Page 34 of The King's Queen

“Any shortcuts you could tell us about, assassin?” I groan under the weight of Amír and my wounds, trying to ignore the tears flowing down the Vari woman’s cheeks. “Now would be a great time to tell us.”

She snaps out of her haze just enough to point into the forest behind a large building. “There.”

I grit my teeth and will my shaking legs to move in stronger and longer strides. “Okay, just hang in there, Amír.”

I receive no response.

I practically fall through the door once we reach the compound, crying out for help inaudibly.

“Rowan!” Kya sobs as she looks at her partner hanging nearly lifeless between us. “Please-“ She breaks down into hysterics, dumping most of the gunslinger’s weight onto me. My legs are buckling by the time Rowan and Derrín come running into the room.

“Please,” I whisper, but the words get caught in my throat. Rowan understands and takes her from me, laying her flat across our sofa to inspect the damage.

“We were set up.” I limp forward, dragging myself with sheer determination despite my spinning head. “She took a dagger to the thigh. Judging by the amount of blood, they got her femoral artery. We don’t have much time left.” I didn’t think Kya could cry anymore, but my words certainly do nothing to assuage her concerns. Neither do Amír’s heavy lidded eyes or blood soaked pants. Gently, I take a dagger from my friend and slice the second’s trousers off, not caring for modesty. Blood sprays outwards in a steady stream, confirming my theory.

Rowan swallows hard all while staring into the redhead’s eyes.

“Tell me what to do.”

I inhale sharply. I haven’t done this in years and swore then I wouldn’t do it again. Icouldn’tdo it again.

But I couldn’t let Amír die, not after she came back for me.

“Cut me.”

Rowan’s mouth drops open in realization then hardens in a firm line.

“No.”

“Rowan, please,” I beg, pleadingly searching his gaze. Amír is running out of time. “I don’t know how deep I can go without it scarring or nerve damage. I need you to do it.”

Perhaps it is the urgency in my voice, or Kya’s now silent screaming that causes him to falter. Or maybe it’s that when he traces my own gaze down, he finds a scar running the length of my palm and knows.

“I trust you.” I say, pressing Kya’s blade into his hand and delicately folding his fingers around it. I wait for him to respond with the usual “you shouldn’t.” But instead, he carefully picks up my hand, the one left unscarred, and brings it up to the blade. He looks at me one last time as if to ask permission. I nod.

“Do it.”

Slowly and gracefully, he drags the blade across my skin, and I bite my tongue to avoid crying out. His hands only begin to shake when he drops the knife, and I feel tears prick the corner of my vision.

Kya and Derrín move out of my way when I approach the ever-fading redhead on the couch. Her calculating green eyes slide over to me, and even I can see they are dull and fading fast.

I hold my bleeding hand up to her and those eyes widen. She shakes her head violently.

“No.”

“Amír, you need to drink.” I hiss, bringing my hand to her mouth. She smacks it away, losing a few drops of precious blood.

“You’re dying, you bitch,” I snap, taking ahold of her wrist as Kya begins wailing again. “So shut up and drink.”

Maybe it’s my tone that shocks some life back into her, or seeing the usually strong Kya so unhinged, but Amír listens for once and drinks, squeezing her eyes shut.

“Don’t you dare spit it out.” I hiss in slight pain, but more so discomfort at the intimacy of the situation. When she’s done, I move it down to her wound and spread the blood across it with a prayer to Deungrid that it works, just once more.

Slowly, the wound stitches itself closed, the blood slowing until it stops completely. Color slowly blooms in the gunslinger’s cheeks, and she sighs softly. Kya rushes past me to embrace her lover, who offers the faintest nod of gratitude.

A soft sigh escapes from Rowan’s lips, caressing the shell of my ear stand and sending a shiver down my spine.

“Thank you.”

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