Page 203 of Fallen Nocturne

Rhianelle presses both hands over the wound. Golden light spills between her fingers, but Alys catches her wrist. “There’s no cure. No antidote.”

“There has to be.” Rhianelle pulls free and forces more blessings into her. “Poison can be drawn out. I’ve done it before.”

“Not this poison,” Alys says quietly.

Landon appears at the entrance of the tent. He stops when he sees Alys, his entire body going still.

Alys looks past Rhianelle to him before turning her gaze back to the queen. “You kept your promise. Thank you, elven queen.”

Rhianelle’s magic burns brighter. “You’re going to survive.”

Landon crosses the tent and kneels beside her. He places one hand over Rhianelle’s, adding his own healing magic to hers. Their power spreads through Alys in intertwined streams of gold, but the darkness beneath her skin continues to climb.

She is too far gone.

Landon knows it. Rhianelle knows it. Still, my wife refuses to stop. Tears fall from her face onto Alys as she pours more of herself into the dying fae. Her shoulders begin to shake and the light around her hands flickers.

“Rhianelle,” I warn.

She ignores me.

Alys stares at Rhianelle’s relentless effort, her eyes watering. “I really don’t like you, elven queen. Stop…”

Alys reaches and finds Landon’s hand. Her fingers close around his. Landon looks down at their joined hands, and something in his expression breaks. I watch his face as he looks at her. The fae commander knows. He’s known since he walked in.

“Give me a moment with her,” Landon says quietly.

Rhianelle doesn’t move. Her blessing surges again. “I can still save her.”

He says it again, gentler. “Rhianelle, enough.”

Rhianelle stares at him. The healing light fades from her trembling hands. Landon gathers Alys carefully against his chest, using his remaining arm to hold her as he struggles to his feet. Every movement costs him, but he does not let her go.

Rhianelle remains on her knees long after they are gone. Her hands are still raised slightly, still shaped around the body she was trying to save. Tears run silently down her face.

I don’t say anything as she stands and searches for the next person who needs help.

We find Garrett and Shade farther into the camp, helping move the injured between crowded bedrolls. Garrett supports a bloodied knight beneath the arms while Shade clears a place for him beside an older lord.

“Lord Wesley.” Rhianelle rushes toward the Lord of Windhaven. “Let me heal you.”

Wesley shakes his head and points toward the young knight Garrett has just lowered to the ground. “Him first.”

The knight’s breathing is faint and blood soaks through the cloth pressed against his side.

Rhianelle hesitates only a moment before kneeling beside him. She places her hands over the wound, and golden light floods across his armor. The bleeding slows beneath her palms. His breathing steadies, growing stronger with every strained breath Rhianelle takes.

“He’ll live,” Garrett says, checking the knight’s pulse.

Rhianelle turns immediately toward Lord Wesley. “Now you.”

But the lord does not answer.

Shade lowers his hand from Wesley’s throat and meets her eyes. He gives a slight shake of his head.

Rhianelle stares at him, then at the person she had promised to return to. She had saved the young knight, but while she did, Lord Wesley had slipped away.

Rhianelle closes her eyes. She stays like that for a moment. Then she opens them and stands. Her eyes are already searching for the next one she can still help.