her knuckles from between her teeth.

We both waited for the healer to respond as the golden glow of magic emitting from between her fingers dimmed. The light had been conjured from nothingness, as though the woman clasped a strand of sun beneath her palm. It was not cold, nor warm, but pleasant, nonetheless. “No.” Concentration deepened the lines of age across the older elf’s face, which only added years onto her age. Her reply was finite and sharp, like a blade driven into one’s heart without missing its mark.

Myrinn held her posture straight. However, even I could recognise how hard she focused to keep her honest reaction hidden from me. I watched her, unmoving and straight-backed.

For no other reason but to stop my hands from trembling, I began buttoning my shirt back up, focusing on the task at hand; at least it would stop me from torturing myself with the look of defeat in Myrinn’s opal gaze.

“Thank you,” I said; each word was as forced as the one before. “For trying, at least.”

The healer backed off, her distance truly signifying that there was nothing else to be done.

“Try again,” Myrinn said.

“Your Highness, I cannot heal decay—”

“Try again!” Myrinn snapped this time, interrupting the healer who cowered from the lashing of fury. “I refuse to hear your excuses. You have barely tried. Get back and try…”

“Enough.” My knees shook as I snapped my attention to the scarlet-flushed princess. “Myrinn, please. It is done.”

“It cannot be,” she replied. “This is… I do not dare believe it.”

I turned my gaze to the healer, whose eyes boiled with sympathy. It made me sick, more so than the extinguishing of hope that her confirmation had just caused. “You tried, which was all I could have asked of you.”

“Your lungs…” The healer said, hesitantly looking between Myrinn and I. “Never have I felt such a thing before. They fill with blood, and they feel… wrong. Rotting slowly until…”

“Tarha, that is very much enough.”I was thankful for Myrinn’s interruption.“I trust I do not need to remind you of the importance of keeping this between the three of us. It would be truly awful if something unwanted was said.”

Tarha, even in her advanced age compared to the princess, bowed as though Myrinn was the elder. “Threats are not required, Myrinn, not in my line of care. I simply wish to help ease the pain which,” she looked back at me, burning holes into my head, “will come soon enough.”

Myrinn blinked, keeping her steely expression. “If Arlo requires your help, then I give him authority to call for you.”

“There will be no need,” I said, still struggling with my buttons. My fingers were numb. I was more focused on swallowing back the urge to cough. It seemed a tickle had embedded into my throat like a thorn, refusing to clear.

Tarha bowed, dismissing herself without the requirement of another word. As she swept from the room, a worn cream habit clutched in her hand, a shadow passed before the door.

“I have been wondering where you have been.”

I fumbled with the remaining buttons as Faenir looked between the escaping healer, Myrinn, and me.

“She came to check on the scarring,” Myrinn said quickly, yet still Faenir’s gaze studied me as though searching for the unsaid truth. “Being human means his skin will blemish no matter the healing or tonics provided. There is no denying a healer from checking upon their patient.”

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