Chapter 1
Everything hurt. All the time.
Which was technically a good thing.
The fact he could actually feel the constant aching of the slowly-healing bones in his left leg meant that the swelling around his spine was lessening. Or so Tiercelin said.
And Cuinn trusted Tiercelin. The winged healer currently working on his leg—with a look of furious concentration on his face—had been tireless in his efforts to heal the awful wounds Cuinn had sustained from being buried in a mine cave-in while trying to escape Vengeance. Most days ended with Tiercelin’s brown skin ashen from exhaustion, his hands trembling and shoulders slumped. But he never gave up.
Not that they’d talked in detail about what had happened yet. For days upon days, Cuinn had been unable to do anything but lie there and ride out the agonising pain, not to mention the subsequent fever and illness that came with an infection in his leg. Sometimes he thought it had only been the presence of his Wolves—their unyielding concern and determination to protect him—that had pulled him through.
There was always one of them on guard outside his door, and those not on guard made regular appearances to bring meals and drinks for both prince and healer. Cuinn had heard Halun on more than one occasion quietly insisting Tiercelin get some rest.
The obvious bond between the five men both warmed him and made him achingly lonely at the same time. He’d never had that. Not with anyone except Raya, and she was long gone.
Then had come the morning when he’d felt alert enough to ask where exactly they were, curious about the scent of salt and ocean on the breeze through his window. Staying in a house owned by a friend of Talyn’s had been Tiercelin’s answer. Cuinn had yet to meet this friend, which was probably deliberate given Talyn had brought him here to hide.
And he couldn’t ask more because she’d been gone by then—off on some important business his fevered brain hadn’t quite managed to grasp when she farewelled him—and the Wolves didn’t seem to know any more about the friend or the house. He hoped she’d be back soon. He missed her. He wasn’t worried about her though. No, that would be the height of foolishness… Talyn Dynan wasn’t a woman you worried about.
And he was sliding back into delirium.
Cuinn cleared his throat. “Did you ever imagine, when we were boys and I was ignoring you because you were too young to be of notice, that we’d end up here one day?” He was seeking a distraction. Herbal tea helped a little, but once the fever had faded and he’d regained his mental alertness, oftentimes conversation was the only way he could distract himself from the constant pain aching through his body. Or from thoughts of what had happened before leaving Mithranar.
They’d come so close to death. Talyn. Her Wolves. Him. The thought tore into him each time it surfaced. And Vengeance was still out there. Still murderously angry and hungering for their twisted version of revenge.
“Not for a second.” Tiercelin chuckled, sparing him a glance before returning his focus to where Cuinn’s leg had been broken in two places.
A faint dizziness spread through him—the result of the healer using Cuinn’s own energy to help with the healing. Unlike other winged folk abilities, healing magic drew upon both the practitioner and the patient. It could be dangerous for both.
“What’s the prognosis? Amputation?” He managed a smile.
“Not at all. In fact, the bones are beginning to knit together nicely. Soon I’ll need to get you up on your feet to start rebuilding the strength in your legs.”
A heavy silence fell over the room. Tiercelin had spoken casually, gaze still on Cuinn’s leg, but there had been a time when they both doubted Cuinn would ever walk again.
“What you’ve done for me…”
Tiercelin waved a hand. “My job is to protect you, Prince Cuinn.”
“I saw something, after I was caught in the rockfall.” He frowned, trying to put words to his experience. “It felt like I went somewhere, as crazy as that sounds. Green fields. A bright blue sky—brighter than I’ve ever seen. And then it vanished. Maybe I was just hallucinating.”
“You weren’t,” Tiercelin said softly. “I was fortunate to be able to bring you back from there. That place exists very close to death.”
Silence filled the room as Cuinn processed the depth of what Tiercelin had done for him, the power he must have. “Tiercelin, I owe you my life. You should be head of the healers.”
“I’ll leave that to Jystar.” Tiercelin spoke of his eldest brother—the man who’d taken the position of Mithranar’s head healer after his predecessor’s violent murder. Her killer still hadn’t been found, but had probably been Vengeance. That unspoken thought resounded through the room for a moment, but neither was willing to broach the subject. Tiercelin only smiled warmly. “I’m a Wolf.”
Cuinn sagged back against the pillows, shifting in a vain attempt to get comfortable. Lying in bed so long meant that apart from the constant pain, there was also the growing discomfort of being unable to move or exercise.
But Tiercelin had just told him he would walk again. Without that, he would still have been able to fly, but it would have been limited and difficult. This was everything he’d hoped for.
He began humming under his breath, a wordless tune, but one he threaded with his song magic, telling Tiercelin in a way that words never could how grateful and relieved he was.
The healer’s work faltered, and tears welled in his grey eyes. “You’re welcome, Prince Cuinn,” he whispered.
Later that day a knock at the door woke him from a restless nap. He stared around, blinking—the room was empty. “Come in!”
Corrin entered, bowing in a way that made Cuinn itch. “We received a letter from your brother, Your Highness. One of Captain Dynan’s Aimsir friends delivered it this morning.”
He really wished they would all stop bowing and calling him that. He hated the title, hated that good men who’d risked their lives for him twice now felt like they had to treat him differently, like he was more important than they were. That couldn’t be further from the truth.
“Finally. On a scale of furious to downright murderous, how bad is it?” Talyn had helped him write a letter to his family in one of his brief lucid moments after first arriving in Ryathl. It told them he’d gotten bored on Sparrow Island—where Anrun Windsong had promised to inform them Cuinn was going—and left to visit the reputedly beautiful south-eastern coastline of Calumnia. Talyn had picked one of the most expensive inns in Ryathl as a delivery address for replies, then had one of her friends check there regularly for any responses.
Doing what he’d done without telling them—not just leaving, but visiting a foreign country without approval—was extreme, even for the selfish, indolent prince image he’d carefully cultivated. But it had been necessary. He braced himself for Mithanis’s furious words.
“Actually, it’s from Prince Azrilan.”
Cuinn winced. “Worse than downright murderous, then. Mithanis must have been too rigid with fury to manage a coherent word.”
Corrin cleared his throat, stifling a smile. “Prince Azrilan commends your desire to travel, but suggests it’s time to return home.”