The Adani Chronicles: Birthright

If Ryn had heard his apology that night, she gave Evin no indication in the days that followed. She was not rude, for living and traveling with someone didn’t lend itself to cat-fighting, but she was distant in a way that made his heart sink. He wondered if he had been wrong. Perhaps he had just not been injured as badly as they originally thought. Perhaps his daily progress was normal given his body’s own strength and Ryn’s herbal salves.

Even if something was different about how he was healing, it had been unkind of him to accuse her; a slip-up brought on by too much pain, stress, and exhaustion, and too much pride to admit it.

It took them three days to get over the pass and begin the long descent out of the Dragonbacks. The weather and terrain were unrelenting; and each day, Evin grew more exhausted. His head had stopped aching constantly, but the long cut on his leg throbbed and he was fairly certain the chimaera bite was infected. He had woken that morning feeling feverish and shooting pains kept lancing down his arm and into his chest. Knowing how quickly a battle wound could turn, he called Ryn to him where he sat by the morning fire with Kota. The lynx had assumed the role of comforter since his accident; lying close to him at night and in the chill mornings, walking pressed up against his thigh all day unless his mistress had need of him, and bringing the prince gifts—often dead hares. It was more soothing than Evin cared to admit. He patted the big cat’s flank affectionately. Ryn hesitated, but came as requested. She sat gingerly across from him, looking wary.

“What is it?” she asked.

Evin took a deep breath, shocked at his own gall. “I…need you to heal me.” He said it as calmly as he could, as though he were asking for nothing more than a spare pouch or a tin of water, in a probably-futile attempt to head off the reaction he suspected he’d get from such a request.

She did not disappoint him. Her eyes widened before narrowing to green slits, her face flushing. “No.”

“Please,” he said, though he’d expected this. “Ryn, I am sorry for being an ass before, and I realize it’s dangerous, but I will not make it to Retwood like this.”

She blinked. “You are improving, getting well. Too quickly, remember? We will manage.” Then she stood to get up, hesitating only when he began to unlace his leather jerkin. She raised both eyebrows when he removed it, pulling the linen shirt beneath out from his waistband and wrestling the loose garment over his head one-armed. Her confusion turned to concern in an instant when she saw the red staining the bandages wrapped tightly around his shoulder wound.

“Evin,” she started, going to her knees at his side and looking him over carefully. She pulled her small knife and cut the bandages loose with a practiced hand. Her eyes widened and she swallowed convulsively.

The deep lacerations had taken on an unhealthy angry red color, standing in stark contrast to Evin’s light skin. Clear liquid and blood oozed sluggishly from the wounds, staining the bandages red and yellow. The smell was horrific, and Evin shuddered, though Ryn barely reacted—it was clearly not the first time she’d dealt with injuries that looked like this. But the most worrisome thing was the streaks of unhealthy red that followed the paths of his veins beneath the skin—blood sickness was the demise of many a soldier or traveler whose wounds became infected. Ryn touched his chest gingerly, her face paling as she traced the infection crossing his left pectoral muscle. She swallowed.

“It’s headed for your heart.” Her voice was quiet, tight with dread. “Evin, how long...why didn’t you say anything?”

“Overnight,” he responded, eager to absolve himself of the impression he was stupid or stubborn enough to put his own life in danger. “It’s felt tender and warm for a while, but it didn’t look like this last night when Brandt changed the bandages.”

Brandt chose that moment to come stomping back into camp, his arms full of spare clothes they’d washed and set out to dry in the morning sun. Evin had noticed his brother grow more and more serious the closer they limped to their destination, and he wondered if it was the seriousness of the quest itself or something else entirely that was weighing on his older brother. The other opened his mouth to say something, probably a morning greeting, saw Evin’s shoulder, and dropped the clothes he was holding in the dirt. He strode over to his brother in two steps and bent over to look at his shoulder. Brandt’s six-foot-something frame was nothing to joke about, and with him looming like this, Evin felt like a child who’d gotten his good clothes dirty.

“Infection?” Brandt asked quietly, and moved so Evin could see his face properly. The younger was almost shocked at the fear in his brother’s eyes.

Ryn nodded, answering for him as she studied the rest of the wound. “This must hurt.”

Evin gave her a confirming grimace, but said nothing.

She looked only a moment longer, then sighed. “And you want me to try to heal this.” It was more a question of confirmation, with Brandt there to hear and contribute. She wanted approval from both of them before she continued, something Evin could understand, even if the idea of his brother trying to veto something he had asked for was just a little galling.

It wouldn’t be a problem, apparently. Brandt said, “I see no other choice.” Ryn jerked her head in a gesture of reluctant agreement.

“Me neither. I have no herbs that can tackle an infection this severe.” She looked at Evin. “I can try to heal you, but I am not confident in this skill yet.“ Her frame shook slightly beneath a nervous shiver. “I don’t know what will happen. I could hurt you worse, and none of us would forgive me for that.”

But Evin shook his head. “It has to be done. It’s that or nothing worth doing, and you and I both know what will happen if we do nothing about this.” He motioned to the streak headed for his heart for emphasis. Ryn winced visibly at the implication. Blood sickness was a horrific and messy way to die. She nodded once, decided.

“Lie back and hold onto something. I have no idea if this hurts,” she ordered. Evin did as he was told—noting with an odd mix of annoyance and gratitude that Brandt rolled back to sit fully before scooting closer, offering his hand for Evin to squeeze. Grown man or not, Evin took it. His brother smacked him affectionately on his good shoulder and motioned to Ryn, who looked instead to Evin.

He gave her a smirk. “At your convenience, my Lady.”

The fact that she didn’t comment on the title indicated how nervous, perhaps even frightened, Ryn was about this; but she took a deep breath and placed a slightly-shaking hand over his injured shoulder. In her other hand she held her staff across her lap, the rapidly-warming gray stone in its head mere inches from Evin’s side. She didn’t touch him, but he could feel the heat from her palm on his injured shoulder. It prickled uncomfortably. Ryn closed her eyes and concentrated, and after a few seconds, the prickling became an outright itch, making him jerk in surprise. Evin looked down, his eyes widening.

Silver light was coalescing between Ryn’s hand and the ruined skin of his shoulder, bleeding into the wound and lighting it up from within. The ugly red of the infection looked almost black next to it, but only for a moment. The light pulsed through his veins, leaving nothing but the clean white of his skin behind; it itched like mad, though, and Evin gasped in discomfort. Ryn did not stop, the light moving through the rest of his body, from the top of his head to the tips of his toes, tingling wildly as it went. The cut on his leg—the only other substantial injury he still carried—screamed in protest, then quieted instantly. Finally, the light sparked out of his capillaries and the silver sphere above his shoulder dissipated. Ryn fell back with a gasp, dropping her head in exhaustion. Evin sat up quickly, scratching thoughtlessly as he moved his shoulder, laughing outright when he realized there was no pain. He could feel three thick scars where the chimaera’s claws had savaged him, but he was too relieved to pay them any mind.

Evin sat up, swaying as the blood rushed from his head, and stretched luxuriously. He laughed again, and this time, Brandt laughed with him.

“Ryn!” he said jubilantly. “This is incredible! I feel fantastic! It was sort of itchy, but...” He trailed off as he looked down at her. She was still sitting on the forest floor, breathing shallowly as she leaned heavily back on her hands. Kota came to her, sniffing and rubbing against her shoulder, refusing to take his eyes off his mistress. She was looking at him, trying to smile, but her face was drawn and gray, like she was in pain.

Evin moved to kneel beside her quickly, aware his brother was standing just behind him. “Ryn?”

She shook her head. “I’m not sure,” she murmured, knowing what he wanted to ask. “I got dizzy and exhausted after healing Kenelm, but it was nothing like this.” Kota nudged her with his head, trilling his concern deep in his throat. Evin understood the feeling.

“Does using your magic hurt you?” Brandt asked, incredulous. “None of the legends say anything about Y’rai power being detrimental to the user, do they, Evin?”

He shook his head. “Not that I’m aware of, but it’s been so long since anyone has manifested that magic that very few, if any, scholars on the subject remain.” He turned his attention back to their friend. “Ryn, I’m sorry. If I had known—”

“You’d have done no differently,” she answered, more firmly now. She forced her head up and looked him directly in the eye. Her face was the color of weak porridge. “You were dying. The trade is a wise one.”

Somehow that did not make him feel better.

It wasn’t long before Ryn began to wonder how accurate her assessment of the situation had been. They had only been moving for an hour and already she had thrown up twice, her legs were weak and shaking, struggling to hold her weight plus that of her pack; she had stumbled more than once—though she’d managed, thus far, to hide her weakness from the brothers. Her head was pounding fit to burst, her eyes pulsing beneath the lids; her skin felt hot and tight, achy as though she had contracted a flu; and everything—the sounds of the forest, the bright sun shining down, the wind on her skin—felt like too damn much. It was like the time her dinner had been drugged in that one tavern in Elyshall, the one she never went back to.

She wiped her sweating face on her sleeve, righting herself as the movement caused her to trip over her own feet. This was ridiculous; what was happening to her? Had she done something wrong? Pushed too hard? She wished Kenelm were here to advise her, though he’d probably just shout at her for healing Evin in the first place.

Not that there’d been any other choice. She’d tried so hard to head off infection in that shoulder, all while knowing bites from animals nearly always turned toxic. You never knew what had been in their mouths before your body part was.

She took a deep breath—a mistake, as it triggered another wave of dizzy nausea, and she croaked a halt before stumbling into the trees to throw up once again.

The next few days were much the same, Ryn never feeling particularly better or worse, just overwrought and exhausted and nauseated all the time. She stopped trying to keep food down after the first night, instead taking to water lightly spiced with ginger and herbs, when they could find them. It wasn’t nearly enough, not for the amount of walking she was doing, but at least throwing up was easier if it was all water already. The princes were concerned, she could see it in their faces, hear it in the strain of their voices, but she barely cared. She could hardly summon the energy to push forward with a smile.

She slept through her watch the second night, and after that, neither of them woke her for one at all. She was too grateful for it to give thought to her stung pride.

They made it to the river that marked the halfway point from the pass to the valley on the fifth day since Evin’s healing, and that was the day Ryn noticed she was beginning to feel a little better. Hopeful and in good spirits, they made camp a little early that evening and relaxed. Evin shot two rabbits, and Ryn found some wild onion and parsley, so they dumped the whole mess in a pot with water and salt and cooked up a stew for dinner. Both men began caring for weapons—Brandt took her bow as well and began to oil it—while Ryn lay her head against Kota’s flank and closed her eyes, let the sun bathe her face, relishing the warmth of it against her skin; it was no longer an intensely hot or bright sensation, but comforting, as it ought to be.

So they passed a few hours this way. Evin stirred the stew now and then. The smell of it made Ryn’s stomach rumble pleasantly. The sun dipped down beneath the mountain peaks to the west, casting long shadows over the forest. Kota sighed beneath her head, and slowly, Ryn fell asleep.

She woke abruptly, confused, to someone shaking her. Before she even opened her eyes all the way, she knew something wasn’t right. The air smelled wrong, sharp and smoky, and the hairs on her neck stood up at the tang of magic in the air. She sat up blindly, forcing sore eyes open. “What’s happening?” she croaked, noticing the men were packing their things hastily.

“That,” Brandt answered tightly, gesturing behind her. Ryn turned and gasped.

The entire mountainside behind them was lit up by fire. It was nearly a league away now, but moving fast—moving their direction—and devouring everything in its path. Ryn didn’t hesitate, rolling to her feet and stumbling a little. The swiftness of the move brought the nausea back full force, and she took half a moment to breathe slowly and calm her stomach. But only that, and then she began packing as quickly as she could. Konn and Tarya Darksbane had heaped the rock and dirt that made up the mountain range over the ancient dragons and abandoned them—and the stories said unquenchable firestorms in the Dragonbacks were Skyslayer’s revenge, such as it was.

Shouldering her pack and using her staff to stand, Ryn decided it didn’t much matter now where the fire came from. What mattered was getting out of these accursed mountains and to Retwood. Perhaps there, they could refit and rest up. Kota nosed her thigh gently, pushing her toward the princes, who were tossing things hurriedly into their own packs and standing quickly. Together, they fled.