Solace

by Bethany Adams

  “We’re all willing to take it,” Anna said softly, and the other two nodded.

  Lynia turned down the path to the portal. “Fine. Let’s see what we can do.”

  As soon as the patient’s heart rate slowed to an even pace, Lial pricked the man’s skin with a needle to check if he was numb. A clumsy method, but it worked. Caeleth showed no reaction, which meant Lial needed to act fast. The potion would wear off within a mark, and subsequent doses wouldn’t be as effective.

  Lial handed Elan the half-empty vial of Lynia’s potion. “Watch the time and give him the rest if I’m still stitching.”

  He didn’t wait for an answer, knowing his assistant would obey without question. Instead, Lial lifted his knife and made the incision through the partially healed skin beneath the stitches. Blood pooled and ran until he had no choice but to use a hint of magic to close off the relevant veins—but only for a moment. He grabbed clamps from his pouch to use where he could, minimizing the energy required.

  He didn’t bother scanning for the virus. He couldn’t focus on it, not with the wrecked mess of organs he had to repair. He kept his thoughts on the rise and fall of needle and thread and the steady pulse of the patient under his care. He’d failed once with Korel, and he might do so again.

  But it wouldn’t be for lack of trying.

  The gallbladder would have to go, as would a portion of stomach and intestine. The shredded stitches had created so many new tears that it would take marks to fix, if it was possible at all. Without the threat of the virus, he might have attempted it, but it wouldn’t be worthwhile now. The patient would survive well enough with the alterations.

  A sour smell hit his nose, and he used the lightest burst of magic to clear the toxins leaking from the patient’s gut. Then he did his best to stitch and repair faster. Sweat dampened his tunic and beaded lightly at his temples, but he didn’t dare brush at his face. The unpleasant smell of infection wafting from the wound hadn’t entirely disappeared.

  Caeleth’s body began to tremble, and Lial risked a glance at the man’s face. He’d gone even paler, and a sheen of sweat covered his skin. The virus? The fever? Lial couldn’t pull his hands away to check.

  “Is his temperature elevated?” he asked Elan.

  His assistant rested his wrist against the mage’s forehead. “No. His temperature is normal now.”

  Perhaps Lynia’s potion was working. Anxious to find out, Lial finally scanned his patient for the virus. Lessened—but only in parts of the body. Replication hadn’t halted in the wound, no doubt because of the magic he’d been forced to use. The fever must be breaking because of the tobahn.

  “How long until the next dose?”

  “A quarter mark.”

  Then it would take time to start working. Miaran. He needed to stop the patient’s trembling, but more magic would undo current progress. Not to mention increase the amount of virus in the gut. Should he risk washing the wound with more of the new tincture? It would either accelerate healing or cause some unknown disaster.

  Which was the greater risk?

  As Lial ended his scan, he detected a trace of another danger—gut bacteria entering the bloodstream. Gods. Well, that solved the question of greater risk. He was going to have to use more magic to solve that. Immediately.

  “Pour a couple of drops of that into the wound,” Lial said.

  Elan didn’t hesitate. He too seemed to realize there wasn’t much choice. Hurriedly, Lial used his magic to spread the concoction as he sent his energy after the bacteria. None of his stitching and tinctures would matter if the bacteria weren’t purged.

  It took only moments, but everywhere his magic touched, the virus reproduced in a frenzy. Lial withdrew his power and did his best to stitch while fighting the urge to scan and monitor. They couldn’t have much time left with the numbing potion, but it would be difficult to tell without magic.

  How did human healers manage without scanning?

  He barely noticed when Elan administered the rest of Lynia’s potion. This repair work was too intricate, and he had to pause periodically to remove tissue. But finally, he was almost through, just the outer skin left to stitch. The sour smell was nearly gone, but detecting it at all was a touch worrying. He had to hope all of this wouldn’t be for nothing.

  “If there are any drops left in the vial, upend them.”

  Elan held the vial upside down, and the last remnant rolled down the glass to land in the cut with a wet plop. Lial resumed stitching, hoping to seal as much inside as he could. It might not work, but it didn’t appear to hurt. At this point, they needed whatever aid they could find.

  Abruptly, Caeleth’s trembling increased, and the mage let out a harsh groan.

  “More tobahn,” Lial said.

  As Elan complied, Lial focused on his task. But the sharp flinch of his patient beneath him caught him by surprise and the needle rolled, piercing the side of his finger as he pulled it through Caeleth’s skin. Lial cursed and ran a cleansing spell over his hands at once, knowing it might not be enough.

  He couldn’t think about that now. He had a patient to stabilize.

  Lynia had never seen an underhill realm so denuded of life. She’d visited a few on diplomatic missions with Telien, and even the ones artfully designed to simulate winter hadn’t been so lacking in life. There was no carefully arranged snow with its winter greenery. Instead, the trees were bare, the leaves brown and decaying on the forest floor. The trail was lined with dead flowers, and the path itself hadn’t been cleared.

  If Caolte now held the energy of this realm, he must be more ill than she’d imagined.

  “Wow,” Maddy said. “Are we in the right place?”

  “Kai assured me that we were,” Inona answered, though she frowned at the trees with equal confusion. “Otherwise, I would be asking the same.”

  Pehnen, one of Lynia’s bodyguards, moved forward to take the lead, the other guard trailing behind. Pehnen and Orit had watched over her frequently over the centuries, so she hadn’t been surprised when they’d agreed to this risk. She’d already thanked them, but she still sent Pehnen a grateful smile as he passed by.

  So far, they’d only encountered a single warrior guarding the gate, and he’d stayed as far away as he could while confirming their purpose. The lack of visible protection made her as uneasy as the mission itself. The Seelie didn’t tend to post their guards in the treetops the way Moranaians did, so one could assume they were at a minimum crew.

  After a short walk, a large house emerged from the too-quiet forest. Two guards stood beside the front door, but there was no other sign of life despite the size of the place. Though it was worrisome, Lynia kept her expression smooth as they halted a short distance away. The warrior on the left took a step forward.

  “I am Callian Myernere i Lynia Dianore nai Braelyn, here on behalf of my son, Myern Lyrnis Dianore, and our healer, Sebarah Lial Caran.” Lynia met the guard’s gaze. “I and my companions are here at the behest of Lord Caolte a Nuall.”

  The warrior bowed. “Yes, milady. If you would follow me?”

  That had gone better than she’d expected. The Seelie Sidhe could be quite formal—and fierce with it. Technically speaking, neither Lynia nor the others had been invited here. Under different circumstances, the switch in people would not have gone unnoted. Was the situation that desperate?

  Pehnen followed the guard in first, Lynia just behind. They crossed a huge entryway with a sweeping staircase and descended more stairs than she’d anticipated. What kind of place was this? The building could have housed hundreds, but they saw no one except the guard who led them. A lonely place if she’d ever seen one.

  Once they reached a massive ballroom deep underground, the guard bid them to wait and left. Lynia examined the elaborate walls and intricately inlaid floor, her gaze eventually resting on the broken spot in the ceiling where one of the elaborate, hanging mage globes was missing. Frowning, she examined the floor beneath and spotted the gouge.

&nb
sp; This must have been the room where Kai had fought with Naomh. He’d mentioned one of the globes crashing down from a surge of Naomh’s magic. If memory served, Kai and Arlyn had emerged here from a series of underground rooms. Whoever had designed this place had taken the idea of the underhill a bit too seriously if there were layers deeper than this.

  A door opened at the far end, and Caolte appeared. His flame-red hair lacked the spark of fire she’d noted on the few times she’d seen him. Their introduction at the autumn festival had been brief, but that hint of flame was too noteworthy to go unremarked. Combined with his sallow skin, she had no trouble believing that he was ill.

  “Lyr warned me of your arrival,” Caolte said in a low, rough voice. “But he made no mention of so many companions.”

  So Lyr had notified the Seelie of the change in plans while they were traveling through the Veil. That explained their easy entry. “Princess Maddy brings her mates, Prince Fen and Princess Anna.”

  Beside her, Maddy let out a sigh, but the sound was too light to carry far. Lynia had to hold back a smile. As much as the three young fae didn’t like their new status, it would carry undeniable weight here. And no small amount of added safety.

  “I see you’ve all advanced to royalty since our last meeting,” Caolte said. “Can’t offer congratulations about that misfortune.”

  Fen laughed. “Got that right. Listen, I know there was some tension between you and my uncle when I was sick, and I couldn’t begin to guess whether you’re feuding with my mother. But I have no argument with you or Naomh. My mates and I have helped others with a similar illness, so we thought we’d see what we could do here, too. No strings attached.”

  In a less formal—hah—situation, Lynia would have rubbed at the bridge of her nose. But even if Fen had no desire to stick to niceties, she wouldn’t abandon them. “Please forgive our presumption. If you prefer, only Maddy and I will advance.”

  Caolte waved his hand. “All of you may come. Even the bodyguards. At this point, I don’t care who sees the tunnels.”

  Though Lynia wasn’t sure she liked the sound of that, she motioned the group forward. From what she’d heard from Arlyn and Kai, the descent would be interesting, if nothing else.

  Chapter 38

  As soon as the last stitch was knotted, reality slammed into Lial.

  For centuries, he’d sewn together wounds too deep to heal quickly with magic or, in odd circumstances, too sullied with iron to mend with energy. He’d had the occasional mishap, but not for decades. Until today, of all days. When it mattered most to avoid any slips, he’d made the costliest error of all.

  Caeleth had settled into stillness a few moments ago, and so far, his fever hadn’t returned. Lial ran another cleansing spell over his hands and lower arms, purging even the hint of blood. Then he scanned the mage to see what Lynia’s potion had wrought.

  What he found was better—but not entirely good. Remnants of the virus remained in the man’s blood, some still replicating. However, the de-escalation gave him some hope that the potion might work. He would have to check Emereh’s notes to see if another dose would help or harm. The healer must have done something on Abuiarn to eliminate the virus completely.

  Lial strode toward the workbench, but he stopped in the middle of the room. He could check all the notes he wanted, but he couldn’t avoid the one thing he didn’t want to face. Had he been infected? He lifted his hand, staring at the finger where the needle had pierced. There was no sign of a scab, no mark to reveal his doom.

  Perhaps he would be safe.

  His deep exhale caressed his skin, its warmth an echo of his healing energy as he sent his magic into himself. But though his lungs found new oxygen, his heart found the opposite of hope. Such a few tiny flecks of darkness to steal so much.

  “Elan,” Lial said roughly. “I have to check something. Then I’ll need you to render me unconscious.”

  “Pardon me?”

  Lial glanced over his shoulder. “I’m infected. The needle caught my skin.”

  The younger healer’s eyes widened. “But why do I need to…?”

  Though Lial clenched his hand out of reflex, the motion would do nothing to stop the poison now in his blood. “Healing energy speeds the virus’s spread. A type of magic I happen to be filled with. After I’m unconscious, my energy will need to be drained. Too bad I’m not allergic to iron, as that would do it.”

  “Why don’t you take the new potion?” Elan asked.

  Lial closed the distance to his workbench and stared at the empty vial rack. “I believe Lynia took the rest with her. We’ll need to buy time to create more.”

  Emotion roiled within him like the liquid in a distilling flask. He’d promised Lynia he would be careful, only to ruin it all. Yet again, he could only curse himself for letting his love for her be free. If you plan to throw your life on everyone’s funeral pyre, we should end this now, she’d said. Though that hadn’t been his intention the result would be the same. She deserved far better than this agony.

  His gaze landed on the large, ancient book opened beside the distilling apparatus. The Wayfarer’s Trial, the journal of Emereh. Without stopping to think, Lial’s hands reached for the flask, and he began following the instructions out of rote. He’d made so many different tinctures over the years that it took little time. Unfortunately, it took seven marks just to distill, then two to three more to cure.

  Ten marks to keep the virus from eating him alive.

  Before heading upstairs, Lial placed a marker in the book and flipped to the beginning. He’d never met a journal-keeping healer who didn’t notate their methods within the introductory section of the text, usually behind a long discussion about why they were keeping the notes in the first place. If there was anything they were missing about this cure, it would be there.

  Under the circumstances, it was a good thing he knew what he was looking for.

  They ended up in a small room, one so cramped Lynia’s shoulder brushed against Maddy’s as they circled the low stone slab in the middle of the dirt floor. Vines and leaves withered around Naomh where he lay atop the rock, and his breathing was so shallow she feared he might already be dead. Then a cough shook his body, disabusing her of that notion.

  “I developed a similar cough this morning,” Caolte said quietly. “Though mine is less frequent and not so deep.”

  So far, Lynia hadn’t seen Caolte cough, but she didn’t doubt his word. “Could you have been infected from the same original source?”

  Caolte shook his head. “Lial found no illness in me before.”

  Maddy nudged her shoulder gently and took a step back. Although Lynia didn’t know the reason, she followed her lead, as did Fen and Anna. “If this is airborne, we’re all at risk,” Maddy said. “We need some way to contain the germs.”

  “Germs?” Caolte asked, frowning.

  “The virus.” Maddy retreated toward the door, and they all followed her back out into the hallway. “It can be shed through breath, especially if there’s coughing or sneezing.”

  “I have never heard of such a thing,” Caolte said, but he created more space between them despite the doubt in his words. “Did Lial sicken from his last visit?”

  “I don’t think so,” Maddy replied.

  Lynia could answer that, at least. Lial had scanned himself enough that he would have known, and he’d not avoided her the way he’d tried to after Korel’s death. “No, he wasn’t.”

  Caolte’s eyes narrowed. “Then it makes no sense.”

  Fen took a step forward, the impatience in his expression making Lynia hold her breath. “Then how do you explain your illness?” Fen snapped. “Have you been making out with your brother? There aren’t too many other ways to catch something.”

  “If you weren’t here on a mission of aid—”

  “Enough,” Lynia said firmly, employing her most stringent behave tone. “We are here to offer what we can, but none of us are Lial. We’re doing our best. That being said, thes
e three are from Earth where viruses are common, whereas elves and fae know little about such things. I’m inclined to trust their analysis in this, and arguing will only waste precious time.”

  The fight left Caolte’s demeanor. He coughed against his arm before rubbing his palm against his forehead with an exhausted sigh. “You’re correct. I can take young Fen to task at a later date. I suppose the question now is one of risk. If Maddy is correct, it is not safe for any of you to be in the room.”

  “Do you have any thick scarves?” Anna asked, apparently surprising Fen enough that he stopped glaring at Caolte.

  “Oh, that’s good thinking.” Maddy lifted the edge of her cloak. “We could cover our mouths and noses with our cloaks, but that would get annoying after a while. I mean, it isn’t a perfect solution, but it would lessen our chances of infection.”

  Lynia stared at the young healer. “That would stop a virus? Why haven’t you suggested such a thing sooner?”

  “Because the illness on Moranaia doesn’t act the same. No one is coughing there or anything.” An apology flashed in Maddy’s eyes. “It wouldn’t do much good against something in the blood unless you’re performing surgery or something. Blood doesn’t float in the air.”

  Caolte flicked his fingers toward the stairs. “I sent out a call for scarves. In the meantime, what do you suggest? Naomh worsens by the hour.”

  “How about I scan you?” Maddy asked. “I’d like to see if your virus is similar to others we have treated.”

  At Caolte’s nod, the young healer covered her lower face with the edge of her cloak and moved closer to the man, though she stayed out of touching range. As the moments passed, the healer’s expression remained the same, her brow wrinkled in concentration.

  An unusual sort of restlessness flitted through Lynia’s gut and settled beneath her breastbone with a twist. Foreboding. It was the same pressure that had led her to hurry on the potion, the sensation so strong she wondered if she had a hint of the seer’s gift. She’d had the same disconnected anxiety for days before Telien’s death.