The red uniform hid his wound, and I only knew where it was because of my pain. I lifted his tunic, exposing the makeshift bandage that had soaked through. I pulled back the cloth to reveal a deep gash, and infected yellow pus spilled out.
I leaned down and gave it a passing sniff. There was a hint of magic about his wounds that prevented them from healing despite dressing the injury.
I closed my eyes and focused.
Lorn. Here . . .
My head throbbed. It was easier for me to pick out the thoughts of others than to send my own, which was usually only successful when amplified by fear.
We’re coming, Aurora.
Kraa! Kraa! Maeve called out my location to help Lorn and Honor find me.
“Maeve, fly home. Tell mother we have a medical situation. Have Rhea mill linseed and bezoar. I will do my best to get him home in one piece.” Maeve turned to fly south as fast as she could.
I pulled the helm off to reveal a young man with sun-blond hair. His green eyes fluttered open. The pain I saw within them drew me in. I clasped his hand. “I can’t heal you until we draw out whatever magic is preventing your wound from healing. But I can take your pain away if you let me.”
He nodded. His head rolled back, and his breathing became ragged.
My hands trembled as I put my hands on his temples, unsure if I could do it on such a large scale. As a child, this was an easy feat when one of my sisters fell or scraped their leg. I would draw away the pain and share it with them.
I reached into his mind and picked away. Pain was mental, and therefore in my wheelhouse, but magic always came with a price. It’s a give and take. To take his mental pain away, it needed to go somewhere else—me.
I cried out, not expecting the intense gut-wrenching anguish. I almost threw up. My mouth gaped open, but I refused to let go. I would take his pain. I had to.
The copper tinge of blood filled my mouth as I accidentally bit my tongue.
The stranger’s breathing relaxed, but I wouldn’t let go.
“Aura. We’re here.” Lorn found me. He kneeled and lifted the stranger into a sitting position, breaking my mental hold. I gasped as it was like being slapped in the face with a hammer, but I regained control. I was still grasping for the link, like racing after the string on a kite through the grass.
I struggled for the connection, and then caught it.
Honor helped lift the stranger across Lorn’s back. Elves were stronger than most men, and faster. Lorn took off running, the stranger a red blur on his back as he raced for our home.
Honor reached for my shoulder.
“Don’t touch me!” I backed away. Tears poured down my face as I grappled with the man’s pain.
“Aura, you can’t take all the pain.”
“I can,” I snapped. “I must. If I hadn’t been so weak, then Meri wouldn’t have . . . she wouldn’t have . . .” My head dropped, and then I collapsed to my knees. Tears pooled in my eyes and snot ran down my nose. “It’s my fault. If I hadn’t been so afraid of the pain from those men’s thoughts, Meri wouldn’t have had to defend me. She wouldn’t have accidentally killed Armon and run away.”
“That was her decision,” Honor said coolly. “We all must be held accountable for our own actions. You can only atone for your own.” She looked down on me, and I felt small and weak in her eyes.
“I’m not strong like you,” I whispered.
“No, you’re not,” Honor stated truthfully, never one to sugarcoat her feelings. “But you’re good.” I saw a flicker of sadness, then she looked away, and I wondered what she was hiding. “Come, I will escort you home.”
“I don’t need a babysitter,” I muttered, pushing myself to my feet.
“I never suggested otherwise.” Honor’s hand rested on the handle of her short sword, her eyes scanning the woods. “We don’t know what made those wounds, or what kind of danger he may be in.”
I sighed. She was guarding me, and as we walked back to the house, I was grateful for the added protection. With the mental shape I was in, I wasn’t sure if I could fight off an attack.
The trek home was silent and weary. Honor was on high alert, and she tiptoed through the woods. I followed, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other while my mind replayed the events.
Who was that man? Where was he from? And last, was he dangerous?
Chapter Two
By the time we made it home, dusk had settled, and our tower had become a dark and ominous outline on the horizon. Our home, once an abandoned guard structure, had been expanded over the years and now included a main house and work room. My sisters—seven in all—each adopted by Lady Eville, lived in the top three floors of the tower, and our adoptive mother trained us in the way of magic and vengeance.
Bug, our donkey, stood by the front entrance, his enormous head protruding through the doorframe as he spied the goings-on inside. Honor awkwardly stepped around him and didn’t even give him a second glance. I placed my hand on Bug’s side and felt a shiver ripple through his hindquarters.
He backed out of the doorway and gave me a forlorn look.
“That bad, huh?”
Bad. His tail flicked, and he moved back to watch the commotion. Taking a deep breath, I prepared myself and headed inside. Our mahogany dining table had been hastily cleared off to make room for the stranger. The shepherd’s pie knocked to the floor along with our freshly baked bread. Hack was under the table, making sure the scraps didn’t go to waste, his face buried in the potatoes as he greedily licked up the food. He didn’t even seem to mind the green things.
Mother Eville looked foreboding in a black high neck gown, her hair braided into a soft crown around her head. Her dark brows knit into a line of worry, her face grim. Even with her sleeves rolled up and her hands covered in blood, she was a magnificent beauty. One that had made six princes argue over her hand in marriage. That was before she saw how cold and cruel their hearts truly were, and she vowed retribution upon them.
Ever since, she swore off love and focused on revenge, only helping those she deemed worthy of her time. Lorn was holding the injured man’s shoulders down to keep him from moving while Mother worked. Honor moved to his feet and assisted her mentor, Lorn. Rhea was absent, and Maeve was pacing in the back of the room.
The man moaned softly as my mother poked and prodded his stomach. “There’s something inside. I can’t remove it with what I have here, and we have little time. Maeve, I need you.”
“Got it.” My sister’s eyes gleamed as she shifted into a crow and hopped onto the man’s chest. Her head tilted side to side as she studied the wound area. Her bird-like eyes searching for what our human eyes couldn’t see. The crow had a shorter and thinner beak over the larger raven, perfect for being a pair of tweezers in emergencies.
Maeve’s dark head bobbed and struck, coming up with a sharp object between her beak. She promptly dropped it into her mother’s palm. Her head tilted, and she studied the wound. She flapped her wings, flew to the middle of the room, and shifted.
“Gross,” she fumed, wiping the blood from around her mouth.
Mother Eville ignored her and studied the sliver. “It’s a thorn. With it removed, we should be able to withdraw the poison and heal him.” She tossed the tip into a ceramic bowl.