Orc’s Forbidden Claim (Red Planet Dragons of Tajss #33)

44. Saylor

44

SAYLOR

S ek’su has grown paler and weaker. We thought he was recovering. It seemed like he was, but apparently that was only a resurgence. Tsi’tel and Addison have both been in and out, but nothing they have done has made any difference. It’s been about an hour since he slipped into a coma.

Sitting next to Wren, I have no words. Her despair is palpable, though she isn’t crying or saying anything. Silent and staring, because what else can we do? Tsi’tel walks into the room. The soft rustling sound of the leather dragging on stone pulls my attention to the door. The slightest ray of hope that maybe it’s Khiara returning. My stomach drops when I see it’s not.

He shuffles across the room, moving as if the weight of the world is on his hunched shoulders, and causing the bow of his head. I’m sure, to one degree or another, that it is. Several people suffered wounds during the quake, Rosalind and her new baby, and Sek’su is dying. There is no denying that is what’s happening, despite the fact that it causes a chill to cover my body and makes me shiver.

Tsi’tel presses his hand against Sek’su’s face and chest. He lifts the bandage and inspects the wound, then replaces it. He doesn’t say anything as he turns and heads for the door.

“Well?” Wren asks, her voice cracking.

Tsi’tel stops in his tracks but doesn’t turn around. He’s staring at the ground and somehow, he manages to sink his head even lower until his chin must be on his chest.

“Tajss provides,” he says, his voice husky and tight.

“What does that even mean?” Wren asks, rising to her feet even as her voice goes up in pitch.

Her hands are balled into tight fists, and she is shaking. I stand too, putting a hand on her arm, but she jerks away with a slashing motion. Tsi’tel turns slowly. He meets her anger with a calm, quiet demeanor that makes it clear that he is defeated. Not by her, by any means, but by the poison pulsing through Sek’su.

“I have done all I can,” he says.

Wren shakes her head.

“No.” Tsi’tel doesn’t respond. What is there to say? He’s said it all. Wren’s anger vibrates from her in a way I’ve never seen. It comes off in waves as she trembles, trying to contain it. “No. Fix this. You’re the healer. You will fix this.”

Tsi’tel raises his hands then drops them to his sides. He shakes his head slowly, then turns and walks out the door.

“Gah!” Wren screeches, throwing her fists into the air she drops to her knees and breaks down.

I go to her side and pull her into an embrace. It’s ineffective, almost pointless, but it’s all that I can do.

Where are you, Khiara? Please hurry. Please be okay.

“Shhh,” I make the soothing sound to try and calm her but how can she be calm? Her mate, her one true love lies dying a few feet away and there isn’t a damn thing either of us can do. “Shhhh.”

She sobs violently. I squeeze tighter, wishing I had the strength to squeeze this pain away. That there was something, anything I could do to make it better. This sense of helplessness that fills my guts is awful.

I don’t know how long we’re on the floor together. Time has lost all meaning. Wren is losing her soulmate and for all I know I’ve already lost mine too. I don’t even try to hold back my tears.

“Move!”

I jerk back, every muscle stiffening at the sound of the familiar voice. Is it real? Did I imagine it? Wren and I shift together so that we’re facing the leather of the door. My vision is blurry with tears. The leather pulls to one side, a shadow looms in the door, then steps inside.

“I am here,” Khiara says, stumbling forward.

I don’t cross the space between us, one moment I’m beside Wren, the next I am in his arms. My lips on his. My arms around his neck. His weight pressing down and onto me.

It takes a moment to realize it, but his lips are cool, much cooler than normal. I pull back and look into his eyes. They’re dull, not the normal bright swirls. And he’s pale. Too pale.

“Khiara?” my voice trembles.

He doesn’t answer, but pulls something out of his bag. He holds his hand out and in his palm is a dark, dried looking fungus.

“Make… tea…” Khiara says, weaving in place.

He blinks, shakes, then drops to the ground.