Page 167 of Winds of Ruin
I rummaged hastily through the shelves to find vinegar as they set the young Prince down on the table. The healer was out, and we didn’t have time to waste.
I could hear the musicality of my mother’s Brennac instructions guiding my hands as a girl when injured Source-wielders had shown up at our doorstep.
“Pour this over his wounds first—it’ll help prevent infection,” I said and handed the bottle to Hurley.
With shaking hands, he did as I’d told him. Regon groaned in his sleep, eliciting a wince from my nephew; his tender heart had a lot of explaining to do but not now.
I waved Emmerick closer. “Use the same charm you used on my burn this morning, only focus it deeper. Work on his torso and I’ll handle his head.”
Emmerick nodded before gold flared in his palms.
“Thank you, thank you.” Hurley hunched over the table. His head rested on Regon’s unmarred shoulder.
My nephew had both the softest nature and strongest resolve. I reached over and tipped up his chin. “Dear, let us work. Gather bandaging, a few rolls, and some ointment. We won't be able to close the wounds entirely.”
Hurley’s eyes welled up, but he scurried off to a cabinet to rummage for what we needed.
I summoned the Wind to my palms—invisible and unruly, but effective. Emmerick and I got to work on stanching the bleeding. My first charm barely repaired the ligaments in Regon’s cheek. I started again, focused deeper, and finally the bleeding ceased.
Emmerick struggled with the boy’s torso; his brow furrowed with concentration.
Regon had lost so much blood. I crossed the room to the shelves to find healing tonics and palmed a green vial. “Prop him up,” I instructed.
Emmerick lifted the Prince, and I carefully poured the tonic into his mouth, holding his chin. Regon gurgled for a moment before his reflex to swallow kicked in.
To my relief, the Prince’s breathing began to even out.
After we bandaged Regon, I finally assessed Hurley. “You should drink a vial too. It’ll help heal those.” I pointed at his tattered torso, and he nodded. “Dress the wound and put on ointment. He’ll need to stay here and rest. He should wake, but it may take some time.”
“How did you know what to do?” my nephew breathed out, slumping against the wall.
I offered him a sad smile. “Before Source-wielders were exiled to the Sahlms, refugees came to Lamoreaux, fleeing Phynnic persecution. Most of them arrived like this. I helped my mother treat them—though then, I was only on bandaging duty, since Ididn’t think myself capable of Source magic. She taught me what to do.”
Emmerick’s gaze bore into me, his expression unreadable. I didn’t enjoy talking much about those times.
I’d driven a clear wedge betweenbeforeandaftermy exile to the Sahlms. Slowing down enough to think aboutbeforeonly heightened the sense of loss that had plagued my early years as an immortal.
“We need to get to Luz,” Emmerick urged.
Despite my mounting panic, there was a warmth to the word “we.” A promise that, this time, I wouldn’t face the horrors alone.
Chapter 63
Emmerick
The Egress travel felt a century long, not a blink.
Caught between the urge to go to the front lines with my guards and to honor my commitment to rule, I felt a pit grow in my stomach as Elsedora squeezed my hand and pulled me across the grounds toward Luz Palace’s entry.
“How did it all go to shit so quickly?” I asked.
She gripped my hand tighter. “We have all three relics. There’s hope yet.”
When we burst through the door, boisterous voices greeted us.
“Tell Constable Arkwright to prepare the flyers and send them West. Send word to my advisors. Hurry,” Sybilla commanded her guards, and the clank of metal on the marble floor dissipated down the hall.
They were assembling, having gotten word from us in Helos, and palpable tension haunted the room as the shouting of orders began outside.
