Page 17 of The Elven Spymaster's Thief

I woke to movement and the stench of rotting flesh. A throbbing in my temples assured me it wasn’t just a dream. Someone held me close. A firm chest beneath my palms, a solid lean arm behind my shoulders, and the unique scent of my new elven master filled my only working senses. Those sensations were almost comforting. Then, it dawned on me. I couldn't see anything, and worse, I couldn't hear anything. Someone was touching my face, and a tingle of magic was working within my head.

Meddling elf! I didn't want him in my head! I shoved at him.

He didn't let go, but I did manage to dislodge his fingers from my face.

“No! Get out of my head!” The vibration of my words worked through my throat and head, but no sound reached my ears. Tears flooded my eyes. I was deaf!

I collapsed against my captor and burst into tears.

Whispier roughly tightened his one-armed grip on my shoulders, trapping me against his chest as his free hand completely covered the right side of my face. The pressure of his fingers against my skin was just short of painful, and his magic suddenly flooded my head in a tingling wave of scents. Grass, moss, and the rustle of the wind through the trees, the smells and the sensations of spring in the forest overwhelmed me as I cried. I couldn't stop him.

Then a pop on the right side of my head.

“...fighting me. I am trying to heal one of her ears,” Whispier's voice said from next to me. “Hold still, love. I am almost finished.”

I stiffened slightly, pressing against his hand to turn my face upward toward the sound of his voice just as the light returned with a snap.

“The alarms have been reset, Master Whispier. I will go seek out your brother for you.”

Whispier's handsome face came into focus inches above my own. Darkened moss green eyes rimmed in silver and threaded with blue studied my features with growing concern.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked huskily.

I shook my head slightly without breaking my gaze from his.

“May I resume healing you?” His breath caressed my face. His voice sounded strange when heard with only one ear.

“Yes.” My voice was muffled.

His fingers caressed my temple, lacing into the loosened strands of hair that had escaped my braid. He molded his hand to the shape of my head. The green of his eyes darkened further, and the silver seemed to glow against the darkness. Awareness of his closeness flooded through me. He radiated warmth and a soothing sense of comfort despite the intensity of his gaze. I was half tempted to close my eyes and shut out the discomfort of his gaze, preferably to focus on the sensations of his embrace.

With a soft pop, I could hear fully again. His breathing caught in his chest with a barely noticeable hitch as the tingling in my head stopped. Pain tightened his features for a fraction of a second before he had composed them again. But he couldn't disguise his breathing, shallower, quicker than it should be, and clearly abnormal.

“You are injured,” I realized.

“It is nothing.” He slowly released me. His hands lingered on my shoulders longer than necessary, even if he was checking to make sure I was steady on my feet. Then, he took a hesitant step backward.

Casimir appeared in Whispier's shadow and elegantly sidestepped to a more socially acceptable distance. “The harpies have been driven off the grounds. We are still investigating how they managed to get as far as the palace wall before being detected.” The shadow elf suddenly frowned. “Illeron, you are bleeding.”

Whispier grimaced. “I am aware.”

“Then heal yourself.”

Whispier closed his eyes. “I am working on it.” He wavered slightly as the tingling sensation of magic filled the air around him. Casimir reached out and steadied his brother.

I pulled a chair around and pushed it against the back of Whispier’s knees. He collapsed into it with a groan.

Blood saturated the back of his shirt, seeping swiftly into the brocade of the chair, staining it green.

“What can I do to help?” I asked, frantic with the thought that he might die. “He shouldn’t be bleeding that fast. Should I put pressure on it?”

Casimir grunted. “Usually, he doesn’t need anything. If he hadn’t foolishly healed someone who clearly could’ve waited, the bleeding would’ve stopped already.”

“She needed help. You know harpies carry infections deadly to other creatures. Humans are so fragile.”

“Still, she wasn’t dying yet. You could’ve healed yourself first.” As he chastised his brother, Casimir was swiftly cutting away the back of Whispier’s shirt to reveal a series of deep gashes. It appeared one of the harpies had landed on his back, sinking her claws deep into the muscle and bone of his shoulders.

“I healed the bones before I started helping her,” Whispier protested.

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