Page 210 of War Queen
“If you wanted a healer, your army shouldn’t have killed the only one in this world,” she snapped back.
“It’syourking that started this war,” Soren snarled.
“Enough,” Mikael hissed at him. He turned back to the witch. “How can you help her?”
Soren looked at him in astonishment. “You can’t be serious.”
“I’m not a healer,” she said, “but I can give you more time to get to someone who might be able to help you.”
“Or you could kill her,” Soren growled. “Kill us all.”
The witch gave a cruel smile. “She’s already dying. I needn’t do anything. And yes, I brought down the wall of your mighty fortress. I could kill you. Right now.”
Soren spat in frustration. Why didn’t she, then?
“Make your decision quickly,” she snapped as she looked at Norah. “She only has moments left.”
Mikael slid down from his horse with Salara in his arms. Soren gaped at him. He couldn’t believe he was trusting her. “Take caution, witch,” Mikael warned.
Slowly, the woman looked over Norah and put a hand on her head. Then she reached out and touched Mikael, whispering words Soren didn’t understand. He clutched his sword tighter. A slight wind swept over them, and then the air calmed.
“What did you do?” Mikael asked.
“This won’t save her, but so long as she touches you, she can draw life from you, until you get to where you’re going. Don’t let her go—if you break the touch, you break the bond.”
Mikael let out an emotional breath and nodded. “Why do you do this?”
“I already told you,” she snapped. “For my king.”
Why would the Blood King help Salara?
Mikael mounted his horse again, with Salara in his arms.
“This magic comes with a price,” she warned. “It gives you time, yes, but it’s limited. So long as the bond isn’t broken, she’ll draw life from you. But she’ll draw it until she drains it all, and then both of you will die. So I suggest you get to wherever you’re going quickly.”
Death sat everywhere around him, death from every kingdom—Mercia, Kharav, Rael, and the Horsemen. So many were dead. Caspian stumbled through the sea of bodies.
They’d been victorious, although this didn’t feel victorious. The fighting had stopped, and everyone who remained seemed to be collecting their wounded. Everyone except Rael, who’d fled. His eyes found a soldier in the carnage, carrying the body of another. They were covered in blood. He couldn’t tell whether they were from Mercia or Aleon.
“Hang on, you’re going to be all right,” the soldier said to the man he carried as he staggered by. But his friend was already gone. Caspian could only watch as they faded into the fog of death.
His own weariness was on him now. He hadn’t slept in two days, and he’d fought until his arms couldn’t lift his sword. But he needed to turn his attention to anyone who might be alive. With the battle now over, he started sifting through the bodies of the fallen.
Caspian’s eye caught movement, and he stooped down beside a soldier. It was a man of Rael. He was young, and his eyes were wide with fear.
“Please,” the young man begged. “I don’t want to die.”
Caspian’s eyes drifted to his blood-soaked midsection, where he’d taken a blade. There was no escaping death for this one. Caspian moved to stand.
“Please,” the soldier said, his eyes filling with tears. “Don’t leave me.” He reached out, and Caspian dropped back down and took his hand. “Don’t leave me,” he begged again.
“I won’t,” Caspian said gently.
The man clung to his hand, pulling him closer. “I don’t want to die,” he pleaded again.
“You’re going to be all right,” he lied, echoing the soldier carrying his dead friend. But he could still see the man’s fear. “What’s your name?”
The soldier drew a labored breath. “Brandon.”
