Chapter Twenty-Nine

Luka crouched low over Rhys on the stallion as they raced from the forest, the powerful animal barely slowing on the downward trail into Oak Knoll. It was fully dark, though firelight spilled onto the streets from the clustered houses. Fury rose in Luka along with self-reproach. He’d let go of vigilance for one moment, fallen asleep, and Rhys had been wounded. The stallion had snorted and reared, rousing him enough to drive Lorin back into the forest. But too late to stop him from plunging a knife into Rhys’s back.

The stallion thundered to a stop in front of the cottage Ravan kept in Oak Knoll. The house of Luka’s childhood. It stood dark, cold. He sent a plea out on the wind, searching for Ravan. He slid off the horse, easing Rhys into his arms.

“Go for Tarian,” he urged, and the stallion leaped into the night, a dark streak back the way they’d come.

Luka climbed the steps of the cottage, shifted Rhys in his arms to fumble for the latch, and pushed inside. No one had been there since they’d left. Who would be foolish enough to enter a witch’s hut? He crossed to the couch by the cold hearth, lighting candles with a thought, and sank carefully to his knees, arms shaking as he lowered Rhys down on his side, his back to Luka. Blood soaked his cloak, the handle of the knife protruding from the muscle above his left shoulder blade.

Panic momentarily seized him, but then Luka set his lips, scrubbed the tears from his face. What did they need? A warm room. And salt and boiling water to clean the wound. He got up and went to the hearth. Gray ash lay in a pile in the center of the fireplace from their last morning there. Normally, he’d scrape out the dead coals, but there was no time. He went to a knee and quickly layered kindling and short logs on the ashes.

Closing his eyes, he centered his thoughts to one purpose, and pulled power from the earth and air until his body thrummed and ached with it. He peered through his lashes and thrust out his hands, and fire ignited the wood in a roar and whooshed up the chimney. Luka gave a shaky laugh. He may have overdone it.

The flames settled, and he rose. There was still water at the sink, and he filled a clean cooking pot, setting it on the hook to swing over the fire. A glass jar of salt rested on the mantle and he put it down on the hearth, in easy reach to add to the water when it boiled. Clean cloths rested on a shelf and he took the lot, returning to Rhys.

Luka bit his lip, hard, to steady his nerves. Rhys took shallow, gasping breaths, sweat slicking his face lined with pain. Fresh blood spread a bright stain across his shoulder, soaking his cloak. Luka set the towels on the back of the couch, keeping two in his left hand. He bent over Rhys and curled his right hand around the thick knife handle. Damn them! The blade slipped cleanly from muscle when he pulled, and he instantly jammed the cloth against the open wound. Luka dropped the knife and used both hands, pressing as hard as he dared against Rhys’s shoulder.

In a moment, he had to switch the sodden rags for new ones, wishing with all his heart for the wound to clot. In this instance, he would have wished for anything to save Rhys. Rhys had lost enough blood. It took longer this time before he had to change the cloth, and he became lightheaded as relief swept him. Rhys breathed easier and his dark lashes fluttered, a moan escaping him.

“Peace, Rhys. I have you. Go back to sleep,” Luka murmured, wishing slumber to take him, at least until Luka had him bandaged. Rhys licked dry lips, murmured, but couldn’t stay conscious, slipping away once again.

Luka shook as exhaustion and fear took its toll while slow moments passed. He wondered if the stallion had reached Tarian yet. He’d hated to leave him behind with Aethan so close, but there had been no choice, and Tarian insisted he wouldn’t know how to treat a wound like this. Nor have the skill to ready the house for Aethan’s coming assault.

“Stick to the path, but will you hide yourself if necessary until Paddy comes for you?” he’d urged, worry knotting inside him, not wanting Tarian to be reckless. He’d almost ordered him on the horse as well but could already feel the life slipping from Rhys’s body as the blood poured from his wound. He had to travel swiftly. He’d been so scared…

“I will, lord. Go,” Tarian bade him, and ducked into the trees.

The cottage door opened, but Luka didn’t look around as someone came inside in a swirl of cold air. The door closed and latched, and footsteps approached. He caught Ravan’s concerned presence from the corner of his eye, and she placed a competent hand on his shoulder.

“I’ll see to the salt and water,” she told him.

The tension eased from his shoulders. Ravan shored up his courage. He could do this. They’d save Rhys. Tarian would come soon, unharmed. Then he would deal with Aethan. By all that was good, he hoped he had the strength for it all. And the wisdom.

The water hissed in the quiet cabin and Luka’s heart thudded as Ravan set the pot and a large empty bowl on the floor beside him, placed a bright lamp on a table by the couch. Luka winced in the sudden illumination, the smell of the saltwater and blood making him queasy. Elements of a sickness and death. He bit his lip to steady his nerves. Ravan leaned to get a better look at Rhys’s face, pressed a hand to his sweat drenched forehead. “Are you ready?” she asked without taking her gaze off Rhys.

“Yes,” Luka lied.

Ravan took it in stride, undoing the clasp on Rhys’s cloak and unlacing his tunic.

She flicked a glance at Luka, assessing. He nodded sharply and lifted his hands. Ravan tossed back the sodden cloak, then eased his tunic down, baring Rhys’s muscular shoulder. Luka winced at the raw, gaping wound, two knuckles long and one wide, the edges bloody.

“It looks clean,” Ravan said, matter of fact, calming Luka’s racing heart. She picked up the pot of water, checked the temperature, then drew a ladle full. “Hold him,” she warned, and waited while Luka shifted to grip Rhys’s arm and hip to keep him from jolting.

Ravan poured the saltwater on Rhys’s shoulder immediately above the wound, allowing it to flow in and over it and collect in the bowl positioned on the floor. A hard shudder ran through Rhys and he cried out, coming awake. Luka kept a firm grasp on him, hating it. “Easy, honey. We’re nearly done.”

Rhys panted under his hold, bitten off groans escaping him as Ravan poured water again and again over the wound, rinsing away blood and any dirt that may have entered with the knife blade. At last, she finished, Rhys trembling under Luka’s hands. Luka helped him to sit up sideways on the couch, back and shoulder presented to Ravan, while she fetched a jar from the kitchen and her sewing kit.

“I’m going to cut away your shirt,” Luka told him, rather than wrestle with the wet, stained material.

“You’ll owe me…” Rhys teased through white lips. Luka looked at him helplessly, and Rhys’s lips lifted as he tried to smile. “I’m well, Luka. Hurts. I’m tired. But I’ll be fine.”

Luka nodded, throat tight. Ravan handed him a pair of sharp snips, and he set to work, cutting Rhys’s shirt from the hem upward. His face was close to Rhys, who brushed his lips against his cheek. Luka swallowed a lump of emotion, knowing he was being ridiculous. He’d suffered his share of wounds and knew Rhys had been lucky with this one.

Ravan dried Rhys’s shoulder with a soft cloth then tilted her head, surveying the wound. “I won’t stitch it yet, merely bind it. If there’s still no infection by morning, I’ll close it up.”

Rhys nodded, pain evident around his white lips, and Luka resolved to fetch more water for a restorative tea when they were done.

The door rattled and Luka rose to his feet as it opened, releasing a held breath when Tarian walked in on a wave of cold air and rich earth and the scent of horse, dropping the packs Luka had left with him by the door.

“I’m very happy to see you,” he said with feeling, leaving Ravan packing the wound with moss a moment to cross the floor and embrace him. Tarian sighed in his arms, relief, and Luka searched his face, white and weary, but no shadows in his blue eyes. “Are you well?”

“I am, lord,” Tarian said as he removed his cloak. “And Rhys?”

“Come and see.” Luka waited while Tarian hung his damp cloak by the door, then they crossed to the couch. Rhys glanced up at them and gave Tarian a warm smile.

“I’m glad to see you safe,” Rhys told him, and winced as Ravan bound his shoulder with strips of cloth.

“And I, you,” Tarian replied fervently.

Luka put a hand on his shoulder. “Paddy found you easily?”

“Yes, lord. Thank you for sending him back. I stayed on the trail, as you suggested, ready to hide if I heard anything. But I saw no sign of Aethan and Lorin, and the stallion returned sooner than expected.”

“Finished,” Ravan told Rhys, who yelped when she tied the last knot on his binding.

Luka looked at him and couldn’t help but relish the sight of his bare, leanly muscled chest, slick with sweat. Rhys caught his gaze and winked, making his heart thump. But Tarian had glanced away, color in his cheeks.

“Here.” Luka plucked a brightly colored blanket from the back of the couch and set it gently around Rhys’s shoulders. He pulled it closed in front, then glanced up. Rhys’s face was inches from his, eyes bruised with pain, sleepy. A small smile played on his full lips and Luka cupped his cheek, caressed it with a thumb. “Don’t scare me like that,” he whispered, unable to hide the terrible fear that had struck him.

Rhys shushed him, a warm breath on Luka’s face. “I’ll be fine. Just tired,” he promised, and gave Luka a kiss, barely there, a brush of lips that sent his heart pounding. Tarian retrieved a pillow from one of the bedrooms for Rhys’s head, and Luka eased him down onto his right shoulder again and set another blanket over him. Ravan put out the lamp by the couch, leaving them in the soft light of candles and the glowing fireplace.

They adjourned to the hearth, Tarian carrying the pot and used bowl to the sink and fetching water from the outside well while Luka built up the fire. Ravan warded the room then retrieved fruit and cheese from the cellar. Luka felt the weight of her gaze on him while they ate, the warmth of the room making him drowsy, but put her off as long as he could.

“Well?” she asked at last, exasperated with him. “I can try to heal him, though I don’t have near the strength as you.”

Luka stared into the cup of tea Tarian handed him, hesitant, uncertain and heart sore. At last he raised his eyes, taking in Ravan’s compassionate gaze and Tarian’s anxiety. “Do I have the right, Ravan? Aethan is dangerously strong. If I weaken myself…”

“I don’t think you can,” Tarian said breathlessly, then flushed red when Luka and Ravan both looked at him. Luka searched his young, open face, his translucent skin and vibrant red hair. Tarian bravely met his gaze, inviting him to search deeper. His sky-blue eyes widened, and Luka peered inside, straight to his pure, wounded soul. Aethan had been brutal, cruel, to an innocent. Yet he couldn’t destroy Tarian’s bright and sensitive heart, nor extinguish the touch of magic running through his core.

“Your mother was one of the Fae?” Luka asked gently.

“No. But there is Fae blood in her family.” He glanced between him and Ravan. “She taught me to recognize the magic in others.”

“Curious. How do you see me?” Ravan asked, brow quirked.

“Your magic glows around you, vivid and warm.”

“And Luka?”

Luka squirmed, uncomfortable, as they turned to him, and flushed hotly when Tarian answered in an awed whisper, “He burns.”

Silence hung in the air, then Luka climbed to his feet and went over to Rhys, conscious of their gaze on him. He knelt by Rhys’s shoulder. His blond hair was tangled and clung to the sheen of sweat on his skin, face white with pain. Luka tenderly brushed it back and placed a kiss on his warm forehead. “Be well, my heart,” he whispered in his ear, and kissed along his jaw.

Rhys’s hands were clenched against his chest, and Luka touched them, feeling the tension running through him. There was a soft gasp at the end of Rhys’s indrawn breath. His still slept, which was a blessing. Luka blinked, realizing Rhys clenched something in his hands as if his life depended on it. Peering closer, his pulse jumped and surged, overflowing with emotion. Tears filled his eyes, blurring the pink quartz stone pressed against Rhys’s heart. He must have carried it in his pocket this whole time.

“Rhys, my love, my heart.” Luka choked on the painful lump in his throat. He placed both his hands on the blankets over the wound in Rhys’s shoulder, hiding his wet eyes against them. “You are my life,” he whispered, chest tight as his love filled him. “I give you my life in return.”

He breathed in, filling his lungs. A held breath. Exhale, the life-giving blood moving through his body. With his inhalation he took in light, peace, joy. Allowed it to spread through him, centering his thoughts on one ideal. He let out tension and worry and doubt with his breath. Inhale, filling with the energy of the earth, letting it flow through him to his hands. Life.

With a silent prayer, he spilled the energy into Rhys, a faucet, fully opened. He would give all he was to Rhys, if necessary, forgetting Aethan, forgetting everything but the man who owned his heart. But Rhys’s sharp inhale reminded him of the fragility of the human body, however precious. He reined in his power, let it flow smoothly, steady and sure.

Rhys moaned, eyelids fluttering.

“Darling?” Luka trembled. He’d never healed anyone in this manner before. But flesh had knitted under his touch, he was sure of it, the fever leaving Rhys’s body with his exhales.

“Wake up,” he murmured, pressing his lips to the tender skin of Rhys’s throat, overcome, fearing to want something so intensely. A weakness Aethan wouldn’t hesitate to exploit. Damn him, then. Rhys was worth any risk.

Rhys sighed, waking, even as Ravan stood abruptly, hands raised toward the door. “They come,” she warned.

Luka’s pulse leaped, and he rose, hurrying to Ravan’s side, Tarian on her left. Ravan’s ward vibrated, setting his teeth on edge.