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

45. Saylor

45

SAYLOR

“ H elp! I scream, bruising my knees as I drop next to him.

Wren rushes to my side. A blade protrudes from his back, next to his shoulder blade. The hilt looks like it’s made of smooth gray stone. Blood pools across his back. I reach for the blade but then stop.

“Pull it out,” Wren says, but I shake my head.

“No. I saw an old Earth vid once and it’s bad to pull it out. He’ll bleed out or something. Help!”

I try yelling again because no one has come.

“I’ll get help,” Wren says.

I nod, tears filling my eyes. Is this the way our story ends? After everything that’s happened, can this be it? I shift around until his head is in my lap. He’s breathing. That’s good. He’s so pale though. His skin is normally a rich green, almost emerald, but now it’s a pale shade that just looks sick.

Blood trickles across his back. Slow, steady, like him. My rock. The one thing I never knew I needed in my life. Helping Wren come to terms with falling for Sek’su should have prepared me for him, but it didn’t. Maybe that’s not the way hearts work. I run my fingers through his hair, letting my thoughts wander.

Helping someone else is easy. Helping yourself, that’s a whole lot harder. I’d been hiding him from everyone, including Wren, but now I can’t imagine why. It seemed important at the time. My reputation, my standing in our social circle, what my friends would think. Why? Why did I care about any of them?

My heart belongs to him. I’ve had no doubts of that. I knew the first moment we met. When I saw him and my breath caught in my chest as my heart sped up. Then we kept running into one another and I thought it was too often to be random. Only when we ended up alone did he admit that he’d done it. Following me, finding out where I’d be so he could be near.

I swear, from anyone else it would have been creepy. Or I would have filed him under one of the stupid paparazzi, but when he admitted to it… it was romantic. Maybe it was the way he said it. So shy, embarrassed even, unable to look me in the eyes as he spoke. Staring at the floor, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, saying what he’d done with darting glances to try and see how I was taking it.

“Oh Khiara,” I whisper. “I’m sorry.”

Regret swirls in my head. A whirlpool pulling me down. All the things I should have said. Things I should have done. None of which I did because I was too worried about others. Khiara shudders and stirs. His eyes flutter open as he gasps.

“Saylor,” he exhales my name and if he wasn’t likely dying in my lap, I’d be clay in his hands.

“Khiara, lie still, Wren is getting help.”

“No,” he says, pushing himself up.

His arms shake. His entire body trembles with the effort. He’s on his hands and knees, looking at me.

“Khi, lie down, please,” I beg.

He shakes his head, striving to get up, but then he groans and collapses onto his side.

“The fungus,” he says, looking around. “He needs it. Now.”

“You’re hurt,” I say.

I feel numb and out of touch with reality. All I want is to make Khiara be okay. Everything else is so secondary to that I cannot even begin to fully process it.

“Sek’su… needs… Saylor… please.”

His words pierce the numbness. He’s right, of course. Sek’su is dying and if I don’t act, he might not make it. And the only reason Khiara is hurt is because he was trying to save him. If Sek’su dies anyway, especially because I didn’t help…

No. I can’t let this happen.

I press my fingers to Khiara’s cheek, which is cool to the touch. His eyes move to mine, still dull, but there is no denying the love in them. A faint smile plays across his lips. He’s breathing heavily and clearly in great pain. How could he not be? A knife is buried in his back and has to be piercing his lung.

Spotting the fungus where it fell, I carefully collect it. It feels dry and prickly. I look at it then back to Khiara.

“How?” I ask.

“Tea,” he exhales then coughs. Blood flecks his lips as he does, and my heart skips a beat.

“Okay.”

I stand up and go to the counter where the tools are. There is a burner thing that I saw Tsi’tel using. It’s a square stone a little bigger than my hand. It’s hollow underneath where combustible material sits. I find the tools and light the small fire so that the stone is warming. There are shelves carved into the wall filled with things. Jars, tools, containers, lots of different stuff that Tsi’tel uses for whatever purpose.

It takes a few minutes, but I find a jar that looks workable. I put it on the burner. Next is some water. One of the rarest of things on Tajss, but it’s been less so under the mountain than it was on the surface.

I find a pitcher that has water. Desperate more than bold, I taste test the liquid to make sure it’s not something else by dipping a finger in it then touching the drop to my tongue. Only then do I realize how thirsty I am, but I resist the urge to drink it myself.

The door jerks aside and I jump. Tsi’tel enters followed by Wren. Tsi’tel stares at me for a second, maybe two, with a deep frown before Wren grabs his arm and points to Khiara who has passed out again.

“Huh,” Tsi’tel grunts.

He bends over, picks up Khiara as if he weighs nothing. He moves towards the door.

“What are you doing?” I screech.

I don’t mean to scream but him taking Khiara away so casually and without a word freaks me out.

“He needs care,” Tsi’tel says over his shoulder. “Or did you miss the dagger buried in his back?”

“No,” I say, voice cracking.

Tsi’tel is gone before I can say more. Wren stands by the door looking between it and me. My eyes go to the blood pooled on the floor where Khiara was only a moment ago. I lick my lips to moisten them, swallow hard, then force myself to focus.

“What are you doing?” Wren asks, carefully walking around the blood.

I pause to wipe away an escaping tear and sniffle.

“Tea. Khiara said make this into a tea,” I say, raising the fungus.

I drop it into the water that is just starting to boil. Wren and I stare down into the jar and watch the piece of fungus dance around in the bubbling water. The clear liquid darkens quickly until it looks almost black.

“How long?” Wren asks.

“I don’t know,” I say, pursing my lips.

Ask Khiara. I could… but what if… no. Not going there. He’s fine. Tsi’tel will fix him.

“I think it’s done.”

I look over at her then back at the boiling liquid. It’s dark, that’s tea, right? I need to get it off the burner thing which isn’t something I’d thought through.

“Need a pot holder or something,” I mutter. Wren snorts. “What?”

I stop looking to stare at her as she breaks into a giggling fit.

“You’re a regular Susie Homemaker.”

I stare, taking way too long to figure out what she’s talking about and then trying to comprehend it once the words do make sense.

“What?”

She’s laughing so hard now that tears fill her eyes, and she is struggling to breathe. I giggle out of an empathetic response but not from any understanding of what’s so funny.

“You… on the ship… did you ever… make… anything?”

I blink feeling absolutely vapid. Then it hits me.

On the ship we were so pampered that none of us ever touched a kitchen utensil. Here, I am making tea, which really should be a simple project that pretty much anyone with half a brain should be able to do, but neither one of us have a clue.

We know more now than we did on the ship. Life on Tajss forces you to adapt, fast, if you want to survive, but neither of us are, by any means, experts. I laugh too, but this is too important to be taken over in idleness.

I dig around until I find a cloth and use it to remove the jar. It still burns my fingers but not too bad. The pain fades quickly while the two of us stare at the jar.

“Should we pour it in a glass?” Wren asks.

“You see one lying around?”

“What about the fungus thing, we should take the remains out. He might choke on it.”

“Good idea.”

That leads to more fumbling and idiocy as we use makeshift utensils to accomplish our simple goal. At last, we have the tea. Which leaves us both standing in silence looking from the jar to Sek’su who lies unconscious on the table.

“You lift his head,” I say.

Wren nods and goes over. She slips an arm under his neck and shoulders then lifts him up as far as she can. I bring the jar over and tip it up to his lips. Liquid dribbles down his chin making a mess but more goes into his mouth than spills, so I take the win and keep at it.

Once the cup is drained, Wren lays him back down. We’re on opposite sides of his still form, waiting. I don’t know why I thought it might work immediately. Probably a silly hope because nothing really happens. Wren looks up, worry on her face. I shrug.

“Time,” I say. “Needs to work. He’s a big guy. Got to work its way through.”

She nods, chewing on her lip. She rubs his arm and resigns herself to waiting. I’m torn between being here for my friend and going to see about my love. Before I can make a decision on what to do, Wren looks up.

“Go,” she says.

“You sure?” I ask.

She smiles brightly.

“Saylor, you’re my best friend. I appreciate you. I love you. Now go. Your man needs you. There is nothing you can do here.”

Tears press from behind my eyes. I go around the table and give her a tight embrace. She returns it, then I run out the door.